“YOUR HIGHNESS.” HIS STRAIGHT LIPS do not sit well. Not well at all. I fold on the inside, grabbing at air, unable to fathom why he looks so annoyed, and more significantly, why I am bothered by it.
“Ma’am?” Damon questions, looking at me.
“I will be fine, thank you, Damon.” I give him a forced smile that most definitely does not have him fooled. He leaves me, nevertheless, closing the French doors behind him and taking up position inside.
“Can I help you?” I ask, trying to convince my mind to level out. That is not going to happen while I’m staring at him, only two feet away, so I turn on my bare feet and take the steps to the granite pathway that weaves through the botanical gardens.
“It’s a cold night,” Josh muses, tailing me.
“Then perhaps you should go back inside. Or better still, go home.”
“Anyone would think you’re trying to get rid of me.”
“I am.” I take a right when the path forks, wandering slowly as I study the white gravel in the beds that edge the pathway. The small stones sparkle with the help of tiny spotlights embedded between the plants, illuminating the neatly trimmed display. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“It’d be rude to decline an invitation from a prince.”
“It is rude to spank a princess, but that didn’t hold you back, did it, Mr. Jameson?”
“The princess was begging for it. Flirting. Goading.” He takes a deep breath and sighs dramatically. “But it would seem she couldn’t handle me.”
I slow to a stop and scowl at the open space before me. “I wasn’t begging for it.” I lie. “And I most definitely could handle you.”
Josh’s front meets my back, his mouth at my ear. Sparks ignite the simmering flames within me, my eyes closing, my breathing becoming short, my body refusing to break the contact. “Your Highness, do you feel like you’ve met your match?”
Yes. Yes, I do, and it is freaking me the hell out. Josh Jameson strips me of my trusty sass with one smoldering look. “You realize they will chase you out of the country if they get a sniff of your interest in me.” It has happened before when my father has found out about some of the men who I’ve kept company with, and it will happen again and again until I relent to my father’s demands and marry Haydon Sampson.
“Then I’ll work hard to make sure they get no sniff.”
“The King has a way of finding out things.”
“I don’t think you’re scared of the King, Adeline.” His tongue meets my ear and licks slowly up the shell, spiking wild activity in every nerve I possess. “I think you’re scared of me.”
My body softens, leaning back into him. “I’m not scared of you.”
“Liar,” he whispers. I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the cold air. “Want to let me prove your powers of resistance are worthless?”
“You can’t.”
“You know I will.” His arm slips around my waist and hauls me back into him, the side of his face against mine. “Let’s have some fun, Adeline.”
My mind spins for a moment. But only for a moment. I turn in his arms without thought or question, and lift my eyes to his. “That is all it will be.” Or can be. He will simply be a pawn in my mission to defy all the rules. I won’t get attached, because I can’t get attached. I don’t want to get attached. “Fun.”
His lips meet mine softly, carefully, and we fall into a delicate kiss, a kiss that rebels against my intention. “Game on.” And with a smack of my recovering arse, I am reminded that Josh Jameson’s kind of fun may leave its mark on my skin. I can live with that. Just as long as I don’t let him leave his mark anywhere else. Like on my heart. I almost laugh at the thought. A stupid thought.
A light cough interrupts us, and I glance to my left to find Damon a few feet away. “Apologies, ma’am, but you have a visitor.”
“Who?” I ask, not liking Damon’s uneasy disposition. It’s a disposition I’ve grown to recognize acutely. Someone is here who I don’t want to see.
Damon’s eyes flick to Josh momentarily. “Mr. Sampson, ma’am.”
“Haydon?”
“Oh,” Josh breathes, a sarcastic edge apparent as he releases me. “This should be amusing.”
I take his remark as a clear indicator that he is up to speed on all things Haydon Sampson. “How so?”
Josh takes my hand and lifts, pointing at my birthday present from Haydon. “I know you appreciated my birthday gift a lot more.”
I raise my brows, interested. “Oh, really?”
“Really.” Turning me toward Damon, he swats my bottom to send me on my way. “Get rid of him.”
“I can’t just—”
His palm covers my mouth from behind, and I stare at Damon, eyes wide, while Josh pushes his mouth to my cheek. “Would you rather I did?” I shake my head. “The party’s over. His party, anyway. Ours, Your Highness, is just beginning.” Releasing me, I virtually stagger toward an interested Damon, caught in a state of awe and trepidation.
“Ma’am.” Damon nods as I pass him.
“Do not say a word.” I exhale, breaching the entrance into the palace.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Damon picks up pace beside me. “Although it’s quite a bemusing sight, seeing you do what you’re told for once.”
I glare at him, not in the least bit amused. “I am not . . .” I trail off when Damon’s eyebrows pinch, challenging me to try and talk my way out of it. I sigh, relenting. “Where is Haydon?”
“In the foyer, ma’am. I thought it best to keep him away from the . . . action.” He nods in the direction of the dining room, where I expect things are even messier now than when I escaped.
“Thank you, Damon.” Goodness, Haydon would keel over with shock if he saw what was happening in there, or in the garden. “What is he doing here, anyway?”
“A bedtime kiss?” Damon quips.
“Funny ha ha.”
“With all due respect, ma’am.” He takes my arm and pulls me to a stop, just before we round the corner to the foyer. He looks back toward the garden.
“I know what I’m doing,” I say before he can lecture me.
Damon laughs lightly. “Do you?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Why?”
His hand flexes on my arm. “You’re still shaking. A man has never made you shake before.”
“It’s cold,” I say automatically, claiming back my arm.
“You’ve also never done what a man has told you before. And I’ve never seen this sparkle in your eyes, either. I can’t figure out if it’s mischief, or something else. Something more.”
I blink, as if I can dull down this so-called sparkle. I’m struck rather dumb, surprised by Damon’s observations, and especially surprised he has voiced them to me. I scamper through many replies, many counters to put his mind at rest. And maybe mine, too. But though my words of reassurance gather and form satisfactory sentences in my mind, none of them are prepared to be spoken. “Is that all?” I mutter, looking away.
“That’s all, ma’am.” Damon links his hands behind his back and steps away, giving me space. “Here if you need me.”
“Thank you.” I find Haydon pacing the foyer when I make it there. “Whatever are you doing here, Haydon?”
