“Uh-hum,” I say. What the hell were we talking about again? I can’t think clearly when all I can focus on is what’s happening between my legs.
It’s a good thing that there is a ballroom of people waiting for an audience with my mother and the king, because I there’s no way I can muster a coherent sentence. My entire body feels warm, heated to the point of discomfort by the arousal surging through my veins.
Albie leans close to me as we walk away. “Do I hear a faint buzzing sound?” he asks.
“Shut up,” I reply, through gritted teeth. Oh God, if he keeps this going, I’m going to have to walk out of here right now.
“I’m kidding,” he says. “Totally silent. Although, judging from the expression on your face, it’s obviously working.”
“I don’t know why I let you put it in me,” I hiss, barely able to choke out the words. Another surge of the vibrator, and I stumble, putting my hand on Albie’s arm for support.
“Oh, trust me, luv,” he whispers, smiling politely at someone from across the room, someone important who’s undoubtedly walking toward us to say hello. I can’t tell who it is because I’m practically seeing double already. “I’m going to be putting more than that in you.”
“Miss Kensington,” a voice says, and the vibration stops abruptly. Thank God, because I was about to cause a scene. I look up to see an older gentleman, and Albie introduces us – he's a politician of some kind. Or was it an earl? I've already forgotten.
Then Albie and I are split up. For the next half hour, one of the royal family's handlers, a public relations expert named Christine who dictates my every move, escorting me from guest to guest. There is a whole team of public relations handlers on staff, all dressed in identical black suits on non-event days and gowns and tuxedos on nights like tonight.
Christine is stiff and rigid, all business and no pleasure, her jet-black hair pulled up in a high ponytail that only serves to make her face look even thinner than it is. She introduces me to guests in a clipped tone, with just a hint of a smile, an expression that must serve her well in this capacity. Everything about her screams ‘don’t fuck with me.’
She's positively terrifying.
And the entire time, the vibrator flicks on and off inside me, at random intervals that Albie determines from wherever he is in the ballroom.
I smile and nod and exchange pleasantries with people until I’m dizzy, unable to think of anything except the throbbing between my legs. All-business-Christine introduces me to important people, reminding me between introductions of the importance of learning royal customs and maintaining royal bearing. And the whole time, Albie is sending random pulses of vibration through me that nearly leave me breathless.
I’ve been reduced to a weak-kneed, quivering bundle of desire, controlled by my pussy – and by my stepbrother.
Thirty minutes into this fiasco, and I’m worthless. All of my brain cells are now devoted to maintaining my composure while Albie turns on the vibrator again.
I will not have an orgasm here in the middle of this, I tell myself. It would be deeply humiliating.
Nevertheless, I can feel it building in my core.
“Are you okay?” Christine asks. “You look flushed. Should I send for a doctor?”
“No!” I snap, then quickly lower my voice, clearing my throat as I look over her shoulder. I'm desperately trying to find Albie in the sea of people, to telegraph the message that he has to stop what he's doing. “Um. I need…some water. Or some air, maybe. Champagne.” I’m babbling, making no sense. She must think I’m on drugs or something.
“Ten minutes,” she says, curtly, whirling around and walking briskly in the other direction, her hand on her earpiece.
I breathe a sigh of relief when the vibrating ceases, even though it does little to stop the pulsing between my legs. I mentally calculate how far it is to the ladies room and whether I can get through the crowd without being seen by anyone.
“Oh my God.” Alexandra takes my arm. “You got stuck with Christine. She’s the worst of the PR robots. Do you want to make an escape?”
I giggle, the absurdity of all of this suddenly hitting me. “She’s awful,” I whisper.
“You have to medicate to get through it,” Alex says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I totally like you, Belle. Have I told you that? You’re not terrible. I expected you to be terrible, like one of those really smug bitches, the kind who think they’re God’s gift to the earth just because they go around saving people and stuff.”
“You’re obviously well-medicated,” I say, laughing.