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I hope we get to spend more time together soon. I can hardly wait to see you again.
Love,
Ella
8
Ella sat on the edge of the tub, pulling on her bra and panties. Her bath had been nice, but nowhere near as nice as it would’ve been if she’d had the company she’d wished for.
Love, she’d signed it. She hadn’t realized it ‘til after it had already been done. She wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but she let it stay. It was probably just an old habit, a simple closing to a letter that she’d used a thousand times.
Not with him, though. It felt different. Scary and exciting all at once. She probably should’ve scratched it out or written a new letter, but it had felt right somehow, and she’d been feeling reckless. He always made her feel that way.
A knock sounded on the door. She smiled, a thrill racing through her blood—it had to be the guard with Phillip’s reply. “Come in!” she called, kicking the bathroom door nearly shut so as to avoid the guard seeing her half-naked. “Leave the letter on the table.”
The door creaked open. “I’m afraid it’s not a letter, just the real thing,” said Phillip.
Ella froze. She did a quick inventory. In the bedroom: Phillip, her towel, her clothes, and her robe. In the bathroom: one mostly-naked Ella. All she had on were her panties and bra—though they were her favorite lacy ones, at least.
“Uhhh, just a minute,” she called, looking around frantically. There had to be at least a hand towel or something in here. She’d thought she was ready to get naked with Phillip, but now that there was nothing between him and her but the flimsy bathroom door, she felt suddenly shy. What if he thought she was too flat, too curvy, not curvy enough? It was the middle of the day—she’d hoped he’d see her naked somewhere romantic and preferably dark the first time.
Phillip’s voice got a little closer. “I wanted to invite you on a late-afternoon ride, teach you to ride bareback,” he said, the husky note in his voice saying he’d guessed exactly how little she was wearing at this moment.
“Sure,” she squeaked out, opening a drawer. Nothing but her hairbrush and toothpaste. Damn it, how was she supposed to get out of this with her dignity intact? “Give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you there.”
The door creaked open. Phillip stood in the doorway, a new pair of riding boots dangling from his hand. He took his time looking her up and down, and the glint in his eyes was dangerous, sexy. No one had ever looked at Ella that way before. It made her feel like she was completely naked, and also the most powerful woman in the world.
“I had a gift for you,” Phillip said, holding up the boots. “But now I’m thinking it was you who had a gift for me.”
Mmmm, that accent. She closed the drawer and stepped closer, feeling a little emboldened by the look in his eyes. “I love the way you say things.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“It’s that accent. I can’t get enough of it. Say something else.” She bit her lip, thrilled by her own brazenness. Here she was, in front of the king in broad daylight, nearly nude and practically begging him to talk dirty to her.
He put the boots down on the long counter, not taking his eyes off her. “I want you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. This was actually happening. “How?”
He advanced on her. She turned, reversing their positions so that she was the closest one to the door, teasing him. “Underneath me,” Phillip said, his gaze intense. “Moaning my name. Or maybe on top, making those little noises that make me so hard I feel like I won’t live another second unless I get inside you. Fuck, Ella.”
She bumped up against the wall, hitting the light switch and plunging them into near darkness. Her heart was racing with anticipation, her blood singing inside her. “Don’t stop now,” she breathed.
He was right in front of her. He ran his hands down her sides, reached a little further, played with the lace of her thong—oh God, she was going to die—and ran one finger along its edge. “Or maybe,” he said, pulling the panties down and letting them drop around her ankles, “I’ll pick you up,” he ran his hands under her ass, lifted her and set her on the counter, “spread your legs,” he nudged them apart until he was standing between them, looking down at her with those bedroom eyes glinting, “and get you ready for me.”
He ran his hand up her thigh, exploring. She tipped her head back, dazed, nearly panting already. “Then what?” she managed.
“Then we stop talking,” he said, and took her in a kiss that left her completely breathless. He moved away from her lips and trailed hot kisses down her neck as his hand went higher, higher, cupping her right in the spot where she needed him most. She made a noise—he growled in response—and squirmed against him. He trapped one of her thighs with his free hand, holding her still, and brushed against her clit.
She bucked, moaned. “Right there,” she said. “Oh God, right there.”
“Is this what you want?” he said, and brushed it again. He rubbed back and forth, expert fingers exerting just the right amount of pressure to drive her crazy. Then, keeping his thumb right on that perfect spot, he dipped a finger inside her.
She spread her legs wider, marveling at the feel of him. He groaned and added another finger, plunging them deeper. The pressure was delicious, perfect, and not nearly enough. He moved inside her, setting a slow tempo as she writhed against him. She wanted, needed more than his fingers. She need him deep inside her, right now, again and again, until all she could do was cry out his name.
She opened her eyes, about to tell him exactly what she wanted him to do next, and caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror on the wall. In the dim light they were silhouettes, the shadowed outline of two lovers. With his fingers buried inside her and his mouth on her neck—she’d never seen herself like this, head thrown back, inhibitions in the wind. How was it he could make her look like this? She’d never been more turned on.
She lifted the hem of his shirt, tugged it off. He had to take his hand away from her and she whimpered at the loss, but then his glorious chest was bare in front of her, and she sat back to drink it in. Perfect pecs, delicious biceps, rippling abs that she wanted to run her fingers across. So she did.