He breathes out and comes to me, and I brace myself for his kiss. But he stops before he gets his hands on me, looking me up and down. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“You look . . . off.” At that moment, a huge crash comes from the dining room, followed by loud cheers. Haydon glances across the lobby. “What was that?”
“Eddie is entertaining a few friends. I was just going to bed.”
“Oh, I see.” Haydon mumbles, as more bangs and crashes ring out. I wince with each and every one of them. “Sounds . . . rowdy.”
“It is, which is why I am retiring to my room.” Take the hint! “Why are you here, Haydon?”
“Dinner,” he says, his attention constantly flicking between the dining room doors and me. “I wanted to take you to dinner tomorrow evening. An extended birthday treat, if you will.”
I study him for a few moments, his disposition twitchy, his attention split. He could have called and asked me to dinner. Is he checking up on me? “You have already treated me enough.” I am not going to dinner with Haydon Sampson. It will potentially give the press pictures and cause to speculate. My father and his minions will delight in it all too much. They might even be the ones to tip off the paps.
“Is that your way of saying no?”
“It is my way of saying you have already treated me enough,” I clarify. “Besides, Damon is off tomorrow evening, and I have resided myself to a much-needed evening beside the fire.”
“Then another day, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” I agree easily, if only to move things along. To get him out of here before any drunk men fall out of the dining room and Haydon snitches to the King, or, worse, Josh Jameson makes an—
“There you are.” Josh’s voice has my shoulders shooting up to my earlobes on a flinch of dread. I watch, stunned into stillness, as Haydon turns to seek out the source of the rough accent. Oh, goodness me. Josh strides toward us, confident, his blue eyes focused solely on me, as if Haydon is not here, as if he isn’t looking at Josh in worried interest. “I’ve been looking for you.” Josh’s arm lands around my bare shoulders, his lips on my cheek.
Well . . . damn.
I soak up his attention, helpless, as he makes a banquet of my flaming face. The bloody rogue. Damon coughs, and I shoot my gaze to him, finding him trying very hard to conceal an amused smirk. I narrow my eyes on my head of security and shrug off Josh.
“Josh Jameson,” Haydon says, clearly taken aback by Josh’s brash behavior.
“And you are?” Josh, full of feigned politeness, offers his hand to Haydon, who doesn’t entertain his invitation to make his acquaintance.
Instead, he just looks at Josh’s extended offering before turning questioning eyes my way. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
“I don’t have company.” I move away from Jameson, feeling irritation growing. “Mr. Jameson is Eddie’s guest.” That is technically true. “Like I said, I was just retiring to my suite.” I move toward the stairs, eager to remove myself from the thick atmosphere. “Good evening, gentlemen.” I take the steps fast, hearing a few mutters from Haydon before the doors of Kellington close behind him.
When I reach the top of the grand staircase, I turn to find Josh standing at the bottom, Damon a few steps behind him. “That was not necessary,” I grate, my jaw tight with frustration. His Tarzan move may have landed me in very hot water with the King. I don’t need any more lectures on appropriateness, and who to be appropriate with.
“Did you want him to stay?” Josh asks seriously.
“No, but that is not the point.”
“Would you like me to stay?”
I withdraw, my mouth snapping shut. I don’t know, is the truth. “Yes.” The answer comes from nowhere, something taking over my questioning mind, and I reach for my lips as if I have said something sinful. Josh smiles, victorious, and turns to Damon, offering his hand. “I’ve got it from here, buddy.”
Buddy? I’m stunned further when Damon accepts Josh’s hand and shakes on a nod. “Watch her, Mr. Jameson. Like your life depends on it.”
“Because it does?” Josh asks, smiling.
Damon returns his smile. “I don’t want to hurt you. I love your movies.”
My mouth falls open and Josh laughs. “Understood.”
Damon gives me his customary nod, straight-faced and sharp, before moving away, leaving me alone with Josh bloody Jameson.
“Let the games begin,” he muses, slowly pivoting back toward me. I don’t want to, but I start fidgeting with anticipation, my blood alight with thrilling forbiddance.
“Maybe I don’t want to play.”
“You don’t get to play.” Josh tells me with an authority I wouldn’t dream of challenging. It’s a revelation, one that I am mad at myself for liking entirely too much. “You, Your Highness, will obey.” He stalks up the carpeted steps slowly, making sure I have ample time to try to regulate my ragged, shallow breaths. Ample time that is useless to me. All the time in the world wouldn’t help. I’m virtually panting by the time he is one step below me, his face perfectly level with mine. Brushing his palm across the material of my T-shirt, onto my stomach, and over my hip toward my bum, he tilts his head, as if thoughtful. “I’m the one who gets to play.” Slap! I jerk forward, my palms shooting to his torso to support me. The feel of solid, sculpted muscle beneath registers quickly, and my palms start moving across his delectable chest. “I get to play with you. With this.” His gaze plummets down my body. “And I’m quite possessive of my play things.”
Oh, bloody hell. “I’m a play thing?” I should feel repulsed. I don’t. I’m simply turned on.
“You are, and I have a feeling you might become my favorite toy.” He bends and catches me behind the thighs, lifting me over his shoulder.
I pull in air quickly, nearly choking on it. “What on earth are you doing? Put me down.” A man has never dared to throw me over his shoulder in such a caveman way.
“No. Which way?”
“Left at the end of the corridor,” I answer without so much as a millisecond’s hesitation, quickly accepting that I’m desperate to be his play thing. His favorite toy, because I know without question I have found mine. I get a lick of pleasure bolt through me. It’s unnerving. But it is far more exhilarating than that. This scandalous bastard deserves at least some of my time, if only because he has achieved what no other man has ever achieved before. He has made me want. Really want. He has made me desire something because I really want it for myself, not to be disobedient and defy the rules. It both surprises me and scares me.
He carries me like I weigh nothing. “Here?” he asks, approaching the double doors that lead into my suite.
“There.” I mentally hurry him along.
He lets us in, makes a quick scan around, and moves straight across the thick, luxurious cream carpet to the bedroom on the far side. “Nice pad,” he quips, throwing me onto the four-poster bed.
I land with a gentle thud. “You must be used to nice pads.” I lie still, burning his clothes off with my eyes.
“I’m used to luxury, not palaces.”
