Chapter 16

Gwen

As I sit outside on my beautiful flower-riddled balcony with my friend Princess Aisling and a few ladies having tea, I smile despite how hard it is.

I’ve made an absolute fucking fool of myself. I’ve let myself believe that there was actually something between Edward and I. Everything has been a drunken mistake, for both of us, and I shouldn’t have let it go as far as I did.

How embarrassing…

Ugh, I don’t even want to think about it.

But of course, the ladies have a different idea. It’s all they can rightly talk about, and it’s been the topic of conversation for the last hour.

“And then,” one of them says, “When he came out and said it was all a joke, Lord, I was so relieved! Can you imagine?”

“Right?” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Me, marrying the king? Both of our betrothed fuming from the sidelines! Next thing you know, they’d be marrying each other. We could have had a joint wedding, I suppose.”

The girls laugh, and I laugh along with them. It hurts, but life hurts.

Whatever. I’ll get over it. I’ll move on.

I just wish the moving on I have to do doesn’t involve me sharing Marquis de Roach’s bed.

I’m all for it being a joke. Sure, I have feelings for him, and he’s hot as hell. But spending the rest of our lives together? It will never work.

“Yes, yes,” I croon, sipping my tea and putting on yet another fake smile, “we were all relieved when the ruse was up…believe me.”

“I can only imagine, Gwen,” one of the other girls chuckles. “That sort of thing only happens in those silly romance stories we all fawn over. But it’s not real life. Why did you do it anyways? I can’t imagine your fiancé was too pleased about it.”

I shake my head, sipping tea from my cup.

“No, he wasn’t. But it was funny—and de Roach has never had much in terms of sense of humor.”

“Not all that he’s lacking, if the rumors are true,” Princess Ash adds with a saucy grin.

“Speaking of rumors,” I whisper, leaning in. “I should mention…as far as King Edward is concerned, they’re all true.”

“You mean the royal scepter?” Princess Ash asks, a blush rising to her cheeks.

“Let’s just say that he gave those men from our romance novels a run for their money, if you catch my drift.”

The ladies at the table all giggle and chatter, and I try to do the same. But seriously, I’m a wreck.

I keep going back to what happened. What shouldn’t have happened happened anyway—and what I’ve given up by pulling back before we could have it for good.

The warmth I felt in my chest when he smiled at me, the flutters in my heart when he told me what I meant to him, the heat in my core when he whispered in my ear, and the absolute ecstasy I felt when he showed me just how fantastic being his queen would be.

It’s gone now—all of it.

But everything that it meant to me—all of that—still fucking remains.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that it still doesn’t feel like a joke to me, no matter what Edward says.

Unless we’re talking jokes of the cruel variety, I guess.

Let’s face it. I haven’t slept much since it happened, and I haven’t been able to get back to my regular routine. He’s all I can think about.

King Edward and his stupid, massive cock have apparently melted my fucking brain.

Not only is he drop-dead gorgeous and amazing with his fingers—and, oh my god, that tongue—but he made me feel special.

I’m not talking special like the regular I’m-your-boyfriend-and-I-appreciate-you kind of special. I’m talking about how he made me feel like an actual goddamn queen.

No…he made me feel like THE queen.

The way he spoke of his fondness of me, and how he’d love to spend the rest of his life making me happy—and making me cum, let’s not forget about that part—almost makes me believe that it could have worked.

I shake myself from my thoughts and internally scold myself for thinking such things, sighing as I observe the other ladies, still chatting amongst themselves.

Sure, he’s handsome, and he’s an excellent lover, but there’s more to marriage than that. There’s commitment, security, supporting each other, and of course, love.

Not that I’ll find any of that with de Roach either, of course…but at least it’s what my family wants.

I look down at my teacup, swirling the liquid around and watching it dance against the porcelain.

I’ve been thinking about Edward constantly, and I keep wishing that I’m marrying him instead of my fiancé—that much is true.

Security? He’s the king of an entire fucking country. Can’t get much more secure than that.

Commitment? He’s willing to marry me only a few minutes after getting his mouth on my cunt. King Edward is by no means a commitment-phobe.

Support? Well, if he can support me with my legs wrapped around his waist, I’m sure he could support me however else I need too.

But love?

Yes, I’m infatuated with him, but I’m not in love with him.

When you’re in love, your heart skips a beat when they talk to you or even when they look at you. You don’t want anyone else but them, and the thought of their body on yours sends shivers down your spine. You can’t stop daydreaming about them, and you can’t imagine the rest of your life without them by your side…

Oh, fuck.

As much as I try to reason with myself, I have to face the most obvious fact: I’m in love with Edward.

