Prince Albert(38)

Albie and I trail behind everyone else, lingering, putting distance between us and them. When we leave, Albie walks behind me, his steps purposeful. I half-expect him to grab my wrist as we walk, to yank me back and pull my body flush into his, bringing his mouth down on mine. Maybe I half-hope that will happen.

"You really should stop playing games, luv," he says.

I look down the side of the hall, checking to see if any housekeeping staff have noticed us.

But no one's there. The hallway is quiet and deserted, as if fate itself is giving us permission to flirt, to engage, to continue walking this lust-fueled tightrope.

If I had any sense at all, I'd turn around and head for my suite. I’d Raine and tell her that I'm going to buy a plane ticket, that I will meet her and Phoenix in Amsterdam and pretend none of this ever happened.

I'll forget I'm a soon-to-be princess.

I'll forget that I'm Albie's soon-to-be-stepsister.

I'll forget that I'm his wife.

If I had any sense, that's what I'd do.

But I don't.

Albie grabs my wrist, right in the hallway, and pulls me into the nearest room. It's a game room filled with antique furniture like every other room in the palace. Except this room has old chess sets and a gilded billiard table. In the center of the room sits a circular gaming table topped with cream and gold marble, surrounded by gilded antique chairs.

Albie pulls me into the room, walking briskly around the area without a word before going to the door and securing the lock. He turns to me, his back against the door. "You and I need to stop this back-and-forth," he says. "We both know you’re dying to have me.”

I back up until my back is flush against the marble topped table, taking Albie in. He's wearing a dark suit, tailor-made for him, that sets off his blue eyes and dark hair perfectly, as if he stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. But what I see in those eyes is nothing like what I'd see in a magazine. It's intense, feral. Filled with lust.

"I know you want me," I say. Heat courses through my body, the marble top of the table cool against the small of my back. "Based on the state you returned my panties in."

"But today, there are no panties," he says, crossing the room with long, purposeful strides until he reaches me. He stands in front of me, too close for comfort, and I suck in a deep breath of air as my heart races a million beats a second.

He looks down at me, using his knee to spread my legs. "Just say you want my fingers there, stroking your clit. You want me to put my mouth between your legs, suck your clit until you're breathless…"

“No,” I say.

I reach between my legs, pushing aside the breezy fabric of my skirt to slide my fingers down the front of my mound to touch my throbbing clit. I bite my lip at the shock of arousal that courses through me, watching the expression on Albie's face change from one of unabashed lust to surprise.

He didn't think I would touch myself in front of him.

Hell, I didn't think I would do something like this. Lust is making me insane. Temporary insanity, I think. I've never been left so unsatisfied before, and yet the only thing I can think about, the only think I care about right now, is pushing him to the brink. Making him be the one who begs for it.

"All you have to do is say please, Belle," Albie says, his eyes on mine. He stands there unmoving, unwavering, his leg pressed against the bottom of my pussy. I know I'm wet, and the thought of my wetness soaking the fabric of his suit -- the thought of leaving my mark -- makes me insane.

"After you," I say, my voice breathy. "It's such a small word. Just a request, really."

"Ladies first."

But I'm not going to say please. I'm not going to beg him, the way every other girl in the world has begged him.

He watches me, unable to disguise his arousal, the bulge in his pants more than enough evidence that he's turned on.

The knock on the door startles me and I jump, pulling my skirt down and straightening up immediately, my heart racing. "Oh my God. Is the door locked?" I whisper.

Albie raises his eyebrows and winks at me. "Live a little, luv," he says, chuckling as I push him away.





CHAPTER NINETEEN

Albie



Live a little.

That’s what I told her, hours ago in the game room, when we were interrupted by a member the household staff who needed to prepare the room for an afternoon event.



Live a little. Detour to the observatory.



That’s the text she sent me ten minutes ago, as I was making my way toward the petite ballroom, to an event for some cause or another, something utterly forgettable.

Of course I’m going to detour to the observatory. My cock is rock hard, thinking about what just happened in the game room earlier today. Thinking about Belle, with her dress hitched up around her thighs, giving me a view of her bare pussy under that conservative dress of hers.