Viktor

There are reminders of Peach everywhere about the palace, and if not Peach, then Papaya. The suits of armor being cleaned. The heart furniture being removed from the tower for transport to the abbey, as Peach suggested.

The bedroom, where we talked and laughed and made love.

The family area, where we talked and laughed and made love.

The tapestries and the crumbling plaster walls. So much character, she’d said one day as I groused about the unsightliness as we made our way to one of the formal dinners she detested, yet attended anyway.

The news from the stable that Fred—yes, Fred—was believed to be in labor. Of course she’s a she, Your—er, sir, the stablehand had said.

I can only imagine what Peach’s reaction should have been. Papaya, undoubtedly, would be thrilled.

Especially when the news comes that the baby alpaca had been delivered safely, and is a boy.

I spend the weekend with the head of the royal guard, combing every inch of the palace for structural and tactical weaknesses. Though I’ve become quite sentimental in these past four months, and possibly softer, I’ve not become a fool, nor have I turned a blind eye to the ways of the world.

Alexander is in far more danger as king than I would have ever been, and I would not have turned the throne over to him had I any intention of abandoning him when I’m well-trained to protect him.

I also set appointments with every last member of the guard for interviews and background checks.

“I understand your desire to stay busy,” Alexander comments over dinner Sunday evening, “but I fear you’re going overboard.”

In a true testament to his rightness for the job, he’s managed to straighten the royal kitchen in a single visit, and this evening we’re dining on moist chicken, crisp beans, and soft rolls.

Which does not change my opinion of what I need to do in the least. “There’s never an excuse to neglect thoroughness in safety matters.”

“Agreed,” Samuel says. “He can rest next weekend.”

“No, next weekend is the small business owners’ summit,” Mum interrupts.

I flinch, because the small business owners’ summit is not a job I’d prefer to do.

But in the absence of Peach, I appear to be obligated to attend. “I know no more of running small businesses than I do of giving birth,” I grouse. I’ve become quite adept at grousing this week. I look at my brother. “And where shall you be?”

“Firing everyone within the palace caught holding pins small enough to compromise condoms,” Alexander replies.

My shoulders tighten.

I’ve seen Papaya’s friend Katrin and her parents thrice this week. And I suspect I shall be seeing her many times more in the coming months, as she seems to be leaning toward continuing the pregnancy.

I cannot fathom facing such responsibility at such a young age.

And I’m once again thinking of Peach. Of her own near-miss. The wrongs perpetrated on her by men who claimed to have her best interest in heart.

If I had the first clue how to prove to her that I would not abandon her for any reason, I would be on my way to Alabama already.

But I fear she’d see my intrusion as exactly that—an intrusion.

An attempt by me to control or steer her life.

To fail to take no for an answer and to respect her wishes.

“Viktor, what has the fork done to you?” Eva asks.

I drop my now bent utensil with a clatter. “Apologies,” I murmur.

“The lake is nearly frozen solid,” she muses. “I hear predictions it should be safe to skate on soon. Should be good to get out some of your pent-up energy.”

Pent-up energy is not my problem.

Having a problem I’m unable to solve is my problem.

I rise. “Pray excuse me. I need to—”

The dining room door bursts open, and I instinctively leap between the door and Alexander.

Three things strike me at once.

One, the palace staff is woefully inept at keeping farm animals out.

Two, women make such noise.

And three, Peach has come home.

My heart pitters to a screeching halt as her eyes land on me. Her hair is disheveled, her face bare of makeup. Her fingernails are sans paint, and her blouse is streaked with dirt. Her lips part, and—

“Fred’s a girl and she had a baby! I’m an alpaca mama!” Papaya shrieks.

She’s hugging the alpaca about the neck, crying and laughing.

Peach gives a small shake of her head as she smiles affectionately at the girl, then turns her gaze back to me once more. “I’m an idiot,” she announces.

“Quite right,” Alexander mutters.

“Shove it, King Stuffy,” she retorts. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Dear gods, I’ve missed this woman. Two simple sassy phrases out of her mouth have just done more for my stress levels than two hours punching bags in the gym.

“If you’ve just now realized you left your purse, we’ve already scavenged through it for your driver’s license and spare change,” Samuel offers.

“You hush up too, Dr. Prince. I’m trying to tell a man I love him, and that’s terrifying and not really my thing and you might be doing some CPR on me in a minute if I can’t get it out. Hoo boy, I just said that, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Alexander confirms, “and I regret to inform you that while I hold you in moderate esteem—yeeaaaaah!”

For extra measure, I add another ounce of pressure to that point in Alexander’s shoulder, and he continues to writhe and whimper helplessly.

