Royal Desire (Maid for the Billionaire Prince Vol 4) (5 page)

“I was wearing . . . a . . . a harem’s
outfit.”

“A harem’s outfit? You mean, like, in the
Arabian nights?”

“Yes.” I blush. It doesn’t juxtapose with
‘refreshing’ and ‘innocent’.

“With a bustier and veil and
pantaloons?”

“Yes. It was the theme of the ball.”

“Would you consider it a sexy outfit?”

What is she trying to aim for here? That I’m
trying to trap Alex? Yvette’s eyes are cunning. She doesn’t care if
she’s selling out her future Queen. Maybe she knows something Alex
and I don’t.

Oh God, I’m seeing conspiracies
everywhere.

I breathe in. “It’s a harem’s outfit. No
sexier than any other harem’s outfit. Every maid there was wearing
one, so I didn’t exactly stand out in sexiness or anything.”

“She was plenty sexy to me,” Alex puts
in.

I’m taken aback. He wants everyone to know
he finds me sexy?

Then it strikes me suddenly. Of course he
wants everyone to know he finds me sexy. He loves me. He wants
everyone to know
why
he loves me, and being sexy to him is
the tip of the iceberg.

Feeling more confident now, I say, “And he
was very sexy to me too.”

He smiles back. A lump bolts to my throat.
Alex is simply the most amazing man alive.

“And then you started dating?” Yvette cuts
in. She knows what she has on camera is gold.

“Yes.”

“Describe your first date.”

That’s easy. I don’t have to lie
anymore.

Together, Alex and I complement each other’s
stories of our first date on the plane, leaving out the more
salacious memories. We talk about our trip to Indonesia – living
amongst the natives in wooden huts which are surrounded by swaying
coconut trees.

Then Yvette shows a clip of Alex’s proposal
to me at the airport, which was obviously taken by someone at the
scene.

“This was uploaded to YouTube six months
ago,” she explains. “It received one hundred and eighty million
downloads. So far.”

One hundred and eighty million! I feel
faint. That’s more than Justin Bieber.

Yvette says, “But there are other
considerations, Your Majesty. There was the very public
announcement of your engagement to Lady Tatiana of Nuernberg eight
months ago.”

“Yes. My father announced it. It was one of
those things that we . . . disagreed upon.” Alex looks straight
into the cameras. “My father was a good, good man and he only
wanted the best for me. At least, that was what he thought would be
the best for me. Lady Tatiana is warm, lovely woman and she would
make someone a splendid wife. It’s just that . . . I happened to
fall in love with Liz.”

He gazes at me when he says this, and the
rapture is unmistakable. I can almost swoon, as no doubt many women
around the world are swooning now. Imagine, the most handsome and
eligible bachelor in the world . . . openly declaring his love for
me on live television.

Somewhere along the line, I must have done
something good. Maybe I saved people in a past life. Maybe I healed
old folks and performed many good deeds. How else would I be
blessed with a man like Alex now? It’s almost too good to be
true.

“So you are officially engaged?” Yvette’s
voice is a little husky, as though the emotion has gotten to
her.

Alex replies, “Not yet. But that video you
saw – ”

“Which appeared on TMZ and tabloids the
world over.”

“Yes. It was taken six months ago, right
before my father passed away. You can even see the date on the
recording. We had to wait for six months to announce our engagement
to the world because it wouldn’t be appropriate in our mourning
period. Liz has been very patient with me.”

Alex grabs my hand – my cold, clammy,
fish-like hand – which rapidly warms to his touch. We smile at each
other, and there is nothing fake about it.

*

That night, we embrace each other with a
hunger I can’t remember having for a long time. It isn’t merely
lust or desire. We lust after each other all the time.

But tonight, everything that we do is
layered with unquenchable love. I’m speaking about the deep, deep
love of a man and woman who have known each other for a while,
peered into each other’s imperfections, and decide that they love
each other more than ever – in spite of everything.

Alex enters me in missionary position. I
hiss softly as his cock thrusts into my wet, wet core.

“I want to look into your eyes as I fuck
you,” he whispers.

