Royally Fake Fiancé (Royally Wrong Book 2), page 11
Frankie sways closer, then halts. She can sense hesitation, and I’ve remained still too long. I step forward and plunge my hand into the dark fall of her hair. “I propose this,” I say, and lower my lips to hers. I mean it to be a coaxing kiss, but as per usual, Frankie’s scent and presence, the pure sparkling essence of her, burns through all my control. I tighten my fingers in her hair, guiding her closer. Her lips part beneath mine, and I plunder. Her mouth is soft and silk and sinful. I lick up the taste. She whimpers, and I realize my fist in her hair has her pulled up to tiptoe.
“This is how it will be, pet,” I murmur. “I’m not going to hold back.” I’m not sure I can. I typically can control myself, do what’s expected in the bedroom, no more, no less, but this is Frankie. She wreaks havoc in every area of my life. Why stop now?
“So that’s what you’re into,” she mutters. “I should’ve guessed. You like to take charge.” She melts against me, pushing higher to nuzzle me, just begging to be taken in hand. “I love it.”
“Naughty girl.”
“Mmmm, yes.” Now she’s trying to climb me. “Keep talking, like that.”
I tug her head back by her hair again, gentle but firm. “You’re not in charge right now.” I take a chance and slip my right hand between her legs, into the pair of sweatpants that hang ridiculously big on her. She’s bare underneath, no panties. Bare and deliciously wet.
“Oh,” she gasps and teeters up higher on her tiptoes. I fondle her soft, juicy folds and find the entrance to her sex. I dip a long finger inside, twisting to collect her essence. Then I remove my hand and let her watch, wide-eyed, as I lick her off my finger.
“Oh, yes.” I hold her gaze as I purr. “I’m going to want more of that.”
She whimpers again, wobbling on weak legs. I scoop her up and carry her to the nearest chair. She’s not ready for bed, not yet. An overstuffed Chesterfield is just the thing.
Eventually I’ll claim her on every surface in my home. My cock twitches at the thought.
She helps me remove the sweatpants, wriggling backwards onto the deep leather seat, her brown eyes deliciously wide. I have unfettered access to her lower half, and she knows it.
My hand shackles her ankle and she jumps. “Easy,” I soothe, stroking her ankle. I wait for her skittishness to subside before drawing her closer. “Come to me, yes, that’s it,” I say, though I’m not giving her any choice. Her legs tense and scrabble a little bit, then relax as I pull her down the seat so she’s lying flat on her back, hair tousled and spilling over the leather, her long legs coltish and awkward as she realizes she’s laid out like a buffet before me. She tries to press her knees together at the last moment and I tsk. “Now, now. Open to me.” I take hold of her knees and ease them apart. Yes. That’s the sight I want, her pink folds flushed, her center glossy with juices as her body readies itself for me.
I spread her legs wide and kneel between them before they can close. One hand props up her inner thigh, and the other pets her pussy. She squirms.
“Be good,” I order, as if that’ll work. She rolls her eyes.
I smack her center, lightly. Her head flies back and her body seizes up. “Oh my god!”
“Your Grace will do.”
She rolls her eyes. “All this power’s gone to your head.”
“Do you mind?” I pet her pussy again, the lightest swipe of my thumb over her folds. And she relaxes right into my touch.
“Mmm, no. I don’t mind.” And then she adds, more softly, “It makes me feel safe.”
I kiss her knee. “Good. No more talking now, unless you want me to stop.” I kiss a trail up to her sex, and spread her open with my thumbs. Her pussy is pink and perfect, her clitoris standing at attention. I lower my head to lick up a taste. She’s got her hands over her mouth, but adorable little squeaks sneak past her fingers. I pause to tell her, “You can make all the noise you like.” Then I flick my tongue against her clit.
“Oh.” Her abs tighten under my hand as she erupts onto my tongue. I dip my head and plunge my tongue into her pussy, filling my senses with her sweet musk. Her channel contracts, seeking stimulation. I sit back and wipe her wetness from my beard with one hand. My other keeps stroking the sensitive spot right alongside her clit, keeping her convulsing. After a minute, I press my palm gently against her sex, grounding her.
