Page 138 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

‘Please, Javier.’

He shook his head. ‘Use your words, Your Majesty. Tell me what you want me to do to your body.’

She made a groaning sound. Did he have any idea how hard this was for her to say? To put into words? She was a queen and she’d been raised to be polite and respectful at all times. He was asking her not only to embrace this sensual side of herself, but to be completely comfortable with it. He was pushing her to accept who she was. All the aspects, not just those she’d been raised to express.

‘It’s quite simple. You are my queen,’ he reminded her. ‘Your wish is my command. Whatever you say, I’ll do.’

Her heart turned over in her chest at the power he was seemingly delivering her, all the while knowing he held all the cards. They both knew it. Javier was in completely control here. His body was the master of hers, no matter what he might say.

‘Please do…what you did…the first time…’

‘That’s close, but not quite enough.’

She closed her eyes. ‘Javier…’

‘Do you want me to kiss you here?’ he asked, and finally, his finger brushed against her harder, faster, so she nodded frantically.

‘Please, yes, Javier, I do. God, I really do.’

He surprised her then by thrusting his fingers into her. She arched her back on a feral cry of want. She heard his curse over it, though. The gruff, throaty, fuuuuck from his mouth, as he stared at her and then, whether he thought she’d gone far enough or not, his mouth was on her, while his fingers were inside her, and she was floating away on a torturous, perfect wave. Her body so awash with sensations she truly wondered if she’d died and gone to heaven.

* * *

It was much later that night, before they finally got around to the boxes. Astrid had connected her phone to his sound system and put on some of her favourite Christmas carols. Jazzier than at the event the night before, these songs were performed by a Canadian artist she’d seen perform many years earlier and had loved ever since. Astrid found herself humming along as Javier removed a bottle of champagne from the fridge and uncorked it, his fist muffling the sound so it gave only a muted celebratory pop before he filled two glasses with the liquid.

Though Astrid rarely drank, she was in a celebratory mood this evening. She’d thought sleeping with Javier once would get it out of her system, but she’d been so wrong. Each time had been different. Not better, necessarily—it was hard to quantify the kind of euphoric delirium he was able to possess—but more profound. Deeper. More of an education and insight into herself. And on this night, he’d pushed her to her limits, forcing her to confront her desires, to recognise them and then ask him to address them. He’d made her not just his lover, but a part of his team. They were working together to seek maximum pleasure.

She was no longer just an innocent, passively being made love to, but his partner.

Not his real partner, she hastened to remind herself, her smile dropping in the smallest degree. But in bed, they were becoming equals. Her curiosity and insatiable interest were growing, minute by minute. When she looked at him in the kitchen, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, her mouth went dry and a new wave of desire began to crash against her.

She jerked her gaze back to the tree quickly. If she wasn’t careful, they’d never get around to hanging a single ornament, and there was no way she was having him spend Christmas Eve without a hint of festive frippery.

He closed the distance between them, champagne flute held towards her. Astrid took it, her fingers sparking when they brushed his. A hint of mockery in his gaze showed he saw it and understood.

‘So?’ he prompted, nodding towards the boxes.

She sipped her champagne then placed the glass down on an occasional table, weaving across the room to the packages. ‘Well, you have a tree,’ she pointed out.

‘Thanks to you.’

‘Indeed. And now, we get to decorate it.’ Astrid was surprised by the excitement in her voice. She was usually so careful to keep her feelings carefully concealed—even the positive ones.

‘You are like a kid in a candy store.’

She turned on her heel to face him and ignored any impulse to downplay what this meant to her. Why bother? They both knew the limitations of what they were doing; there was no risk here.

‘I haven’t decorated a tree myself for a long time,’ she confided. ‘I’m probably very out of practice but, so far as I can remember, we string the lights first.’

‘Your palace is filled with trees,’ he pointed out. ‘Surely there’s one you could have decorated yourself?’

Her smile slipped slightly, as she shook her head, the familiar pang of grief somehow richer and deeper when experienced so close to Javier. As though he had a hotline into the heart of her suffering and the ability to make it seem so much deeper somehow.

‘The staff do that,’ she said, waving a hand through the air. ‘There are protocols, you know.’

‘And yet you’ve decorated a tree before,’ he said thoughtfully, coming to stand at her side. ‘Even if it was a long time ago.’

She sucked in a breath, because he was right. He’d paid attention and heard the revealing phrasing. ‘When I was a girl,’ she said, proud that her voice was cool and calm. ‘We would have a tree in our family apartment. My mother loved Christmas,’ she murmured. ‘In private, we started to celebrate much earlier than is generally acceptable.’ A wistful smile touched her lips without her knowledge. ‘From the middle of November, my mother would start to put little decorations out, here and there, to begin soaking fruit and making gingerbread cookies.’