“Comes with the job,” I murmur, and he smiles, a smile that could blow my knickers off. And then he walks away, casually strolling around my room, looking at photos, gliding his finger across the wood of my dresser, picking up and toying with pieces of jewelry. What is he doing?
“Has a man ever been in here?” he asks, gently setting down a sixteenth century broach that has been passed down to me through my mother’s Spanish royal heritage.
It’s only now I realize I haven’t ever invited a man into my private quarters. I haven’t done this before. Mind you, Josh Jameson didn’t exactly ask to come in. “No.”
He sits on the edge of the antique dresser, folding his arms over his chest. “So I’m the first?”
“And the last,” I retort softly, casting my eyes around my space that’s packed with historical pieces of art, treasures, and family heirlooms. My suite is so very old-fashioned and extravagant for a thirty-year-old single woman, but again, it comes with the job.
“I like the sound of that,” Josh says, kicking one ankle over the other, relaxing back, getting himself comfortable.
I realize my error quickly. “I didn’t mean—”
“Are you gonna rain on my parade?”
“Are you going to fuck me?” I ask, losing both my patience and will to remain on the bed. Lord, if I have to have a man in my suite, he could at least hurry himself along and make it worth my while.
“Come get me.” He remains where he is. A ruggedly handsome, suave, if cocky, Oscar-winning Hollywood actor . . . on one of the Princess of England’s historical dressers.
Pushing myself to the edge of the bed, I slowly get to my feet and take one step forward. I’m not too shy to take what I want. And I want him more than I’ll ever openly admit. I wrestle with my mind momentarily, wondering why. The men I bed are off limits, apparently. But you don’t get any more off limits than Josh Jameson. Is that why he thrills me? The forbidden, as it were. Yes, that must be it. Because I refuse to let myself believe it is anything else. I take another step, and ano—
“Stop where you are.”
I’m stunned to a halt, not only by his sharp order, but by his palm held up.
“Take off your clothes, Your Highness.”
I balk mildly. “You want me to strip?”
“You’re bright, aren’t you?”
I scowl at him as I pull my T-shirt over my head, toss it aside, and unzip the fly of my jeans. I wriggle them down my legs before stepping out and kicking them away. I take the greatest pleasure from his pupils dilating and his nostrils flaring.
“Bra and panties.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t wear panties.” I leave my underwear exactly where it is, relishing in his frown. “I’m British. I wear knickers.”
His smile is so bloody beautiful. “Please, ma’am, will you remove your knickers?”
“I will.” I smile sweetly and push them down my thighs slowly, watching his lazy gaze follow them to the floor.
“That’s a line I never imagined I’d say,” he muses quietly, moving his stare to the juncture of my thighs, before continuing to my breasts. “The bra.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir? You learn fast.”
“I’ll call you sir, and you can call me Your Highness?” I free myself of my bra and drop it to the floor. “Anyone would think you are feeling inferior. Sir.”
“On the contrary, Your Highness, I am feeling very fuckin’ powerful right now. Get on your knees.”
I smile and slowly lower to my knees, no question, no argument. Nothing. The weightless feeling is new and thrilling, and most of all, it feels cathartic.
“All fours.”
“Are you going to spank my arse again?” I rest some weight on my palms and look up at him.
“Crawl to me.”
My coolness wavers for a split second, but hopefully not long enough for him to notice. He is simply trying to get a rise out of me. He wants the princess to object, to tell him she is better than crawling to a man on demand. Maybe she is. Yet she has an overwhelming craving to give Josh Jameson exactly what he wants, and he wants the princess to crawl to him. So I do. Slowly. Relishing in the sight of something growing beyond the fly of his jeans, and in the satisfaction on his face.
“Does this turn you on, sir?” I purr, steadily placing one palm in front of the other, leisurely making my way to him.
“You have no fuckin’ idea.” He crouches as I approach and takes my chin, holding me in place firmly as he pushes his lips to mine. “You are one sexy fuckin’ woman, Adeline Lockhart.”
I smile around his lips, feeling a sense of accomplishment. “I was beginning to think you were immune to my spell.”
He laughs a little, breaking the contact of our mouths, and he stares so deeply into my eyes, I’m sure he sees right through my false bravado. “I wish I was immune to your spell, ’cause I have a feeling you’re gonna curse me for life, woman.” One more hard kiss before he grabs me and hauls me up, directing my thighs around his waist. I grip him tightly and smash my mouth to his, feeling power surge into me. I’ve got him. Hook, line, and sinker, I’ve got him.
But then he tosses me on my bed, and before I can gather my bearings, he’s flipped me onto my front and trapped me on the mattress with his hard physique. “Remember this?” he asks, dropping something to the pillow beside my head. The pink handkerchief he gagged me with yesterday is in my line of sight, laughing at me.
“Fuck,” I exhale, feeling Josh’s hands move to my wrists and take a secure hold.
“Say that again.” He bites my earlobe, and I buck beneath him. “Say it.”
“Fuck,” I yell.
He stuffs the handkerchief into my mouth and flips me over, getting his face up close to mine. “Pink hanky has a friend.” Josh pulls his belt from his jeans and wraps it around his fist. “I’m thinking helpless will suit you well.”
I shake my head and Josh nods his, taking the black leather to my wrists and expertly wrapping it around before using the buckle to secure the ends. I jiggle my arms out of instinct. He did that far too swiftly and coolly to be a first time. I am his toy for tonight and tonight only. He’s had plenty more before me, of course he has, and there will plenty more to come.
“Now,” he muses, skating his gleaming blues down my naked form. “What am I going to do with you?” Reaching for my nipple, he tweaks it viciously, making me jerk under his harsh touch on a muffled yelp. He cocks his head, enjoying the fact that I am at his mercy. And, Lord, give me strength, so am I. My body is singing with need, every inch of my skin flaming under the power of his stare. “I think I’ll fuck you.” He walks his fingers across my stomach, down to the narrow strip of hair marking my entrance. I stiffen, working to breathe through my nose as best I can. “With my fingers first.” Brushing over my pulsing lips, he toys with me teasingly, and I whimper my despair, closing my eyes in search of some strength to carry me through. “And then with my cock.”