Peach bends over and breathes out short whiffs of breath. “Hold on,” she huffs out. “I got this. I do.”

“She loves you, but she’s terrified since men are generally assholes,” Papaya offers. “Can I have my old bedroom back? Or are you getting kicked out of the country since you went all I don’t want to be king anymore?”

I release Alexander and cross toward the open double doors where Peach is near to hyperventilating. Footmen and servers are peeking in, but they all scatter as though fearful for their jobs.

I squat before Peach so that I may peer up at her face. She’s quite pink in the cheeks, and her eyes are squeezed shut in what I daresay is terror.

She’s bloody perfect.

“Are you quite all right?” I inquire softly.

“Oh my god, I’ve missed you,” she whispers, her eyes still clenched tight.

Her hair is falling out of its ponytail, her shirt gaping just so to give me an unobstructed view to the pink lace bra holding her lovely breasts.

I do have such an obsession with her lovely breasts.

“Is there anything I might do to assist with this particular affliction, my lady?”

Her eyes blink open, and she huffs out a laugh. “You are so obnoxious.”

“’Tis a gift.” My heart is near to bursting. I’m certain she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t wish to see me—she did have to travel across an ocean and several time zones to burst into the dining room—but I need to hear her say she wishes to stay. “And you do bring out the best in me.”

“Viktor,” she whispers.

My name on her lips is sweet music. “Peach?”

“You’re going to make me do this, aren’t you?”

I tangle my hands in her hair. “Take your time. I’ve no intention of going anywhere.”

She laughs again, a short breathy sound that makes my berries ache.

There’s no substitute for her.

Not in my bed.

Not in my arms.

Not in my life.

“I’ve quite missed you too,” I confess.

She drops her forehead to mine, and I arch into her touch when she rests her hands on my shoulders. One simple touch, and I’m ready to slay dragons for this woman.

“I should’ve been here for you this week. I’m so sorry I ran away.”

“I should have told you how very much I love you.”

“I wouldn’t have listened.”

“’Tis no excuse to have not told you.”

A droplet lands on my cheek, and I realize her eyes are leaking. I scoop her up and stand. She buries her face in my neck. “I love you, Viktor,” she whispers.

As though she’s afraid of the very words.

But her arms are tight around me, and I’ve no intention of ever letting her go.

I pin Papaya with my best terrifying glare. “Stay. Put.”

“Are you going to kick me out if I don’t?”

“No.”

She pouts. “You’re supposed to say yes.”

“We’ll keep her out of trouble,” Alexander tells me.

I stride out of the dining room and across the hall to a rarely-used drawing room. Peach is peppering my neck with kisses. “I love you,” she whispers between pecks. “I’m so sorry.”

I set her atop the heart-shaped grand piano so that we’re nearly at eye level. Her hands cup my cheeks, her lips claim mine, and it takes superhuman strength to pull back from her kiss. “Peach—”

“Ssh. No talking. You smell so damn good.”

She’s kissing me again, her legs gripping my hips, and I cannot help but kiss her back. Touching her smooth curves. Tasting her hot mouth. Inhaling that sweet tangy Peach scent.

“I—cannot—so bloody perfect,” I rasp out between kisses.

My hands find their way beneath her shirt, and soon I’m caressing her heavy breasts in the delicate lace. She whimpers and deepens our kiss, clawing at the buttons on my shirt.

“Peach—”

“Just love me, Viktor. Please love me.”

‘Tis remarkable how easy it is to love her. “Always, my lady.” I lick along her jaw while her hands drift lower. “Peach, I cannot leave Amoria for some time—”

“Viktor.” She grips me by the belt loops and pulls me against the cradle of her thighs, but she lifts her head to look me straight in the eye. “You could tell me we had to go to sub-Saharan Africa, and that wouldn’t change a damn thing. I. Want. You.”

The simple sentiment seems to have put a speck of dust in my eye. And possibly my throat. “That’s quite the adventure you’re volunteering for.”

“I trust you,” she adds, softer.

I cannot imagine what that confession must cost her. “I swear on my honor, I shall do everything within my power to always keep that trust.”

She blinks twice, and a soft smile teases her lips. “You’re just saying that because you’re holding my boobs.”

I look down, and I feel a smile of my own. “I suppose ‘tis possible. Perhaps I should hold your fanny and see if I feel compelled to make the same promise.”

She’s laughing as she pulls me in for another kiss. “I fucking adore you,” she whispers.

“As you should.”

That beautiful laugh rings in my ears, and I realize this is what my life has been missing.

The fun.

The relief of relaxing.

The beautiful side of unpredictability.

I stroke my thumbs along the edge of her bra. “I knew I missed you, but I daresay I had no idea how much until this very moment.”

“You might be a little crazy,” she whispers.

