Princess Arabelle

Hutton sees right through me.

He sees me.

No one else does.

I’ve put on a mask each morning so they see who they want me to be.

Tricks and games don’t work on him. Not that I’m trying to play any, but he refuses to see me for anyone other than Ally. That mask falls the moment his warm browns find me, melting my cold heart.

He doesn’t understand I can’t be Ally, not even for him. She’s not who I am anymore, no matter how good it feels to be free from the shackles wrapped around me as Arabelle.

I still feel like crap after he made me feel so good. I want to return the favor, not just for him but for me. I like pleasing him. I like the way he looks at me like I’m a good girl when I’m doing bad things.

The beat of my heart picks up while I work my way up the dark back staircase to the second floor. Cutting down the staff wing, no one will hear me. These are full front doors to apartments, not bedrooms. I round the corner and look across the long hall and then slide through the shadows of the mural of a family picnicking in a park. It’s one of my favorites, but I don’t stop to admire the details.

Instead, I find myself standing in front of the room I told him was the one where I spent many nights sleeping, mornings watching the sunrise, and hours hiding when I was supposed to be in finishing lessons. It’s the reason I still can’t seem to balance a crown on my head.

Should I knock?

He was mad. “You have the cold heart and iron fist part down pat.” I can’t blame him for lashing out. If it doesn’t all make sense to me, how would it make sense to him?

Should I go in?

We can talk.

Unsure what to do, I pause to decide if I should go in, but the wood-paneled door swings open, and I’m pulled inside, pinned to the wall, and kissed as if he’ll never have the chance again. I understand the feeling, the desperation connecting us.

My lip is tugged and released when he pulls back in angry debate. His head lowers to mine until our temples align. “Why do you torture me?” His lips are quick to my ear. “I have you, and then I don’t. I taste you, and then I’m left wanting more. It’s never enough, and then you tell me we can’t be together like I can walk away unscathed. Like I can somehow forget that this fire between us hasn’t burned my soul to ashes already.”

He’s right. “So right,” I whisper into the agony that I’ve caused. “We’re not over as long as we hold on to each other.” His pain becomes my own. His passion gives me strength. I knew the moment I saw him again, I couldn’t walk away forever. But what do I do? How do I keep him?

My arms go around his neck as his body moves against me. The light switch stabs into my back, the pain worth this pleasure. Our teeth clash as he takes over my mouth, making me forget the apologies and niceties I owed him. Like every other time we’re together, everything becomes about lust and desire, pleasure and release.

I tug the hem of his shirt up until his mouth releases mine, and he pulls it off along with mine. The lace covering my breasts is pulled down roughly, scraping against my nipples and sending a shiver up my spine. His lips are on me, sucking the skin of one breast as his fingers tease the nipple of the other, eliciting a moan that shoots straight up from my pelvis.

“I want you so much, so much . . .” My tone is only a ghost of my voice, want taking over as I hold his head, messing his hair. He made me feel so good in the SUV, even if we were constrained by the situation.

Paybacks are deliciously devilish.

Pushing him by the shoulders, I put distance between us. We pant, breathless as the intensity of lust links us through eye contact. I’ve never seen him look more carnal or animalistic as he begins to pace while watching me, ready to devour me, wanting me more than he knows how to feel, more than he knows how to control.

I feel the same. I’m just better at hiding it. Until I can’t any longer. Moving to him, I press my hands flat against him, tracing my nails through the hair covering his chest. When he leans into me, I kiss him once on his chest over his heart and again on the other side. I say, “Stay right here.”

“Okay.”

As I kneel before him wearing my wedge heels and skirt, my breasts suspended over the cups of my bra, he pushes my hair away from my face. Our eyes meet as I work his belt and pants open.

Shoes come off.

Pants.

Underwear.

When he stands in front of me naked, I swallow from the sight of his erection. Built from kings, Hutton Everest has always lived up to his last name and exceeds it when it comes to his size. I start like he does, with no buildup or foreplay. I take him deep into my mouth and listen to the moans he can’t hold in. Grabbing his ass, I pick up speed. Hearing his melody again makes my center tighten, my pussy wet, and causes me to tighten my lips around him. I can still picture how my red lipstick stained him, claimed him as mine, the last time I was on my knees to pleasure him.

His hand tightens around my hair, my body reacting—wet, hard, need—taking over. I love when he takes control. When he takes.

I love giving to him—me, my body, my power—and watching him fall apart from greed. Tonight is no different. It doesn’t take long before his erection pulses, and I swallow every last drop he gives me.