I groan, tossing my head from side to side as he plunges a finger inside of me. Everything in me constricts, gripping him harshly. I am so turned on. More turned on than I have ever been, my heart thumping with want, my body blazing with need. I have never felt so utterly consumed by a man, and I am certain it is doing me no favors in the long-term. Though the long-term is hard to think about in this moment, when I am being lavished and worshipped by this American god.
My useless wrists wriggle within the leather bounds, burning my flesh, the licks of pain delicious on my skin. Suddenly, my jaw is grabbed, and my eyes fly open, finding his face close as he slowly, so painfully slowly, pulls his finger free from inside me. Staring at me with too much satisfaction, he re-enters me with force, pushing me up the bed. I cry out, the sound muffled. Oh God, my blood is on fire as it races through my veins with only one end point possible. I can’t scream, can’t grab him. Josh’s constant smirk tells me he likes that. I try to close my legs to stem the intense beat in my clit and get nowhere, his knee forcing them apart again, his eyebrow hitching in warning. “What is it, Your Highness?” he whispers, low and smooth, doing nothing to cool down the burn in my body. “Feeling helpless?” Releasing my jaw, he pulls free of my dripping channel and grabs both of my wrists, yanking them up to the bedframe. I moan, unsure if it’s in protest or excitement, when he unbuckles the belt and refastens it around one of the gold posts, leaving my arms restrained above my head. Oh, the irony. A royal princess sleeps in this bed, the most famous princess in the world.
And now she is tied to it.
Helpless.
But loving it.
Sitting up, Josh straddles my stomach, placing his palms over my aching, heavy breasts. I breathe in as he molds, squeezes, and pinches my nipples, before lowering his mouth and licking across one of the bullets, sending a sharp flash of pleasure straight down between my thighs. My eyes roll, my face trying to hide in the crook of my extended arm. Jesus, his tongue, his mouth . . . his potency. He makes a feast of me, dividing his attention between my boobs equally, playing and fondling, licking and biting. I am out of my mind with want, moaning with every flash of pain, every part of me vibrating. “That good?” he asks, sucking my flesh into his mouth and rolling his tongue. My groans are broken, and then I jolt upward when he sinks his teeth in, clamping down hard and pulling until my nipple pops free. Fuck! I curse like a sailor in my head but breathe through the stab of pain. His laughing eyes both anger and delight me. “Time for me to get naked,” he declares, taking the hem of his T-shirt. “You ready?” I don’t know. Am I ready? Josh pulls the black material over his head, and the sight of his cut torso blurs my vision, every perfect bit of it calling for me to caress it, kiss it, lick it.
No. No, I definitely am not ready. He stands on the bed, his legs straddling my hips, and pops the button of his fly. I swallow on a hard gulp, my eyes crossing. I get a glimpse of some hair, short and neatly trimmed. No underwear? More swallows. Then he drags his jeans down, revealing inch after perfect inch of his assets. I sigh, relaxing a little, totally overcome by his long, smooth hardness. Every woman on the planet has seen this man’s body, but how many have seen his impressive manhood? Kicking his jeans off, he takes his position, straddling my waist again, and takes a firm, possessive hold of his dick at the root. My mouth is watering behind the stupid pink hanky gagging me, my hands struggling in the restraints of his belt. And when he starts to massage himself, breathing in deeply, I lose my mind completely, no longer in awe of him, but hating him for being so bloody cruel. I close my eyes, refusing to indulge in the sight.
“Open your eyes, Princess,” he orders through low pants. I shake my head, pleading silently for him to stop with the torture. “Open.” A nipple is squished savagely, and I buck hopelessly, barely moving him an inch, his solid body restraining me as effectively as his belt. My eyes spring open, wide and wild, falling straight to his fist pumping his erection. I whimper pathetically, but I can’t move my gaze, watching as beads of his pleasure gather at the tip and his fist increases in pace. His stomach, solid and chiseled, tenses and relaxes, causing a ripple effect up his torso. This is hell and heaven. His spare hand lands on my breast as he works himself, squeezing, his jaw tightening. He’s on his way to climax, his body rolling, his gaze glazed. I couldn’t close my eyes if I wanted to, the sight of him pleasuring himself now holding me rapt. His head drops back, his throat pulled taut, and he starts to mumble a jumble of incoherent words to the ceiling. Then on a yell, he moves forward on his knees, releasing his cock, and rests it between my boobs, clamping it between them by pushing my swollen mounds of flesh together. He starts to thrust his hips, both of us looking down at his cock sliding back and forth between by breasts. His quiet curse signifies his ending, followed by the flow of white liquid that shoots from the tip of his pulsing dick, spurting up my neck, some landing on my chin and around my mouth. My tongue fights behind the cloth in my mouth, desperate to taste him. But it’s trapped, so I’m forced to settle for the vision of Josh Jameson, the object of millions of women’s fantasies, sweating and heaving his way through his release as he straddles me. This is the best belated birthday present ever, despite a lack of release for me. This. This sight. This feeling.
“Wow,” he breathes, his cheeks blowing out. Releasing himself, he shuffles down a little and drops to his forearms, suspending himself above me, his face close to mine. His smile is otherworldly. Pulling the hanky from my mouth, he uses it to wipe me up before tossing it aside and resting his mouth on mine, not kissing or licking or biting. Just touching. “I feel honored.”
“Why?” I ask, thinking it is me who is the lucky one here, which is a claim I never thought I’d make, given the lack of my own orgasm.
“I just came all over the Princess of England. How many men can claim that?”
“None,” I answer truthfully, clearly delighting him. “Except you. That must please you.”
Beaming at me, he pushes his lips to mine. “It did, but not nearly as much as watching you come apart.”
“Are you finally going to fuck me?”
Josh laughs a little, like he’s privy to something that might shove my brashness clean away. “In time, Princess.” He reaches for my bedside table drawer.
“What are you doing?” I ask, a little panicked. “That drawer is private.”
He ignores me and pulls it opens, revealing the contents. “Well, what have we here?” He reaches in and pulls out my vibrator, and I close my eyes, not embarrassed, but more nervous. Especially when I hear the buzz kick in.
“That is mine,” I say as firmly as I can, with no hope that he will listen to me.