“Indeed.”

“I saw your speech to Parliament. It was beautiful.”

“’Twas merely the truth.”

She wraps her hands around to squeeze my buttocks, and I take advantage of the opportunity to nibble at her ear.

She’s quite delicious tonight.

“I would’ve come back even if you’d stayed king,” she tells me, ending on a gasp as I move to nibbling on her neck.

“Would you?”

“I really fucking hope so, because otherwise I’d be a truly horrible human being who abandoned you when all you ever did was let me be me, and I still don’t entirely understand why you would love me, but—”

I silence her with a kiss. And when her hands have finally begun roaming about my chest, her tongue sliding against mine while she makes the sweetest whimpers and moans, I quite forget any reason that anyone wouldn’t love her.

She wraps her legs around me, threads her fingers through my hair, and she kisses me as though I’m the reason for her every breath, her every heartbeat.

I’m quite uncertain how she loses her shirt, but soon it’s gone.

As is mine.

Her hot skin slides against my stomach, her breasts pressing into my chest, her hot, wet center rocking against my aching cock through our pants.

“Will you love me even if Papaya sets off cherry bombs in the bathrooms at her school?” Peach asks as she tackles my belt.

“Yes,” I rasp.

“What about if I tell off some European president?”

“Especially then.”

My pants drop to the floor, and she thrusts her hands into my boxer briefs to fondle my aching knob. Egads, but having her hands on me again is pure heaven.

“What if I told you I thought you were super hot in those heart boxers and I want you to wear them every day?”

“So long as you continue to stroke me, I should do nearly anything you wish. Gods above, your touch is exquisite.”

She squeezes as her hand reaches my tip, and my bollocks tighten.

“Viktor?” she whispers.

“Yes?”

“Will you marry me?”

I almost laugh, but her eyes are quite earnest, even as she holds my cock in her hand. “I believe I already have.”

“Will you marry me again?” She strokes me once more, and adds a soft, “Please?”

“Anything for you, my lady.”

“Will you wear the dress?”

Mischief flashes in her eyes, and I laugh as I tug at the button on her pants. “You’re quite the handful.”

“I have this crazy feeling you can handle me.”

She shifts her hips while I tug at the waistband of her linen pants, and the piano groans and shifts beneath her.

We both freeze.

The piano, alas, does not.

I lift her and spin as the contraption crashes to the floor in a giant cacophony of keystrokes and splintering wood.

The door flies open, and Alexander and two guards rush in.

They take one look at us—me quite immodest, Peach only moderately more so—and all three leave the room immediately. Alexander slams the door behind them.

Peach is hanging onto my shoulders, her legs wrapped about my waist, her wet panties rubbing against my bare cock.

And she’s laughing so hard she may be crying.

“Welcome home, my lady,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster.

Which is not very much.

And I rather don’t care.

Because there is nothing in the world as good for a man’s soul as listening to the love of his life laugh, nor anything that can come close to touching the feeling of her smiling lips against mine as she whispers, “I hope you have a house, because I have a feeling we’re going to get kicked out.”

“We’re merely adding character,” I reply.

“Just when I think you can’t get any hotter, you go and say something perfect like that.” She wiggles her hips. “Wanna try to squash that ugly heart loveseat next?”

I glance at the furniture in question as she licks my neck.

She’s quite right.

It would not hold up well.

Nor would the cribbage table.

I cradle her arse cheeks as I stride across the room to the bookshelf. I tilt the fourth book on the second shelf, and the entire wall creaks open.

She gasps. “Oh my Thor,” she whispers. “Is that a secret passage?”

“No palace should be complete without one.”

“You really do keep getting hotter by the minute.”

I close us in, light the passage with the flashlight on my phone, strip her out of her lacy briefs, and lift her against the wall.

“Is this wall going to cave in?” she asks while I position myself at her entrance.

“Would you like it to?”

Instead of answering, she tilts her hips, drawing me into her body, her hot sheath sliding and stretching around me. “Make love to me, Viktor.”

I hold her steady and thrust the rest of the way into her.

“Oh, god, yes. I missed you so much.”

“I’ve been quite miserable without you.”

“I’m so sorry, I—oh, yes, more, there.”

“No more sorry.” Heavens above, she’s so perfectly squeezing my cock with her slick pussy, I’m quite certain she was made just for me.

“I love you,” she gasps, and I come utterly undone.

My climax takes me by surprise, but she’s arching into me and crying out with her own release, so hard and fast and full that my heart is near to bursting. I grip her tight while the spasms throb through me, tugging so deep I cannot imagine ever being whole without being inside her. “I love you,” I echo, because I do.

Heart and soul.

With everything I am.

For all of eternity.