His own eyes are dark with desire. Our gazes
hold each other’s as he acclimatizes his penis into my tunnel’s
girth. It’s amazing how perfectly we fit each other, as though I am
the mold and he is the piece that has been torn from me at
creation.

He moves within me. His eyes are green and
gold and brown and stardust and flecked with every emotion known to
mankind. I part my lips.

“Kiss me,” I say.

His mouth lowers to mine. His lips lock
against mine in a kiss that goes on and on – until we both let our
tongues flow onto each other’s in a searing tangle of flesh. He
sucks at my tongue, sucks it as though it is a nipple. At the same
time, his hips grind against and into mine. His cock churns and
oscillates within me, caressing all the right spots, pushing all my
erotic triggers. Little flashes of color explode inside my
skull.

I moan and writhe, letting the pleasure wash
over me. His mouth refuses to leave mine. We are joined at both
orifices – long and wet and prolonged. When he isn’t licking my
tongue and mouth, he is murmuring, “I love you, I love you” over
and over, as though he can’t assure me enough.

I have never loved anyone so truly and
deeply before. My love for him is bone deep, soul deep. It
permeates my every cell, right down to the atoms. I love him with
every fiber of will in me – my conscious and subconscious. I have
never wanted to melt into anyone as much as I want to melt into him
right now.

If only we can be together like this
forever.

If only.

He drives and drives into me . . . seeming
to go on and on. The minutes stretch, and I don’t know how long he
has tarried, but with this slow stoking of my intimate senses, it
seems infinite. Even my orgasm is slow to build. Pleasure brims
just beneath its threshold like little peaks of froth below a glass
ceiling.

He is in no hurry and neither am I.

“Turn over,” he says.

He withdraws his wet cock from me – dripping
with pre-cum – as I eagerly flip upon my belly. I raise my buttocks
as he impales me easily once again from behind. It’s a slippery
insertion that needs no effort because I’m so ready for him.

He begins his thrusting again. In, out, in
out – a sensuous, joyous rhythm older than time. My hair falls over
my face. He lovingly lifts it.

He leans over and puts his lips against the
back of my neck. He grazes his teeth gently upon my skin. His
rocking amps up a notch. He’s upping the rhythm and the force of
his thrusts.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispers.

I am already so overwrought and ready. He
cores against my G-spot (oh, he knows my body and its secret
passages so well), groaning, and I have no choice but to surrender.
My muscles are already weak from the prolonged pleasure. I let them
embrace their much awaited spasms, and I flow over the edge myself.
Tripping, spiraling out of control. Falling into the vortex of
ecstasy and physical heaven, with clouded walls wrapped with so
much pulsing red love.

Even in my climax, his love envelops me in
an all-consuming hug.

“Oh, Alex, Alex, Alex.” I can’t stop saying
his name.

His semen geysers into me.

“I love you,” he says against my skin. “I
want to have babies with you.”

As we lie beside each other, spent and awash
in sweat, I thank my lucky stars once again for allowing me to love
and be loved by this splendid, wonderful man.

We are happy.

Almost too happy.

*

I counted my blessings too soon.

The interview played like a dream in every
news channel in the world. It went viral on YouTube, just as Madame
Fournier predicted. Moldavia is suddenly on the world map. Tour
bookings shoot to the roof. Hotels are overbooked.

Things have never been better.

Exactly two weeks after our announcement to
the press, the Archbishop of Moldavia – the very one who conducted
the old King’s funeral service – declared on front page
headlines:

“I WILL NOT SANCTION KING ALEXANDER’S
MARRIAGE.”

8

“He will not sanction our marriage? What
does it mean?” I say anxiously.

I expect Alex to laugh it off. To say, “Oh,
it means nothing. Just an old man having his usual
indigestion.”

But he doesn’t.

His brow is furrowed. He hesitates for a
while, and then he says slowly, “There is an old Moldavian law that
harkens back to the sixteenth century.”

I have been reading up on Moldavian history
but I am in no way as adept in it as Alex.

I say, “Back to King Philip II?”

“Yes. The Philanderer King. He wanted to
cast aside his first wife, Celeste, to marry the daughter of a
count. But Celeste was a princess of Spain, and the Spanish King
was furious that his daughter was to be treated such.”

