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Her breaths are coming fast. Her pulse flutters visibly in her throat.
Fuck, shewantsme. I’m sure of it. And though she’s fighting this for some reason, though she’s clearly conflicted, I take refuge in that fact.
There’s comfort in the truth of our bodies, swaying toward each other on this balcony. In the high color on her cheeks, and the way her fingers tighten reflexively around mine.
“I’d go down on one knee,” I tell her quietly, “but there are staff in the gardens. Watching. There are always eyes on me, even here.” Her skin is soft under my thumb, and I stroke back and forth over her hand. Back and forth. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll kneel for you after the ball tonight in the privacy of my quarters. I’ll go down on one knee and beg for a future together, and if you like—” I can’t resist a lopsided grin “—you can put me to good use while I’m down there.”
Olympia’s eyes widen, and I’m struck by the suspicion, not for the first time, that my fiance lacks experience with men. After reading her file and seeing those photos of her in the gossip rags, photos of her in strange men’s laps on private yachts, I had assumed…
Well. It wouldn’t have mattered either way. It certainly wouldn’t have changed how much I want her.
But it jars against the perception I had of my fiance, and makes me wonder if I should slow down.
And perhaps it sheds some light on that scream. This is all already overwhelming enough, even for me, but to add her first time to the equation…
“There’s no rush.” I press a chaste kiss to her fingers, then let her hand go. “I’ll wait for you to be ready, sweetheart. However long it takes.”
“Thank you.” Olympia’s whisper is strained, and she’s oddly sad as she turns away. “I appreciate that, Your Highness.”
* * *
My promise to show restraint is tested the second I see my fiance in a ballgown. It’s classic and pretty, a creation in pale pink silk that hugs her to the waist then cascades to the floor in a rippling waterfall. Her neckline is a high slash across her collarbone.
That constellation of freckles peeks out then hides away as she moves.
Fuck. This is already the longest night of my life, and we haven’t even entered the ballroom.
“You look beautiful,” I grit out, far too conscious of Danika lingering in the background, eyes sparkling and smug. String music and the hum of voices drifts through the closed ballroom doors, our future calling us inside.
Olympia offers a shy smile, but she’s tense as she takes my arm. Her dark hair is coiled in an elaborate updo, and all I can think about is teasing it free. Spreading it across my pillow and rubbing my cheek on those silky tresses.
Then wrapping them around my cock and fucking my fist while her brown eyes stare up at me.
When did I become so depraved?
“I’ll make the announcement quickly.” Anything to help ease her nerves. Olympia nods, but her steps are stiff as I lead her to the door. “Give us a moment, please,” I say abruptly, turning to the staff clustered all around. They scatter like chickens, and then we’re finally alone.
“I’m sorry.” She’s breathless. Vibrating with stress.
“It’s fine.” With a wave of my finger, my fiance spins and faces the wall. I shake off all thoughts of pushing forward, pressing against her plump ass and crowding her against the wallpaper, bunching up her dress and fuck, finding her wet heat—and place my palms on her shoulders instead. Her muscles are rigid. “Do you know what you’re owed as my bride, sweetheart?”
“No.” The word trails off into a moan as I knead her stiff shoulders. She sways under my touch, a rag doll in a silk dress, and I choke back my own arousal. This isn’t about me.
“The royal treatment.” I smirk at her huffed laugh. “From the staff and our guests, yes, but from me too. That means waiting on you hand and foot. That means rubbing your shoulders and fetching you drinks. That means—”
“Going to your knees for me?” Her voice is husky, and I stifle a groan.
“Yes.” I step closer, restraint be damned, until my chest brushes against her shoulder blades. She must feel my lurching heart, slamming against my chest to get to her. “Every instant that you’ll let me, darling. Any time, any place. Even now, I’m desperate for a taste.”
She whimpers, and I’m nearly undone on the spot.
“Soon,” I promise, dredging the word from deep inside. “I can’t wait much longer.”
A small hand reaches back, gripping onto my shirt. “N-neither can I.”
Fuck.Fuck.
Goddamn duty. Goddamn ball. Goddamn crowds and responsibilities and public decency. It can all go to hell.