“That was so good,” she sighs. Her cheeks are lovely, flushed pink with pleasure. Pink like her sweet pussy.
I lick her taste off my lips. “That was just the beginning.”
I rise and scoop her up, carrying her swiftly to my bedroom. The moment I cross the threshold into the dark room, I feel the change. Like a distant bell tolling, filling me with a sense of rightness. Frankie belongs here, in my most intimate space. My inner sanctum. Maybe one day, I can let all my walls down and tell her my secrets. Something tells me she’d be the one, the only one, who’d understand.
But now’s not the time for all that. Her dark head is a comfortable weight on my shoulder. She makes not a murmur as I carry her through my room. Perhaps I should stop things and check on her, make sure she’s thinking clearly enough to consent.
But when I set her down on the bed, she reaches for me.
“Frankie?”
“Benedict,” she sighs and tugs me closer. “Make love to me.”
Frankie
I stretch out on the bed, tugging on Benedict's shirt to bring him with me. He obeys willingly, stretching out over me. I spread my legs wide and he settles between them, a delicious weight.
I’ve just come faster with him than I have with any man. My pussy is still fluttering with the aftermath.
But I’m greedy. I want it all.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” I admit.
“Oh, Frankie, I'm going to make it so good.”
I close my eyes and let him settle over me, his presence like a warm blanket. I don’t need to think any more. Benedict’s got me and I can soar, trusting that, when the time comes, he’ll take me gently back to Earth.
“Just follow my lead.” And he dips his head and kisses me.
I sigh into him. We've always been good together. The attraction was there right from the beginning, and fighting it only made it stronger. He's sipping at my lips, slanting his head to drink down more of me. I wrap my legs around his hips and rock upwards. My sensitive naughty girl bits brush against his hard boy bits through his pants. He sucks in a breath.
“Wicked girl,” he says. “I’m going to take care of you.”
“I know,” I say. “You’re not like the other guys.”
His hands pause, and I realize I’ve said too much. To distract him, I slip my hands under his soft t-shirt and find bare skin. My eyes pop wide. There’s quite a lot of muscle under here.
“What’s this?” I tug up his shirt and stare at the beautiful expanse of eight pack abs. “You’ve been hiding all this… under your suits? It should be a crime.” His muscles flex under my palms and then he catches my wrists, pulling my hands away so he can remove my shirt. I’m so distracted by my short glimpse of his amazing muscles that I let him. Then I realize I’m now naked. Unlike Mr. Hidden Muscles, I do not have a sleek and sexy body, ready to model on a magazine cover of Beautiful People R’ Us.
I go to cover my chest and he catches my wrists again. “No,” he says. “Show me.” Something about his commands makes me want to obey. I drop my hands.
He reaches over and flicks on the bedside lamp. I flinch but the light is gentle and warm. We’re still deep in our silent, cozy cocoon.
“So beautiful.” He traces along the swell of my breast, and I shiver. “You’re sensitive?”
“Very,” I say, but I don’t have to answer. He dips his head and now I’m writhing under him.
He gathers my wrists in a loose grip and pins them above my head.
“Leave them there.” He gives me a stern look. I giggle. He’s being his arrogant self, but instead of annoying me, it makes me wet. He purses his lips. “So naughty.”
I wriggle happily. “I like being naughty with you.”
“Perhaps I should do something about that,” he murmurs cryptically, and kisses me again. He lets loose my wrists and without thinking, I start to draw my arms down.
“Uh-uh.” He pins them again on either side of my head and fixes me with a stern look. “Now stay. Next time there’ll be consequences.”
Hello, Mr. Control. “Next time there'll be consequences,” I parrot back to him in a snooty accent, then gasp as his palm catches the underside of my bottom. I arc up off the bed. “Benedict!”
“Yes, my lady?” He squeezes my ass, palming it and massaging away the sting. The shock recedes, leaving a reciprocal ache in my pussy. “I warned you,” he says in the most deliciously arrogant tone.
“I guess you did.” I purr, arching into his touch. I feel sultry and sexy, a wanton goddess. No wham bam, thank you man here. Benedict has already eaten me out, and now he's being stern. Makes me want to think of new ways to be cheeky. What a fantastically fun game.
