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Chapter 8
Vivienne
“Ms. Taylor,” the driver says, opening my door.
I slide out, my pussy leaving a trail of wetness on the leather seat.
That was one of the longest and most difficult limo rides I’ve ever had in my life.
I smooth the satin fabric of my dress down, and I stretch my body, hoping to smoothen the fire trapped underneath it.
God, he’s so...damn good.
I roll my neck to release some of the built-up tension, and a hand starts to massage my shoulders.
I turn to see David behind me, with that royally handsome smile.
“Too bad I couldn’t work these kinks out.” He pretends to pout and applies more pressure.
A soft moan spills from my lips as a wave of relief washes over me. I hear it before I can close my mouth.
I look around, hoping no one else heard that. This is definitely not the time or the place to start moaning out loud.
“Don’t worry, love. Your secret’s safe with me,” he whispers, and the tension comes back and intensifies into a gnawing ache.
Really, I’m proud—and slightly amazed—that I didn’t fuck him in the back of the limo. Christ knows I wanted to, and I still do.
But we have to play this safe and professional, especially tonight at the gala.
Unfortunately, like taking a stiff drink, it’s hard to recover and act unaffected afterwards.
“Your arm, love.” He stands by my side and presents his fitted wool-covered bicep.
I wrap my arm under his, making sure my fingers linger ever-so-slowly over the strained fabric.
“King David, you’re such a gentleman.”
“When you have a lady, who looks as lovelyas you do, how should one act?” The corner of his mouth curls up into a deliciously devious smile, and my cunt moistens, imagining their fullness curl around my clit.
He pulls me closer, placing his other hand over mine, and I revel in the delicate touch.
The doors open for us, and we enter a gorgeous estate dripping in elegance and refinement.
To the right, there are floor-to-ceiling windows draped with rich velvet cream curtains. There’s a lace overlay as well so when the sun shines it projects a beautiful shadow on the marble flooring. There’s a row of chandeliers, similar to Versailles’s hall of mirrors.
It’s breathtaking but strikingly ostentatious.
“Welcome to the land of mirrors,” he whispers into the crux of my neck.
I look at him and smile. It’s like he read my mind or something.
He continues, “It’s a land where everyone acts the same, looks the same, and if they don’t, they’ll order the right polish to fix their blemishes.” He winks.
“Let me guess, I’m your polish?” I tease him.
“Oh, love. You’re not a polish, though some might think you are. To me, you’re a rare gem. Just look at them gawk at you.” He nods his head to the crowd in front of us and I take a gander.
He isn’t wrong. Everyone is staring at me, measuring me up to the man on my arm. I nod at them, giving them my most charming smile. Though I feel my cheeks blush slightly, I then remember who they’re actually looking at—the king.
