Prince Albert(50)

I’m not sure if that makes this a high point or a low point in my life.

“I can get the doctor,” Alex says. “I should call him.”

“No!” I shout, as Albie’s tongue flicks inside me again. “I…just…need to be…fucked. Um, not fucked. I do not need to be fucked. Fuck. Fuck is what I said. Just. Leave?”

“Alright, alright,” Alex says, putting her hands up in mock surrender. “Geez. I’m out of here.”

Finn elbows her. “See?” he asks. “I told you she’s weird.”

“I’ll tell security about that remote. Let’s just leave it,” Alex says as they exit. The door slams closed behind them.

“Fuuck!” I scream, clutching Albie’s head as I come on his face, unable to hold back any longer.

The orgasm is intense. It’s incredibly intense. It’s magnified a thousand times by the fact that I was trying not to come while Alex and Finn were in here, the experience made even more dangerous by the fact that they’ve probably sent security this way to grab the remote control to the vibrator.

My pussy is throbbing. The empty ache that begs to be filled is almost unbearable, as I pull Albie’s face away from me. He looks up at me, obviously pleased with himself.

“We have to get out of here,” I whisper. “Now.”

But Albie just grins and puts his face back between my legs. His tongue works its magic again, the sensation so exquisitely overpowering it’s nearly painful. When I push him away, he just laughs. “Fine,” he says, pulling himself to a standing position. He kisses me full on the lips before I can object. “Do you taste yourself? It’s the sweetest taste imaginable.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you just did that.” I scramble out from behind the bar and across the room to grab the vibrator and the remote before someone else comes in here.

“Can’t believe I did what?” Albie asks innocently. “Kissed you so you could taste yourself?”

“That too,” I say, scrambling to pick up the sex toys. My boob falls out of my dress, which is just further evidence of how absolutely fucking classy I am, and I hitch the top of the dress up an inch. “I have no pockets. Take these.”

Albie slips them into his tuxedo pocket as I stand up to see a suited man heading toward the pool house. Albie catches my panicked look and grins. “We’ll go out the back door.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me out of the pool house, and I lose a shoe in the process.

That’s the second time I’ve lost a shoe around the prince.

I’d say that on the bright side, at least my dignity is intact -- if it weren’t for the glaring fact that I had two public orgasms tonight in front of my family.

All in all, I’d say with a fair amount of certainty that dignity has gone right out the fucking window.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE



Albie



“Oh my God,” she gasps, her breath short as I pull her along the side of the property. The shadows from the trees that line the border of the yard hide us.

Or at least, I hope they do.

When we reach the side of the palace, totally deserted, Belle leans back against the building, her breath short. “Seriously, they’re going to be looking for that remote, Albie. If your sister told them it was a bomb, won’t they be evacuating?”

I laugh. “They’ll probably do a sweep of the palace, but they’re not going to evacuate our parents’ engagement party,” I say. “You really need to chill out, don’t you? Are you always this anxious?”

“No,” she protests, obviously lying. “They’re not going to evacuate over a potential bomb threat at the palace?”

“Consider the source of information,” I say. “It’s my sister. She’s not the most reliable person ever. Especially since she’s obviously high as a kite.”

“I left my shoe back there,” she says, her brow furrowed. “Someone is going to figure out that –”

I hold up my hand. “Figure out what?” I ask. “That the future princess took a stroll through the pool house? You need to calm down, luv.”

Her eyes flash. God, she really doesn’t like being told what to do, does she? I mentally congratulate myself on getting her to use the word please earlier.

But I want to hear it more. I want to hear it while she’s underneath me. My dick jumps at the thought.

“You’re so cavalier about everything,” she says.

“Thank you.”

She wrinkles her nose. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“But I’ll take it as one anyway,” I say, opening my tuxedo jacket. “I have scotch or weed. Take your pick.”