“Be good,” he mutters darkly, and lowers his head to nuzzle at my breasts. I grip the bed sheets to keep from grabbing his dark head, and give myself over to the sensations. He licks and nibbles around my nipples, browsing over my bosoms until they're swollen and aching in the best way.
“I've wanted to do this for so long,” he says when I'm panting. He palms my pussy, stimulating me with sure strokes at the same time as he licks around my nipple. He has me writhing in seconds. His touch is so certain, so sure. He already knows his way around my body.
He breaks away before I orgasm, and though I want to groan, I giggle instead.
Benedict arches a brow. “What's so funny?”
“We’re—what's the phrase again? Anticipating our wedding vows,” I say. “Wedding vows that will never happen.” And I crack up. For some reason, it's funny to me.
His face softens as he watches me laugh then he says with mock sternness, “If you’re thinking about that, I'm not doing a good enough job.” And he dips his head and kisses me again.
His tongue strokes the inside of my mouth, teasing mine. My pussy throbs with anticipation of him penetrating me in a different way.
Then he pulls away and murmurs, “So delicious, so delightful, so naughty.”
I want to grab his face and order him to fuck me but I have a feeling that will get me in trouble. Consequences, as he says. So instead I raise my hips again, rocking upwards, silently begging for his cock.
He reaches down and frees himself. His member is warm and hard against my thigh. My pussy clenches again. I'm dripping, ready for him. A flash of warning goes through my mind. Maybe we shouldn't take this step.
It's just sex, I argue against that prim and prudish voice. I deserve to have a little fun. I've been on my own for so long.
Remember what happened last time? The warning voice persists, but I push it away.
You can't trust these rich boys. But Benedict isn't a boy. He's a man.
“I'm on birth control.” I tell him.
“Good.” His voice is ragged, his control slipping. “Condoms for now.” The drawer to the bedside table is open and he already has a condom in hand. He must have grabbed it when I was having an argument with the prudent, cautious, and totally boring part of myself.
He pauses to roll the condom on and every thought flies out of my head when I get a good glimpse of his dick. It’s hard and large and proud, with an arrogant tilt to it. Can a penis be arrogant? Benedict’s manages it. Of course it does.
I giggle again. Arrogant prick. Literally. I don't dare say anything out loud, but he catches my grin and shakes his head.
“You are incorrigible.”
I'm about to repeat my firm stance that I am entirely corrigible and will you please fuck me now? when he slides inside. It burns a little and he goes slowly, waiting for me to stretch around him. It has been a while, and I'm glad I warned him.
He rocks a little, stretching me out. The inner walls of my pussy kiss along his cock, welcoming him into my tight heat. I want to feel him deep inside me, and he's big enough that when he's all the way in, I will. I rest my cheek against his pec and cling to him. I’ve totally forgotten to keep my hands locked down. He's going to have to tie me up to get me to obey. Maybe that's something we'll save for next time.
“Feeling all right?” He checks in on me. Such a gentleman. Will he ask ‘please’ before he comes? I hope not.
He’s seated deep inside me. His body is heavy over mine, but he’s holding most of his weight on taut forearms. I slide my hand up around his neck, stroking his thick hair as my tight channel adjusts to his girth. Then I grip his shoulders and crane my neck to lick his ear.
“Fuck me, Benedict. Fuck me hard.” I want to feel him the next day.
A sharp inhale. Then he glides almost all the way out. A pause, and then he slams back in. I topple over into orgasm with a shout.
He removes my hands from hanging on to him and pins them to either side of my head. His cheeks are flushed. His dark eyes glitter. He's beautiful and wicked, a fallen angel. His dick is doing sinful things to my insides. Another orgasm rises again as he grinds down, somehow hitting my clit and my G-spot all at once. He drags his cock out slowly. Sparks fly and then fireworks explode in my body.
His grip is hard on my wrists as he drives into me. Each thrust slams me further up the bed. White lights dance behind my eyes—the aftermath of the last orgasm, or the beginning of another.
