Royal Desire (Maid for the Billionaire Prince Vol 4) (3 page)

He does this to my left nipple as well,
seizing the protuberant tip with his mouth savagely. My fingers
thread through his hair – his thick, luscious mane that falls so
wonderfully from his scalp. I clasp his head to my breast as he
suckles. I don’t want him to ever stop. Except that my crotch is
soaking my panties and there’s a very hollow ache within – an empty
vessel that must be invaded, occupied, swarmed and pounded in every
crevice.

I desperately want (need) to feel Alex’s
cock in me once again.

His hands fumble at the waist of my skirt.
It falls in a crumple, joining my blouse and brassiere. Then he
rips my panties off in haste. His urgency mounts. Before I can beg
him to fuck me, he grabs my back and thighs, upending me in his
arms.

I cry out in surprise. It’s such a masculine
gesture.
I claim you for myself,
it seems to say.

He walks with me in his arms, as though he’s
crossing a threshold. The air shimmies around me and cools my
copiously wet pussy. I’m dripping with my own juices. I’m afraid of
leaving dewdrop stains on the rich carpet as Alex carries me to
goodness knows where.

I expect to be flung on some bed. The King’s
chamber, perhaps. Alex has still not officially occupied it.

“No time to transfer my stuff,” he said.
Though I suspect he still harbors residual guilt where his father
is concerned.

We ascend some steps. Just four or five,
from the way my body is being jangled. He puts me down again upon
my heels. My stance is unsteady. It’s amazing how much we rely on
our sight for balance. Being deprived of it is a major shock to the
senses. I hold out my hands, trying to feel for Alex or something I
can grasp onto.

My ears pick up the plops of soft things
being shed onto the carpet. The chink of a belt buckle. He’s taking
off his clothes. My own wet heat rises. I wait for his hands to
settle upon me once again and I am not disappointed. They dive
straight for my breasts.

He tugs at them. Tugs at my hard, hard,
ultra-sensitive nipples.

His voice is breathy. “I need you, Liz.”

My nipples are burning as I allow myself to
be led this way towards to wherever he wants me to be. My triangle
is wet, so wet that I can feel my creams cascading onto my inner
thighs. Oh, I’m such a wanton slut. My mother would turn in her bed
if she knew I had descended into this.

Alex stops. His hands slide to my waist. I’m
not sure what he’s doing, but he pulls my hands to him this time.
My legs take one step forward, only to be met by the solid
resistance of his knees. He is seated, I believe.

“Mount me, Liz. I don’t think I can wait a
moment longer. I need you. I need to be inside you.” His voice is
so hoarse now that I can scarcely hear it.

His cock. Oh, his cock. I picture it – as
hard as hard can be. His thick veined shaft rising from his pubic
thatch, capped by his circular mushroom head, his balls pulled
tight. That very cock which has been inside me for oh so many times
until I’ve lost count.

His sure hands guide me to straddle him. He
is indeed seated. I spread my thighs, leveraging myself on his
shoulders, as he pushes his throbbing member into my ready pussy.
My greedy little mouth, so wet and enticing, encircles his
girth.

I moan as he thrusts into me with one swift
movement. His cock stabs deep – so deep that I can feel its tip at
the secret mouth of womb. Gravity ensures that I stay there,
pinioned to him as he steadies my hips.

I’m so stretched. So, so stretched.

Ooooooo
.

He seems bigger than usual. Harder. As if an
iron rod wedges inside me – plump and decisive and dangerous.

My thighs and legs claw for purchase, and my
knees scrape against something . . . firm. Something cushioned. The
armrests of a chair.

“Hook your legs around them, baby,” he
says.

Once again, he helps me. My knees are bent,
and I encircle the armrests carefully with my legs. I am in an ‘M’
position. I hope Alex has locked the door to this room, wherever it
is, because whoever walks in on us is going to have a very awkward
sight of my buttocks and splayed legs.

He ascertains that I’m comfortable. Well, as
comfortable as I can be in that position and with his huge penis
impaling me. I’m filled as only he can fill me. I’m filled in both
my body and soul . . . with a satisfaction that only he can give
me.

“Grind yourself on me, baby,” he
whispers.

I know what he likes.

