Page 22 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

Clara’s eyes widen like a doe’s, and it occurs to me that maybe I’m the one getting the wrong idea. Why settle for snogging a prince if you can shag one? Why have a little fun when you can go temporarily mental and do something out of character? Because this is out of character for her. She’s made it clear, and I’ve been ignoring it.

“Do you want a fling?” I force myself to ask.

She stares for a moment. “I assumed...”

“There’s that word again. I’m not interested in you as a throwaway fuck. Why would you think that?”

“If it walks like a duck, and it talks like a duck.”

“I think this is one time where you could use fuck in that statement.” I let go of the hand I’m still holding and push off her. “I don’t know what to do with you, Clara Bishop. I’ve been thinking about fucking you since I saw you in that tiny black dress at the party. When you said no to me at the club, I thought that was it, and then you changed your mind and agreed to a date.”

“This is a date?” She starts like I’ve thrown cold water on her. I can only hope her body doesn’t have a similar reaction.

“Isn’t it?”

“The Royals really are fucked up.” She grins a little at me, and some weight lifts from my shoulders.

“Don’t I know it?” My answering smile isn’t nearly as amused. “So did you expect flowers? The cinema?”

“Usually, I expect a little more conversation on a date,” she says slowly.

I try to see it through her eyes. What would a normal chap do? Pick her up and take her to dinner? Bring her those damned flowers? She deserves as much, and I’ve mocked her. “Maybe we should start over.”

My cock disagrees with this assessment, and it takes effort to continue. Clara might deserve those things, but if she expects them, she will be disappointed. “I don’t court women. There wouldn’t be a point.”

“But we’re on a date.” She sounds confused.

“Dating and courting are two different things. You and I could go to dinner or to the country, or we could stay here and fuck. That’s dating to me. Courtship implies expectations. I don’t do romance, and I don’t do long-term. If you’re looking for more, I can’t give you that. What I can give you is pleasure. More pleasure than you’ve ever known in your life. I will spend every moment I have with you taking you to the edge and holding you as you spill over.” She squirms at my words, and I realize that’s what she wants. But it’s not as simple as her throwaway fuck implies, and she needs to know that. “Isn’t that what everyone is looking for when they go on dates? Why pretend we’re after something else? You’re attracted to me, and I’m attracted to you. I want to fuck you all day long, and then I’d like to see you again and fuck you again. Could you agree to that?”

She bites her lip again, and I move without thinking, my body taking control of the situation. My cock is pressing against her entrance before I realize she hasn’t agreed.

“Yes.”

It’s enough. It’s what I need to hear.

I kiss her before she can change her mind. Slipping my tongue against hers, I roll my hips until her legs fan open. One thrust and the argument would be over. She gasps, and I want to swallow her pleasure. Sucking her tongue languidly, I wonder how long I can make this last—how much more I can make her want me. I want her to forget her worries. I want to show her that my way means pleasure without the baggage of my family and title. I circle the crown of my cock against her clit until her nails clutch my shoulders. Then I slip inside her—barely.

“I want you inside me.” Her voice is soft, but I hear her plea. She’s not begging. Yet. That will come. But that’s not the point. I push inside, her cunt clamping against me as her body arches into mine. It feels better than I ever imagined. It’s never been like this before. I have to remind myself to move. Holding her to me, wanting to feel her breasts brush against my shirt, I bring us to the edge, our eyes still locked together.

She wants to look away—to close her eyes and fade into the safe and known.

But I won’t let her. “Say my name.”

“Alexander.” She’s panting now, her arms tightening around my shoulders.

“Again.” I grab her hips and urge her hips against me harder and faster, meeting each movement with a thrust.

“Alexander.” She comes with my name on her lips and her eyes on me like she’s been waiting her whole life to be given what she needed. I wait, wanting to give her that without taking my own pleasure. But her climax clenches against my cock and pushes me over. Digging my fingers into her hips, I empty inside her, already thinking of when I will take her again.

I don’t know how it’s been with other men. I only know that this is the part where, in my experience, the girl stumbles off to the loo, and I don’t want Clara going anywhere. Wrapping my arms around her, I draw her to the bed and hold her against my chest. With her in my arms, my racing heart settles. I don’t know what to make of that, especially with her still breathing so heavily against me. I want her to feel the peace she’s given me, so I kiss her forehead. She relaxes instantly, folding into me with an ease I don’t deserve but finding myself wanting. Maybe I’ll always want her—want to fuck her, want to hold her, want to kiss her forehead.

But a man like me doesn’t get stolen kisses and a woman who still blushes when she undresses. We don’t get always.