“How often do you pleasure yourself, Your Highness?” he asks, placing the tip on a nipple and swirling it slowly around. I groan, stretching out my body as best I can with him pinning me down. “Once a month? Once a week?” He trails it down to my tummy and drags it from side to side. “Once a day?”
“Josh, please.”
“What, Adeline? What do you want?” He scoots down my thighs, exposing my pussy, though my legs remain closed, and I am quietly grateful. Until he moves off me and spreads them. “Tell me.”
I pull at my bonds pointlessly. “Make me come.”
“With this?” He drops the buzzing silicone to the patch of hair framing me, and I choke on an inhale, fearing the condition I’ll be in if he moves south just a fraction. And the bastard knows it.
“Josh.” I level my wild eyes on his flawless face, pushing as much warning through the lust of my gaze as I can. He simply smiles and slides my vibrator between my legs, the pulsations catching my clit. I jolt like I could have had a million volts of electricity surge through me. “No.” Sweat instantly beads on my forehead and trickles down my temples. He removes the device and chuckles.
“What’s it worth?” he asks seriously. “If I bury my cock inside you and fuck you to orgasm, what will I get in return?”
Just the thought of his cock gracing my pussy tips me over the edge. “Anything,” I say desperately. Any caution I should have has been obliterated by my desperation. “Anything you want.”
“I want you.” Another teasing touch of the vibrating tip on my clit sends pleasure ripping through me, but just as quickly, he pulls it away, leaving me a panting, despairing mess.
“You have me,” I pant, yanking on my restraints to demonstrate.
“I mean again. And maybe again after that.”
I still, pleasure draining from me quickly, being replaced with caution. “What?”
He smiles a small smile. “You’re flighty.”
“Where have you heard that?” I ask, unreasonably indignant. I’m flighty because there’s no point getting attached.
He shrugs. “Rumors.”
“I’ve told you, rumors are rumors.”
“And I’m quickly figuring out that all rumors I’ve heard about Princess Adeline of England are true.”
“And your point is what?”
“I don’t have a point.”
“Then what is the bloody point?” I’m getting wound up, but not in a sexual way. I’m agitated. So what if I am flighty? What does it matter to Josh Jameson? I’m not necessarily flighty through choice. The King catches wind of me seeing someone and takes the necessary steps to halt it going further, whether it be blackmail or something else. I never ask, because I never want to see them again, anyway. I don’t get attached. And there is my point. From the moment Josh Jameson and I started sparring with words and chemistry, I knew I could quite easily get a little addicted to his disregard for who I am, his playfulness, his wickedness, and his ego. He is like nothing I’ve dealt with in the past. He’s not tiptoeing around me, treating me like a lady, bowing to me. He’s doing the exact opposite, and it is quite possibly the worst thing he could do. Because I like it. I like him. I like the fact that he’s keeping me in my place with his palm and a few leather bounds. I like the feeling of abandon when he takes charge. I’m always so hell-bent on being defiant and strong-willed; it’s a relief to hand the control over to someone who I actually want to have it. And all this is worrying. Very worrying, because when the King finds out, there will be no playing anymore. There will be no more Josh Jameson. It will be game over.
Josh studies me for a few quiet moments, the vibrator still buzzing in his hand. “The point is,” he whispers, dropping a gentle kiss on my lips. “I want you to agree to play with me again.”
“You call this playing?” I half laugh, despite very much enjoying myself.
“Don’t pretend you’re not having an amazing time.” He teases my clit with the tip of my vibrator again, and I stiffen everywhere as a result, gritting my teeth. “I’ll admit,” he goes on, “at first you were a challenge.”
I roll my eyes to myself. I already knew that. “Lucky me.”
“But now,” He gets his face close to mine, and I breathe in, waiting for what might come next. Now, what? “Now I’m thinking nailing it won’t be enough.” He smiles when I balk. “So, will you play with me again, Your Highness?”
Nailing it? The nerve. “Make me come.”
He pulls back, refocusing his attention further down my body. “I decide when your orgasms come. Not you.” One more tease of my clitoris increases my body temperature, as I lift my hips to try and seize the looming climax. But he pulls it away, a cocky eyebrow raised. “Say yes.”
“Before you make me come?”
“Yes.”
“No.” I slam my head back. “I’m not bargaining for an org . . . ohh.” My body locks up when the vibrator pushes firmly into my clit, pushing my simmering blood quickly back to boiling point. My hips flex against the pressure, savoring the sweet sensations.
“Agree,” he whispers in my ear, licking the sensitive spot beneath my lobe. “Agree to play with me again.”
“You sound desperate.”
“I am. I want you and me to be a rumor, Your Highness.”
“Okay,” I breathe, lost in ecstasy, vulnerable to his every demand. Right now, with pleasure drenching me, I would agree to anything. “Kiss me.”
His lips touch mine as he works me with the vibrator, my arms locked at the elbow. “Talk to me,” Josh demands. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Good.” I roll my tongue through his mouth, savoring the hint of Scotch mixed with his scent. “So good.”
Biting my bottom lip harshly, I get a hint of the coppery taste of blood as he maneuvers quickly, pulling the vibrator away and replacing it with his mouth. Licking, sucking, biting, kissing. I’m done for. I tumble into an abyss of unspeakable pleasure, feeling totally weightless, my body trembling deliciously as the most satisfying orgasm rips through me. “Oh . . . my . . . God.” I arch my back, my arms going rigid against my restraints as Josh feasts on me, his whole mouth encasing me and sucking me dry.
“Hmm,” he mumbles in appreciation. His fingers claw into the flesh of my thighs until my body liquefies and goes lax beneath him. I keep my eyes closed, breathing shallow and low, willing my heartbeats back to a steady rhythm.
“Jesus,” I exhale, so unbelievably sated and relaxed.
“Royal pussy tastes as fine as I imagined.” Josh’s voice is husky as he pecks light kisses on my sensitive button of nerves, before moving his mouth to my thighs, and then working his way up my navel to my breasts, flicking his tongue across each nipple. “Fuckin’ delicious,” he declares, and I smile as his tongue makes it to mine and he wipes his lips across my mouth. Lifting his face, I catch the evidence of my release smeared around his lips, his tongue sweeping across them to clean up the remnants. Oh Jesus, I have never seen anything so erotic. “And now I’m keen to find out if your cunt around my cock will feel as good as I’ve imagined.”
