Chapter 15

David

“Pass the tarts, please,” I say to Lord Whatnot sitting across me. It’s getting harder and harder to tell these fucking Lords apart. And I’m not disparaging women right now; I’m asking for an actual tart, one with lemon curd and a sprig of fucking lavender.

With Vivienne at my side, I can actually enjoy this fuckfest of a charity luncheon. Otherwise, I’d be bored to death. It also helps that she’s stroking my cock under the table.

She always anticipates my needs, that one. But, don’t worry—the tablecloths here are stain-resistant and durable. I read the label.

“Oh yes!” I cry out, and because someone has just rung the bell to announce the winner of another auction item, no one knows that I’m having an orgasm in my pants. For all they know, I’m just really enthusiastic about charity.

If we raise enough money from this luncheon and silent auction, we’ll be able to provide one hand job per week to every veteran in the whole fucking kingdom. Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m kidding—the money will be spent on things like medical equipment and care packages for the holidays.

For the record, the best gifts I received from civilians when I was in the military were nude photos. But maybe that’s just me.

“Could you pass me another napkin, love?” I ask Vivienne. “I think I’ve dropped some curd on my lap again.”

She smiles coquettishly and hands me a wad of paper napkins. I don’t have the heart to pass a cum-stained cloth napkin to the cute volunteers in candy-striped dresses who keep coming by to clear our dishes. That should be a sign of how much progress I’ve made.

Their dresses are surprisingly short, and damn, I could jerk off to those little white knee socks all day.

But, why would I need to? I have the most gorgeous arm candy. Vivienne is practically popping out of her pink cardigan, and in case anyone misses that, the pearls around her neck point straight down to her cleavage.

Her short pencil skirt is so tight, even I feel the squeeze it’s giving her. But to everyone else, she looks so fucking elegant that no one could possibly accuse her of trying too hard.

And she’s certainly not. Vivienne has a strength of character that I might have noticed sooner, had I not been holed up in my office, trying to fuck anyone with a pussy or suck my own cock.

She’s very conscious of her image—and mine—but I realize now that it’s not because she’s condescending. It’s because she wants to get along with everyone, regardless of their background or beliefs.

That’s why she can handle reporters and Kings with equal aplomb. Watching her do it makes me believe that I can do it, too.

“Your Majesty, I know you served in the military. How are you enjoying the fundraiser so far?” an elderly woman sitting next to Lord Whatnot asks. She’s a sweet little thing with crooked glasses and cookie crumbs on her sweater. This is my chance to prove to Vivienne that I can be civilized.

“It feels good to be needed again,” I reply. “I enjoy doing things that help others have a better life, and I haven’t gotten much of a chance since I left the military. Hopefully, we hit the amount we target so we can do what we had planned.” I give her a wink. “But even if we don’t, I think somehow I can cover the remaining amount, in case we fall short.”

I’m a fucking King; money is no object. The little old lady puts her hand on her heart and smiles. I turn to Vivienne to gauge her response and am pleased to see that she’s nodding at me in approval.

“Good answer,” she whispers in my ear. “You’ll get a reward for that.”

“What is it?” I whisper back.

Vivienne doesn’t answer. She simply reaches under the table, grabs my hand, and places it on her bare knee. It’s an invitation I can’t refuse.

I slide my hand up her thigh and under her skirt, reaching eagerly for whatever silky, lacy little item she’s wearing underneath.

Except there isn’t one. Instead, my fingers graze her soft, velvety bare skin. I gently trace her slit with my finger, beckoning her to open up to me.

When she’s wet and squirming beneath my touch, I ease one finger in—just to see if she likes it. Then, I look up at her face.

She’s holding her teacup in front of her and blowing on the surface to cool it down. Her expression gives nothing away, though her cheeks are flushed.

As the conversation continues all around us, she takes a sip, returns her teacup to its saucer, and lifts her teaspoon. She looks at me, and with great deliberation, she dips the spoon in the tea and swirls it around and around.

I might have a fucking heart attack right here and now. This is so fucking hot.

I continue what I was doing under the table, teasing and twirling her tight little pussy with my finger until her face tightens and relaxes once more.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Lord Whatnot asks her. She’s more than alright; she’s fucking glowing.

“I’ve never been better, my Lord,” she says. “Could you pass me the sausages?”

Oh, she’ll be getting a sausage, alright. But yes, the sausages on the plate in front of Lord Whatnot are delicious. I wouldn’t mind having another helping myself.

“Make that two,” I add.

Of all the things I’ve been blessed with—looks, money, power, an enormous cock—meeting Vivienne is without a doubt the best thing that has ever happened to me. Even if this is fake, she still knows how to surprise me, teasing my inner bad boy while making me look so fucking good to everyone else.

I mean, she did help me keep my elbows off the table just now.