Then he presses his forehead to mine and groans. His cock feels bigger inside me, throbbing, pumping his cum into the condom. His lips catch mine and then he lets my arms free. Immediately I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders.
“Control freak much?” I whisper and he laughs back at me, letting me tug him down to rest his weight on me. He’s heavier than I’d expect—must be all those muscles he’s hidden all this time under his suit.
He turns his head and kisses between my breasts, then rises to deal with the condom. The second he rises, I miss his weight on me. I’m not sure how I got here, into the duke’s bed, my skin tingling from the orgasms he gave me, but now I'm here, I don't want to leave. Our false engagement, the vows I made to not let him get close, even the crazy night at the ball with the fireworks—it all seems so far away.
And then Benedict is back and helping me up to give me a drink of water. He strokes my hair back and kisses me again. And that leads to us tangled together, skin on sweaty skin. Safe and warm and happy. He rolls and traps me with a heavy leg over mine. “Stay with me,” he whispers. In answer, I snuggle deeper into his chest. He reaches over to click off the light, then puts his arm around me. Within seconds, I’m asleep.
Frankie
It's awkward sleeping with someone through the night. Maybe they move too much, or you move too. Someone’s gonna hog the covers or sprawl over more their fair share of the bed. The heat, the sweat, the way two unfamiliar bodies knock together—there are so many micro-discomforts that prod you awake, and leave you wishing for your own bed. My ex, Ben, was a sweet guy, but he and I only spent the night together in the same bed a few times. Enough for me to realize it wasn’t comfortable. The guy I was with before Ben was the first guy I’d ever been with. My first, back when I was young and believed in fairytales. He and I were always in a rush, sneaking around. There was no time for cuddles or intimacy. Looking back, that was the biggest red flag. When a guy tries to hustle you out of sight so parents or staff don’t know he’s meeting with you, you know it's not going to end well.
But I don't want to dwell on that.
Morning light filters through the blinds and I wake slowly, cradled in the muted blue shadows of Benedict’s cozy bedroom. His big body slumbers next to me, a mountain of warmth and comfort. I stretch slowly, unwilling to leave. At first he kept me tucked against him all night, as if preventing me from sneaking off. At some point he moved to the side but still kept a big hand splayed over my stomach possessively. I slept deeply. I haven't slept that way since I was a girl—without worry or troubled dreams. Without a care.
Shifting carefully to my side, I face my slumbering fiancé. His dark hair falls over his face and firm lips. His long lashes fan under his eyes. He left his shirt off, and I get a chance to properly examine his muscled chest. The smooth contours are sprinkled with dark, coarse hair. I remember with delight how his chest hair rubbed against my skin, chafing it. And my wrists still hold the memory of Benedict’s fingers shackling them, pinning them to the bed.
He’s beautiful in slumber. Maybe it’s his size but he’s still a solid, forceful presence, even asleep. Maybe that’s why I slept so well—my subconscious relaxed, knowing my bedmate could protect me.
How in the hell has this man remained unmarried and eligible for so long?
I want to touch his face, stroke his features, but I don’t want to wake him. His body is heavy with muscle—but when does he have time to work out? He rules his body with the same discipline as everything else.
I don't totally understand the succession rules of this kingdom and the huge headache of their complicated big deal and pomp and ceremony. But Benedict would make a great king. The country would be safe in his hands.
I misjudged him as arrogant. I hope others don’t make the same mistake. Yes, Benedict’s had every privilege, but he's worked so hard to prove himself. He deserves to rule. I hope I can help him achieve that, or at least make things easier for him.
But first a bath, or at least a shower. I'm a little sore in the best way. Besides, the duke might wake up presentable, but I need a little more help.
When I walk into the gorgeous master bath, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. With my wild mermaid hair, I look like a figure in a John William Waterhouse painting. My cheeks are flushed as if I've just orgasmed. Desire certainly is a great beautifier.
Not that the duke ever had a problem being attracted to me. It was always there, despite our wishes. I smirk at my reflection before heading to the gorgeous, Roman style tiled tub. Next to it is a wonder of chrome and glass and technology—a steam shower with about seven hundred knobs and buttons to regulate water pressure. Bath or shower, which to choose?
