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I might not have a chance to write over the next couple of days. I can’t say more than that, but I promise to stay safe. Cade, Dante, Ronan, and the rest of the team have my back. I’m coming home to you, darlin’. And we’re taking that vacation you keep talking about and going down to Texas. I want you to meet my mom. And yeah, I’m looking forward to watching you take on Colton again.
But until I’m back, I wanted to leave you with another story to read late at night when you’re alone. And shit, the thought of you in your bed, your fingers between your legs… I’m hard right now just thinking about you.
So here it goes, fantasy number—hell, I forget. Twenty? Thirty? I can’t remember how many I’ve mailed out since I left Coronado. But you can thank me when I get back. No pen and paper needed.
How to Fuck a Princess: Part Twenty or Maybe Thirty in a Never-ending Series
Once upon a time, at the end of a long bartending shift, the princess locked up and headed for her car. As she walked through the parking lot, she could feel someone watching her. She moved to the trunk of her car, unlocked it, and reached inside.
Her silent spectator abandoned the shadows. She recognized him. She’d been waiting for this man.
“Spread your legs,” he ordered. “And keep your hands on the floor of the trunk.”
She obeyed. And he moved behind her, reaching for the hem of her short, tight skirt. (You do own one of those, don’t you darlin’?)
“Don’t move,” he said as he stepped back to admire the view under the full moon. He’d looked up at that moon, thinking about her and dreaming about this moment for so long. Now, her white thong caught the light, begging to be pulled down her perfect legs.
And while he was down there, he would steal a taste—
“Jack?”
He looked up from the legal pad as Ronan walked into the team’s makeshift base. Dante followed at his heels, heading straight for Jack’s folding table.
Jack carefully rested his forearms over his words.
“What the hell man?” Ronan demanded. “Working on your novel again?”
“A letter to Natalie,” he said. As his teammates damn well knew. He wrote to her every chance he got, sometimes two or three letters at a time to cover the days he couldn’t sit down with a pen and paper.
“You know,” Dante said. “There’s this thing called email. Saves the cost of postage and she can read it right away on her phone.”
But she couldn’t hold it in her hands. Not that she needed a physical letter to get off—which he hoped like hell she did once in a while, picturing the scenes he’d spelled out. But a letter offered tangible proof that he was still alive and fantasizing about her.
“You’re going to have to finish another time,” Ronan said, his tone packing an overdose of grim. “We just received a go order. Time to get those hostages out of there and take them home.”
Natalie stood behind the bar and sifted through the mail. In a few minutes, she’d unlock the front door and start her shift. But first, she had to find it, the envelope from someplace far, far away. Somewhere, buried between the bills and junk mail, was another letter. One arrived almost every day. Some days, she got two.
Her phone vibrated beside the pile of useless mail. She picked it up and scanned the name on the screen.
Prince Charming.
“Jack?” she said, answering the call and pressing the phone to her ear.
“Hi, Natalie.”
Her knees gave out and she sank to the floor behind her bar, blocking out everything but the sound of his voice.
“Jack, where are you?” Stupid question. He couldn’t answer that. And she might lose their connection any second. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “And I’m home. In fact, I’m—”
“Home? In Coronado?” she demanded, pushing herself off the barroom floor.
“I’m right outside your door.”
She heard a knock on the locked door to the bar. Tossing her phone aside, she rushed to open it.
“Jack,” she cried, flinging herself into his arms. She held tight, pressing her body up against him, unwilling to pull back far enough to kiss him. Right now, she just needed to hear his heart beating in his chest.