His mouth is vulgar, yet just like that, I’m swimming with want all over again, my orgasm barely leaving my body, another building. “So you’re going to fuck me now?”
His grin is wicked. “Beg, Your Highness.”
“Please,” I whisper, caution completely and utterly thrown to the wind, my inner slave breaking free willingly. It’s alien territory but at the same time, so very natural. Especially when the gratification in his gaze at those words is almost blinding. “Please, sir, I beg you. Play with me. Lick me, bend me.” I lick my lips seductively. “Fuck me.”
“Oh, shit, Adeline Lockhart.” His lazy eyes scan my face, a small frown marring his perfect brow. “I have a very addictive nature, and that’s bad news for you.”
“Why?”
“Because addiction means wanting constant access to the hit you need.” He kisses each corner of my mouth. “And constant access isn’t the kind of thing a man can depend on when he’s addicted to one of the most protected women in the world.”
I catch his lips and coax his mouth open, lapping my tongue softly across his. “So it is bad news for you, yes?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in so much trouble.” He deepens our kiss, his body sliding across mine briefly before he rises to his knees, smiling at his growing cock. “Cross your hands at your wrists,” he orders, which I do immediately, just in time for him to flip me onto my knees. “Hold tight, Your Highness.” I grip the gold bar of my headboard hard, grunting when his palm connects with my right cheek, reigniting the blaze across my skin. I don’t shout, don’t curse, and I don’t even jolt. In fact, I smile sadistically, focusing on the warmth that follows the sting and my body’s need to turn that sting into pleasure. My hair is gathered into his fist and tugged back viciously, and I still smile. With his body bent over mine, he brings his mouth to my ear. “Was that a smile?”
“What of it?”
“I love your cockiness.” He curls my hair around his hand and yanks until my head is forced back and I’m confronted with his face. “I need my belt.”
“Too bad it’s being used to restrain your prey.”
“Then I’ll have to find another.”
I wonder what for, but I don’t voice it. Because deep down, I already know. Squaring unaffected, sure eyes on him, I speak, just as certain and strong. “Bottom drawer of the chest in my dressing room.”
His smile is a blend of awe and approval, and he kisses me hard, fisting my hair tightly as he does. “Don’t move,” he orders as he gets off the bed and paces to my dressing room.
“Because where the hell can I go?” I say quietly, knowing I’m about to be thrashed, and wondering where the hell my objection is. I’m on my knees, hands tied, arse exposed, and I have never been so relaxed in my entire life. What is wrong with me?
Or maybe I should be asking what is right with me? Him. He is what’s right here. Josh bloody Jameson, actor extraordinaire, who is currently rummaging through my drawers to find a belt in order to whip my arse. I shake my head at myself and then still when I hear the crack of leather.
“Nice belt,” Josh says quietly, prompting me to look over my shoulder. He’s threading the leather between his hands, slowly and purposefully, that wicked grin on his face again. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Josh Jameson is a kinky bastard. Hankies, slaps, belts, and restraints. Why I am so eager to play with him is not something I’m prepared to analyze right now. I’m too wound up. Too desperate for him to bend me to his will, to beg, to make me melt away under his expert touch. To make me forget I’m a product of the most privileged family in the world, and this kind of behavior should be well off the agenda.
Another sharp crack jolts me from my reasoning, and I zoom in on the belt again, now dangling by his naked thigh. He stalks slowly forward, eyes rooted to my bare bottom, his face full of gratitude. “When I’m done with you, Your Highness, you’re going to be questioning who your true king is.”
I inhale sharply, not just at his words and that he’s most probably right, but at what he’s holding in his other hand. My maternal grandmother’s tiara, a beautiful piece bequeathed to me—her only granddaughter—by the late Spanish queen. It’s personal to me, and though it was argued that the treasure should be locked away with the rest of the family jewels, my mother insisted that as a Spanish treasure, it was a gift for me to admire, to wear, to cherish. It is one of the only battles she has won with the King. The antique, diamond-encrusted headpiece weighs a ton, and is so very uncomfortable. But it’s stunning, and it screams royalty. And it’s even more special because my mother fought for it. For me. What’s Josh doing with it?
He must catch the question in my eyes. “It’s beautiful.” He comes to a stop by the bed.
“It was the Queen of Spain’s.”
“It’s heavy.”
“Which is why I rarely wear it, except for the occasional royal engagement in Spain.”
“That’s a shame. Something so beautiful shouldn’t be hidden away.” He reaches forward and places the embellished tiara on my head.
I close my eyes, aware of what happens next. “Get on with it, Josh.”
“Are you telling me what to do?” The leather of the belt snaps threateningly.
My flinch is mild. “No.”
“Good. As long as you know where you stand.”
“I’m not standing,” I retort, unable to stop the words before they fall from my mouth.
“One,” he shouts as I’m thrashed with the belt, my backside bursting into raging flames. But just as quickly, the tip of his finger draws a line up my center, transforming that pain into pleasure of the most desperate kind.
“Too hard?”
I bite down on my lip, taking oxygen into my lungs, breathing through the pain. “Not enough.”
I can almost hear his smile. And a second later, another thrash of the belt. “Two.”
I pant, squeezing my eyes closed as his whole palm strokes at my entrance.
“Fuck me, Adeline. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a superb vision. You, restrained, a crown upon your head, and your ass glowing.”
I can only imagine what I must look like. The Princess of England on her knees, bound by leather, being whipped by leather, a priceless family heirloom perched on her head, with a famous Hollywood actor delivering the blows. It’s a mind-bender, for sure. But good God, I feel too uninhibited to devote any time to examining it further than that. He is a hedonistic man. I am a willing woman. That is it.
I space out, struggling to keep my head up with the weight of the tiara weighing it down, my palms sweating and slipping around the gold bar that I’m clinging to, causing me to slip a few times, the bonds cutting into my skin. Yet the pain is only a blip on the pleasure sweeping through me, Josh’s fingers tickling the edges of my dripping pussy, teasing me, torturing me. I vaguely hear him count through five lashes, three to my arse, and then one to the top of each thigh. They sting terribly—my flesh throbbing—but it doesn’t even dent the passion surging through my veins. I am on the brink.