I oscillate my hips, grinding onto his cock
as though he’s a pestle and I am his mortar. It is as though he is
molding my canal, shaping it into the funnel of his desires. His
rigid flesh cores me in all the right secret places, pressing and
rubbing my moist pleasure points. His penile head massages the
hollow in my vagina at the back, right below my cervix . . . the
left nook in my lower passage. Oh, he knows every part of me
intimately, and he knows how to wriggle and maximize the narrow
space afforded to him and its angles.

My clit prods against his pubic hair. His
groin rubs and strokes it so pleasurably that my mind almost blacks
out at the ecstasy.

“Oh, Alex, what you do to me.”

“Don’t stop,” he begs me.

I grind and roll my hips. I grip my
shoulders and use my thighs as anchors as I begin to pump him. My
buttocks begin their rhythmic dance as I slide myself up and down
on his shaft. It’s as though my hips are possessed of their own
kinetic energy, their own subconscious reflexes. Alex’s organ
pounds and kneads and thrusts into me. My walls are so slick that I
can hear the squish of our wet flesh rubbing against each
other.

My breathing intensifies. My breasts must be
bouncing as I fuck Alex. His hands grip my waist, and then my hips,
and then everywhere else, as though he’s very close to orgasm. As
am I. His cock repeatedly pummels my G-spot even as his groin digs
into my sweet, tremulous clit. I’m being assaulted on two erotic
fronts. I’m going to crest, I know it. I’m going to the edge, and
I’m going to take him along with me.

His semen explodes within me – hot, sensuous
stuff that wriggles into my every crevice and fills me with a deep,
deep satisfaction of being possessed. At the same time, I let
myself tip over the precarious edge. One moment, I’m sane. The next
– I’ve tripped over to a whitewashed world of spiraling bliss.
Bliss that is intensified tenfold because of my lack of sight.

I shudder, my muscles spasming everywhere. I
scream. I arch my back and almost fall off, had he not possessed
enough presence of mind to grab my arms. My blood roars in my ears
and my pelvis clenches, and squeezes his cock, as though intent to
milk every last drop from him.

Oh, I can do this forever.

Oh Alex, Alex.

I love you. I will always love you.

One of his hands goes up to my face and
pries the scarf away from my eyes.

Light descends onto my sudden vision. Alex’s
beautiful face is contorted in a rictus of desire. His green eyes
are almost black, almost all pupil. He is seated upon a fine
chair.

A very, very fine chair.

Brocaded and gilded and ornately carved. A
chair that is so exquisite that I can see the miniature details on
it – of leaves and azaleas and stalks.

Oh my God.

We just had passionate sex on the royal
throne of Moldavia.

3

I can believe that no one caught us in the
throne room.

“Hey, it’s my chair. I can do what I want on
it,” Alex clips.

I think I’m mortified beyond measure. It’s
something I’m not likely to tell our kids. “Did you know your Mom
and Dad had sex on the royal throne of Moldavia? Yes, your Dad
blindfolded and tricked me.” That is one piece of trivia those
Moldavian historians won’t be writing in their annals, you can bet
on that.

“Relax,” Alex says, grinning. We are having
breakfast on one of the East Wing balconies, overlooking the royal
gardens. “It’s not as if it’s going to appear on ‘News of the
World’.”

You never know. My face is on permanent (and
very natural) blusher. What if they had spy cameras hidden
inside?

“I erased them on the security videos,” Alex
says with a straight face.

I gasp. “You mean there are security cameras
in there?” You mean we were being watched by palace security? Oh my
God, I think I’m going to pass out.

“I persuaded them to go for an extended
smoking break during our . . . uh, rendezvous.” Alex throws his
head back and laughs. “Oh come on, Liz. I never took you for a
prude.”

Yes, I know we made love naked on the
Indonesian beach. We made love in an archeological cave. But this
is different! This is the throne of Moldavia!

I know I’m not going to let myself live this
down.

Jasper enters the balcony, and I immediately
turn my expression into one of utmost solemnity. (Are solemn people
red-faced?) From the smug look on Jasper’s face, I think he knows
what happened last night. He probably has photo evidence. He’s
going to spread them on Facebook, Twitter and every single new
Google app.

I cringe in my seat. I don’t think I have
even taken a bite of my eggs Benedict.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Jasper nods to
Alex. He turns to me. “Good morning, Ms. Turner.”