I’ve needed this release—his is mine, and I take it happily. I’ve never felt so good being bad, so myself than when I’m with him. Freed from propriety’s restraints, I bask in the euphoria.

He pulls my hair, and I suck in a deep breath while running my gaze languidly up his body until our eyes meet again. “My dirty little princess. Tell me you’ve only done that for me.”

“Only you.”

Taking me by the elbows, he lifts me to my feet. He pulls the cups of my bra up until the lace is covering me again and then caresses my cheek. Tilting closer, our lips almost touch, but he stops and says, “Such a good girl.” His hand slides under my skirt to discover how wet I am for him. “You get off on satisfying me, don’t you?”

“So much.”

“Open your mouth.” Bringing his fingers up, he holds them in front of me. “Taste how much you love pleasing me.” He’s about to touch my tongue but pulls back and licks me off him slowly, his gaze glued to mine. “I don’t share you with anyone, not even you. You taste too good not to hoard all to myself.”

Then he kisses me, and I realize he will share but on his terms. Licking my lips when ours part, he asks, “Shall we fuck?” My phone buzzes. “Ignore it,” he says.

“No one texts me at midnight. It might be an emergency.”

“Okay.”

I’m released, a whoosh of cold air coming between us as he goes silently into the bathroom. I grab the phone from my back pocket and see a text from my sister: Emergency.

Me: What’s wrong?

Marielle: Where are you?

I lie: I was hungry. I came back to the kitchen.

Marielle: I need to talk.

Me: Right now? What’s wrong?

Marielle: Not in text.

I glance at the bathroom door, and the light slipping out from under it. God, I want him.

But my sister and I have become close since I’ve returned. Closer than we ever were before. I can’t let her down now. I also can’t tell her what I’ve been doing with Hutton.

Me: Okay. I’ll come to your room.

Marielle: I’m in your room. I’ll wait. Please hurry.

Me: Be there in five.

Tucking my phone into my back pocket, I walk to the closed door. “Hutton?” I whisper.

The light is turned off, and the door opens. “We’re going to have to take advantage of that counter and mirror and that huge shower.” A happy glint enters his eyes along with a smirk sliding into place as he takes me by the hips. “And the tub.”

I rub his shoulders. “We will. I promise, but my sister needs me.”

Concern colors his expression. “Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know, but she’s in my room.”

“Ah. And your room is currently empty because you’re in mine.” He kisses my cheek. “I have an idea. How about we find a room that’s ours?”

He’s not just handsome. He’s cute and really sweet to me when he’s not sexually dominating me. We’re a complicated pair, to say the least. “I’d love that, but there’s just a little matter of the monarchy and that I’m not supposed to be with you at all.”

“Screw the kingdom.”

Poking his side, I say, “I think that’s why Marie Antoinette got beheaded.”

He chuckles but knows it’s time for me to go and steps around me. Totally nude. Strapping. Confident. Sexy. Muscular. I’ve never known or seen a more handsome man than Hutton. And he owns each of the six feet four inches of his large build. Just as he owns me—heart and soul—although, for his sake, that’s something he can never know.

Picking my shirt up from the floor, he comes to me and slips it carefully over my arms and head, giving it a little tug so it hangs in place. It doesn’t matter how rough we are sexually or how our roles seesaw between submission and domination, when it’s just the two of us, we’re always Hutton and Ally. That’s when my heart is happiest, because it knows what true love is.

But then his thoughtfulness and the way he makes sure I look okay break my heart all over again. Will the man I marry do the same for me? Take care of me with such gentleness with that four-letter word resting easy in his eyes like it does in Hutton’s?

Duke Dick doesn’t love me.

He loves the power marriage to me offers.

Hutton asks, “Can you come back tonight?”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be, but if there’s a chance to come for an hour or more, I’ll be here. I promise.”

I’m kissed sweetly on the lips. “Do what you need to do, Ally. You know where to find me. Now go before your sister worries.”

Walking me to the door, he opens it. I almost tell him I had fun, but I think we know we’re well past that. “Wait,” he says, reaching for me. “You have a little makeup smeared under your eyes.” With the skill of a surgeon, he uses the pads of his thumbs to carefully wipe the makeup away. “All good. Pretty as ever.”

He doesn’t realize he’s making everything so much harder for me. Why can’t he be an asshole I can fuck and forget? Why can’t he be like the other guys I dated and make it easy not to love every single thing about him?

Saliva thickens in my throat, stopping me from telling him how I really feel, but the tears don’t want to stay in the harbor of my eyes. So I look down and say, “Good night,” and then walk away.

“Good night, Princess.” This time, when he uses my title with the respect I demanded of him earlier, I’d rather hear Ally.