I hear the ripping of a foil packet, and then a firm hand on my waist holds me in place as he walks on his knees toward my waiting arse, the head of his cock sliding straight past my lips and hitting me deep. “Have mercy,” Josh chokes, stilling, sending me dizzy with the depth he has achieved from one perfect stroke. I pant, fighting for air, my mind twisting. He reaches for my hair and yanks back, eliciting a small cry from me. “Ready to let go?”
“Ready,” I confirm, desperate to let go. Or let go even more. I’m already in a sex-induced daze. It’s laughable really, because we haven’t even had sex yet.
“God, I’m so ready.” He withdraws and pounds forward brutally, and the pace is set from there. Fast. Hard. No mercy, no holding back. Our bodies slap together as loudly as the leather did, the force of his body smashing into mine making me unstable on my knees. I lose my grip of the bar, forcing Josh to release my hair and manipulate my hands back into place. “You tell me if it’s too much.”
“No.” I accept his ruthless pounding, silently begging him for more.
Because with each violent drive, I’m being taken further and further away from my reality.
My stomach begins to furl, my mind spinning faster, the blood racing quicker. “Josh,” I breathe, warning him.
“Not yet, baby,” he spits urgently. “Don’t you dare let go yet.”
I groan, tinkering on the edge of explosion, losing my fight. “Josh, I can’t hold it.”
His strokes become more measured, more timed and accurate. “There’s no such thing as can’t.” He slaps my sore arse, but it doesn’t serve as a warning; it is more of a trigger, making my mission to cling to my release harder. And I think the bastard knows that. “Hold it,” he growls, squeezing my breast.
“You are not helping.”
“No?” He pinches my nipple, sending a shot of pain straight to my pussy, the sensation mixing with the unrelenting burn.
“Oh God!”
“Hold it.”
“Josh!”
“Don’t disappoint me, Adeline.” He rams into me, grunting with every hit. “You can do it.”
I zone out, closing my eyes and breathing through the torture. Because—and it is a revelation—I don’t want to disappoint him. His strokes are beautifully consistent now, albeit still brutal. I feel completely out of my body, entirely at his mercy, and my challenge has lessened under his expectation. Then I hear the words, “Let go, baby,” and I tumble, spiraling into my release on his command, my skin tingling fiercely as my inner walls are massaged through my climax by Josh’s throbbing cock.
He moans, his pace reducing until his movements stop and he’s held within my warmth, our heaving bodies rolling as we both gasp for air. I would collapse if it wasn’t for the belt and Josh holding me in place.
I feel his hands move to mine, unfastening the buckle quickly until my wrists slide free. I don’t have the chance to fall to the mattress. Josh catches me and turns me in his arms, bringing me to my back and our sweaty chests together. My arms are stiff, my wrists sore, and my arse burning. But none of it takes away from the serenity I feel in this moment.
“Thanks for playing,” he mumbles against my wet cheek, biting it. I feel him smile around his mouthful of my flesh.
“Have you not marked me enough without putting teeth marks in my face, too?”
“Be quiet and give me a hug.”
I laugh, utterly amused. “You have thrashed me to within an inch of my life, and now you want a hug for it?”
“Are you questioning me again?”
“No.” I reach around his shoulders and hug him, smiling into the crook of his neck. “It was fun.”
“Wasn’t it.” Lifting up, he blows a wisp of hair from my face and pushes my grandmother’s tiara to the side of the bed. “Let me get you a drink. Water?”
I frown around my smile, intrigued by his offer to wait on me. “I have staff who can fetch drinks if you would like one.”
“Of course. How could I forget? But surely you don’t want them to see me.” He plants a solid peck on my mouth and gets off the bed. “Besides, I’d like to get you a drink.”
“If you must. There are glasses and bottled water on the cabinet through there.” I roll over, wincing at the instant pull of every muscle I have, some of which I didn’t know I had. “Hurry up, now.”
Josh grabs his jeans and tugs them up his perfectly sculptured thighs, grinning. “Yes, ma’am.” He disappears out of my bedroom, and I’m unable to stop the satisfied smile from forming. I have never felt this before. So . . . sated. So looked after. Yet I was anything but, really.
I look at my wrists, where red welts are developing before my eyes, and I shift, flinching at the soreness rubbing on the covers. He really doesn’t give a stuff about my status. “Bloody hell,” I mutter, struggling to sit up. I have an official engagement in two days, opening a new art gallery that’s been set up by a charity that I’m a patron of. It looks like long sleeves will be in order.
I’m distracted from inspecting my injuries when Josh rushes back into the room, no water in sight. “You forget something?” I ask.
“Your boyfriend’s back.”
“What?”
Josh makes quick work of snatching up his shoes, T-shirt, and belt, before darting into the bathroom, just as Haydon marches into my room. I quickly grab my covers and pull them up my body. “Haydon, what on earth do you think you are doing?”
He scans the room, before his eyes land on me. “I was just checking if you are all right.”
What the hell? Annoyance replaces the amazing weightless feeling I had, which only serves to piss me off more. He’s not checking if I am all right. He’s checking if I am alone. “I’m fine, Haydon. Now, if you don’t mind, I was trying to get to sleep.”
His face screams regret, and I don’t feel in the least bit guilty that he is onto me, even if he thinks he has made a massive mistake. How dare he? How dare he barge into my suite unannounced like this? Where’s Damon? “I thought you left?”
“My car won’t start. Damon’s taking a look at it.”
So he used Damon’s distraction to sneak up here? “I suggest you leave right this minute before I call Damon and have you escorted off the grounds.”
“Adeline, I’m—
“I don’t want to hear it.” I flip myself onto my side and snuggle down, dismissing him. “Please leave.” I wait until the door closes before I look over my shoulder, checking he has gone. Then I cast my eyes across to my bathroom. Josh appears in the doorway, but he isn’t grinning in satisfaction like I would have expected. He looks pensive, and for the first time since he sprinted away to hide, I wonder why. He was more or less marking his territory in the foyer earlier when Haydon showed up. “Why did you hide?”
He pouts his lush lips, seeming to think really hard about it. “I don’t know,” he admits, making his way back to me. I eye him suspiciously, moving over when he nudges me to give him room. He lies next to me in his jeans, his bare back against the headboard. “All part of the game, right?”
