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“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.’