My heart sinks. I believe I know where this
story is heading.

Alex’s features are pained. “Because Spain
was rooted in the Inquisition and such, they wielded great power
over the Moldavian church. The Archbishop was swayed to the Spanish
cause. If King Phillip had cast Celeste aside, Spain would have
gone to war with Moldavia, and there would have been no
Moldavia.

“Philip finally saw reason. The Church then
decreed that all royal marriages must be sanctioned by them for the
greater good of Moldavia. Much chastised, Philip passed the law. It
has never been revoked.”

Just when I thought we were going to be so
happy . . .

There’s a roaring in my ears. I knew it.
Alex and I are never, ever destined to be together.

I find my voice, broken as it is. “Wh-what
happened to Philip and the count’s daughter?”

“Philip took her as his mistress against
Celeste’s wishes. They had many children together. But no, they
never formally married.”

Is that to be my fate?

Alex’s shoulders are tense. He seizes my
arms. “Liz, listen to me. I won’t let a stupid obscure law made in
the sixteenth fucking century to make me rescind my proposal to
you.”

“But how? I don’t want you to go against the
church.”

“If that’s what I have to do, I’ll do
it.”

This is all going wrong, wrong, wrong. It’s
a big step to go against the head of the church, even if you’re
King. Tatiana was right. None of this would have happened if Alex
just toed the line and married her instead, as intended. Now
everyone is in a conspiracy against us. There’s much, much more at
stake than them merely not wanting Alex to marry a former hotel
maid.

Alex says grimly, “I’ll get it sorted out.
I’ll have to see the Archbishop.”

I bite my lower lip. “Are you close to
him?”

“Uh, no. He never liked me much. He’s
Marie’s godfather. He thinks she would make a much better monarch
than I ever would.”

Oh.

Alex clasps my shoulders. “Let me take care
of it, Liz.”

He hugs me.

I let myself be hugged.

9

I wait anxiously for Alex to return from his
meeting with the Archbishop. The TV is on. The newscaster is
speaking in French, but I am able to grasp the proceedings now.

The scene on the TV is one of marching
protest. University students have taken to the streets against the
Archbishop’s declaration.

The newscaster, a dignified man in his
fifties, says, “The streets of Moldavia have been turned into
mayhem as protestors burn effigies of the Archbishop. King
Alexander Vassar and Elizabeth Turner are exceedingly popular with
the young people.”

Cut scene to a student protestor being
interviewed.

She says into the microphone: “It’s stupid.
The Archbishop says he won’t sanction Alexander’s marriage to a
common American and the only reason he gives is that it goes
against what the old King would have wanted. Come on. I mean no
disrespect, but the man is dead! Alexander has to move on. Has the
Archbishop even met Elizabeth Turner?”

“Yes,” her friend remarks. “I say let true
love rule, not some stupid historical law that no one in this
century even remembers.”

I do so agree.

I switch channels. A talk show is going on.
A famous Moldavian politician is on air.

He says, “It seems that King Alexander and
Elizabeth Turner have the popular backing in this issue.”

The host asks, “So do you think the
Archbishop will be swayed by the popular tide? Even the world press
has chimed in with their views. The church has already lost ground.
Attendance is at an all time low. The Vatican is concerned that
youths around the world might turn away from religion because it is
deemed outdated in its views.”

“That true love doesn’t triumph all the
time?”

“That true love cannot reverse historical
tradition.”

“The Archbishop has always openly
disapproved of King Alexander’s former lifestyle. He has been
quoted before as saying it was ‘godless’. So it comes as no
surprise that he is against this marriage, especially since Lady
Tatiana has donated much to the churches of Nuernberg and
Moldavia.”

“Yes, her father is building a new
cathedral. What do you think of this whole matter, Monsieur
Flaubert?”

The politician hesitates. “It is tempting to
give in to the popular vote. However, it would mean flaunting six
hundred years of tradition. Are laws to be repealed simply because
a new monarch doesn’t like them? King Henry VIII separated the
Church of England from Rome for that very reason. But we are no
longer in the sixteenth century.”