“Right,” I agree slowly, a little injured for reasons I’m not willing to look into. We’re playing. Just playing.
“So, are you gonna marry him, then?”
I snort, patting down the covers around my body. “Did it sound like I want to marry him?”
“Do you have a choice?”
“Yes,” I reply adamantly. “Despite what my father thinks.”
“But your father is the King of England, Adeline,” Josh cruelly and unnecessarily reminds me. “No one gets away with saying no to him.”
“What can he do?” I ask. “Send me into exile? To the Tower of London to rot? Behead me?” Any iota of peace, any serenity I found, has been completely chased away with the reminder of who my father is and what my obligations are.
Josh crosses his ankles, his long jean-clad legs stretched to full length on my bed. I have to admit, he looks good on my bed, all roughed up and relaxed. “You sound resentful.” He looks at me, a little thoughtful. “Is life as a royal that bad?”
I shrug a lot more nonchalantly than I feel. “It is if you refuse to abide by the rules. I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if I bowed to every order and expectation.”
“So why don’t you? For an easy life?”
“Easy doesn’t make me happy. It would be settling for second best. I don’t want to settle for anything.”
He holds my eyes, and I see compassion in their blue depths. “Then don’t,” he says quietly, taking my hand and toying with my fingers.
“I don’t plan to.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not a second-best kinda guy.” Tracing one of the red blemishes around my wrist, he stares at it, leaving silence lingering that I try to use to figure out the meaning of his statement. And in this moment of quiet, I sense a kindred spirit in Josh. He lives a life before the focus of many lenses too, has little to no privacy, and quite possibly feels as suppressed as I do. But before I can think more about that, he shakes his head, as if shaking himself from some unwanted thoughts. “So, when are we playing again?” He smirks that devilish smirk and rolls onto his side, settling his hand neatly on my stomach.
I stall, and even though it’s because I’m wondering if playing again would be a good idea, I don’t express my reservations. “I’m a busy woman.”
“Then make yourself unbusy,” he orders, with no hint of amusement.
I laugh anyway. “I am in demand, Mr. Jameson. Representing the Monarchy and behaving for the cameras, remember?”
“Behaving? Oh, behave.” Josh chuckles and shifts quickly, pinning my wrists above my head and crowding my body with his. His nose touches mine, his brow furrowing. “You’re only allowed to misbehave with me in future.”
Creases invade my forehead. Is he telling me no other men are allowed? “I don’t do exclusive,” I say. “You know that.”
“The rules have changed.”
“What rules?”
“The rules of this game we’re playing.” He subtly pushes his groin into mine, failing to hold back his victorious smile when I breathe in and hold it. Bloody hell, there goes my body temperature again, through the flipping roof.
“I thought the game was finished.”
“The game only finishes when I say it finishes.” Landing his lips on mine, he kisses me deeply, backing up his confident words with a confident kiss. And as I lose myself in it completely, I wonder if Josh hiding in the bathroom was because he understands that if anyone catches wind of our encounter, this game really will be over. And the game only finishes when Josh says it finishes, therefore no one can know about us. Which should be fine by me, since a massive part of me wants to play his game. But another part of me, a part I am finding too easy to ignore, is wondering if I should get out before I become too swept up in it. “Aren’t you a little too busy also?” I ask around his mouth. “Films to make, billboards to grace, women to send dizzy?”
He smiles against my lips and pulls away. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Your Highness?”
“I’m simply reminding you of who you are.” When does he imagine we are going to play this game of his?
“Don’t you worry that pretty little princess head of yours.” He kisses my forehead delicately. “All you have to do is as you’re told.”
“You are outrageous. Haven’t you figured out yet that I don’t like being told what to do?”
Taking my cheeks in his palms, he scans me for a few thoughtful seconds, allowing me the pleasure of viewing his lovely face so close. His jaw is perfectly peppered, his eyes perfectly sparkly, and his hair perfectly fucked. Josh Jameson is perfect. “And haven’t you figured out, Your Highness”—he languidly brings his eyes to mine, his pupils dilated, drawing out the blue and green completely—“that you did very well being told what to do when it was me telling you?” He watches as my eyes expand in silent realization, and he nods mildly. “It was easy then, wasn’t it, Princess?”
He’s right. So easy. “Yes.”
“Why do you think that is?” he drawls, his accent enhanced.
“I have no bloody idea,” I admit, and he smiles, white and blinding, clearly relishing my confusion.
A chime of a mobile phone sounds, and Josh looks around my suite. “That’s my cell.”
“Then you had better answer it.”
“There you go again, trying to get rid of me.” He bites my nose and jumps off the bed, answering. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” Josh looks at me and pulls a face to suggest he’s cringing. “Just getting a tour of the royal”—he stalls and skates his gaze down my half-exposed naked body—“palace.” He finishes on a grin. “Awesome.” He hangs up and slips his feet into his shoes. “My driver’s waiting.” Making his way over as he feeds his belt through the loops of his jeans, he dips and kisses me more sweetly than I would have liked him to. Although, apparently, my body is absolutely fine with his affection, my arms twitching with the force it’s taking me to keep them by my side and not cradle his wide shoulders. He needs to leave so I can have a little meltdown and reflect on his claim. Reflect on the fact that I bowed to him without question or hesitance. Without hardly thinking. That is not me. I shouldn’t let it be with Josh. “It’s been a pleasure, ma’am.” He nibbles on my bottom lip. “I’ll call you.”
“How?”
He takes his phone and hands it to me. “Because you’re going to give me your number.”
Like a programmed robot, I punch my number into his phone and hand it back to him.
His smile is victorious as he lands a hard kiss on my cheek. “Sweet dreams, Princess.” He strides out while I wonder what the hell I was thinking giving him my number. Am I mad? I laugh. Yes, quite possibly. Then I ridicule myself for my stupidity, forcing myself not to take any pleasure from the vision of Josh’s solid, defined back as he leaves. I don’t admire him. I don’t analyze every detail, every feeling, every height of pleasure I just experienced.
I shouldn’t think of Josh Jameson ever again, because despite him doing everything he could to make me feel less precious, he actually made me feel more precious. Treasured. And that is dangerous territory to venture into, for no other reason than I know I cannot sustain a long relationship with Josh Jameson. He’ll be taken away from me faster than he caught my attention in the first place.