How the hell am I supposed to deal with this? I can’t make this work, and if I want to make things work with my fiancé, I need to forget Edward. He doesn’t love me, and he never will, not the way I want him to anyways.

I hear the ladies gasp, and I pull myself back to reality, looking up to see what the commotion is all about.

As if he’s waiting for me to come to the conclusion in my thoughts that I do in fact love him, Edward shows up on my balcony out of the blue, throwing one leg over the rails as he climbs over the edge.

He has climbed all the way up my fucking balcony without a sweat.

I blink a few times, thinking that my mind is playing tricks on me, but no, he’s really standing there. The girls at the table with me are all wide-eyed and silent, waiting for one of us to say something.

“Gwen—”

“Edward—” I begin at the same time.

We stand in silence for a moment, both of us waiting for the other to finish.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“Door’s right over there,” I remind him, tilting my head to the perfectly good oaken doors that he’s apparently chosen to ignore.

Edward smirks. “I prefer to think of myself as somewhat outside the box where protocol and pretty women are concerned, I’m afraid.”

He looks back at me and nods, taking a step forward but stopping when he glances at the women sitting around the table with me, not sure how to proceed with an audience.

As if I need any more convincing…

“Ladies,” I say shakily as I stand, “please excuse us. I think I’ll need to speak to the king…alone.”

They all stand from their seats and scamper off, whispering and hissing amongst themselves—all but Princess Ash, who gives me a tiny thumbs up before slipping out after them.

Great, as if I need more gossip about me.

Edward walks towards me, hands outstretched for me to place mine into his, which I do.

Before I can speak, he hushes me with a finger to my lips, and I look up at him as he speaks, his voice smooth like a sweet summer wine.

“Gwen, look. I messed up. This is my fault.”

I open my mouth to say something, but once again, he presses his finger to my lips and shakes his head, gazing into my eyes with need and want.

“Please, Gwen, let me make this right. I should have never gone about things the way I did, and…” He trails off, looking to the side before glancing back at me. “Fuck it.”

Before I know it, his lips are crashing into mine as he catches me off guard with his kiss, and I gasp.

There’s a hunger to his kiss, a primal need, which I haven’t even had so much of a glimpse at with my fiancé, and it isn’t fair.

I give up my futile attempt at resistance and kiss him back, sighing into his mouth as his tongue parts my lips.

Logic and reason surrender as lust and want take over my body, my hands reaching up and grasping his face, not wanting to let him go.

I gasp as he scoops me up and swings me around, still kissing me, and plops me down onto the table I was just sharing tea at.

He parts my legs with his thigh and leans in, pressing himself against me, and groans into our kiss. I can practically feel the waves of lust rolling off him.

His hand slides up into my hair and tugs gently, enough to tilt my head back so he can drag his teeth along my jaw line, sucking at my pulse point before stopping at my neck.

The contract between his hard teeth and soft lips make me feel dizzy, and I gasp, pulling him closer to me as I run my fingers through his hair.

I feel his hands travel down to my waist as he lifts up my dress, growling as I help him move the heavy fabric out of the way.

I’m already soaking wet. The thoughts of him I had during tea, combined with his touches when he got here, have me a sopping mess.

He grabs my hips and pulls me forward, and I gasp as I hear the crash of porcelain.

In our haste, we’ve knocked over a few of the teacups from the table, sending them crashing down onto the hard floor of the balcony.

He glances at me and shrugs, giving me an apologetic smirk as he slides his hand up my dress and into my panties, groaning when his fingers feel how wet I am.

“Fuck, Gwen,” he groans into my ear, “you’re so wet for me already.”

My brain is a fog of lust, and I whine back at him, unable to form words as I grind myself into his hand, his palm hitting me at just the right spot.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and I feel his free hand roam to the small of my back, holding me close to him as he leans in and whispers filthy nothings into my ear, urging me to climax.

I can feel my orgasm building, and as much as I try to fight it and prolong this moment, it comes crashing down over me like a tidal wave in a storm at sea.

I pull myself into him and moan and mewl into his neck through gritted teeth, rocking against his hand, riding out my orgasm on the table.

There’s spilled tea everywhere, broken cups, and I’m a breathless, shaky mess. I look up at him longingly, silently begging him not to leave me here like this.

“Oh, no, princess,” he croons, sliding his hand from my panties up to his mouth, sucking his fingers of my arousal. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He captures my lips in a hungry kiss, and I taste myself on his tongue, groaning as I feel him slide his fingers into me once more.

And this time, I don’t think it’s going to stop there.

And this time, I’m fucking serious—I don’t want it to.