At least he has progressed to saying ‘good
morning’ to me since Alex asked me to marry him.

“Good morning, Jasper,” Alex and I both
chorus.

“Your Majesty, may I have a private word
with you?” Jasper pointedly looks at me.

Alex waves his bacon-ridden fork. “Whatever
you have to say to me can be said in front of Liz. Remember that,
Jasper.”

Jasper suppresses a sigh.

“Your Majesty, I think it is time you let
Lady Tatiana and her father, the Duke of Nuernberg, know that your
engagement to her is off. It’s time to make it public.”

Oh.

Alex looks pained. I don’t blame him. It’s
not a task I would relish either. I’m a pacifist by nature and I
hate confronting anyone in any way.

“I suppose I need to get it over with,” Alex
says. He reaches over the table to clasp my hand. “Then I’ll be
able to announce our engagement to the public.”

“That isn’t wise, Your Majesty. It would be
too soon after your father’s death. It would be extremely bad
publicity. We are still in the bereavement period for the old King.
To break up with Lady Tatiana, the old King’s choice for your
bride, and to take on a new betrothal so soon might send many
tongues wagging. It will not augur well for the start of your
reign.”

I hate to agree with Jasper on anything, but
he’s right.

Alex still looks mutinous.

“It’s not right. I hate subterfuge of any
sort. Why don’t we just come clean to the press? I proposed to Liz
before news of my father’s death reached me. It wouldn’t be fair to
Liz to ask her to wait so long.” His vivid green eyes dart to me
when he says this.

A pang clenches my chest.

He’s always thinking of me. If this man can
be any more perfect, I would think I’m in some surreal nirvana.

I squeeze Alex’s fingers. “No. Jasper is
right. We have to wait. It won’t look
right
, Alex. I know
that if I were reading it on some tabloid, I would think Moldavian
royalty is behaving really crass.”

“No different from British royalty.”

Now it’s my turn to look pained.

“I get it, Liz.” Alex flashes me a smile.
“If you’re OK with waiting just a few months more . . . ” He
squeezes my hand back.

Jasper masks a fleeting expression of
disdain. I have to suppress a laugh.

“I’m OK with it,” I say.

Alex leans over the table to kiss me in
front of Jasper, who takes his cue and makes a hurried and quite
disgusted exit.

4

Jasper is indeed right. Unpleasant things
have to be done.

I can’t help but wait anxiously for Alex’s
return. He made a day trip to Nuernberg to seek an audience with
the Duke and Tatiana. I’m all pins and needles. I picture Tatiana
being distraught, the Duke refusing to allow the breakup. I imagine
the Duke threatening to go to war! I mean, Germany went to war with
Austria over a very trivial issue, right? What’s to stop Nuernberg
from going to war with Moldavia?

Do those two nations even have armies?

When Alex finally comes home, I rush into
his arms. He’s bone weary and he sinks down with me onto the
bed.

“How did it go?” I ask lightly, not wanting
to let him know how worried I was.

He sighs. “Not good. The Duke did not take
it well at all. Tatiana, on the other hand, was uncommonly calm.
For her, I mean.”

That does not sound good.

“Will everything be OK?” Anxiety swarms my
voice.

“I hope so,” he says, kissing me and pushing
me onto the bed. “I’m tired, but I still have a raging hard-on
every time I look at you.”

I laugh despite my reservations about the
situation. As he begins to tease the warm folds of my pussy, my
restless mind wanders to how I can take matters in my own
hands.

*

I text Tatiana:

'PLEASE MEET ME TOMORROW AT 2.30 PM. A CAR
WILL BE WAITING AT YOUR PALACE ENTRANCE. WE HAVE MUCH TO TALK
ABOUT. DO NOT LET ALEX KNOW YOU ARE MEETING ME.’

OK, I’m a stickler for déjà vu.

I get one of the drivers to take me in a
limo to Nuernberg. In a reversal of events, I wait for Tatiana in
the backseat. She’s right on time. She moves in gracefully beside
me as I depress the button that shields the backseat passengers
from the driver. She wears a sharp suit today – cerise jacket and
skirt with black zigzag embellishments. Tatiana can pull any dress
off.

She regards me with her bemused eyes.

“Turning the tables on me?” she says wryly.
“You’ve won, you know. No need to rub it in.”