Prince Albert(51)

Belle’s eyebrows go up and she laughs. “You’re going to get stoned right here, outside of the palace?”

“I have a one of those electronic cigarettes. It’s not like I’m whipping out a joint. It hardly smells.”

“This is not what I thought palace life would be like,” Belle says. But she takes a swig from the flask, grimacing before she hands it back to me.

“What?” I ask, leaning back against the wall beside her. “You never thought it would be this damn classy, did you?”

She laughs. “Yeah, right. Classy is exactly how I would describe this experience.”

I take a drag on the vaporizer and hand it to her. “This is made of gold,” I say. “That’s class, right there.”

“I’ve never gotten high,” she says.

I sigh loudly. “Why am I not surprised that Little Miss Do-Gooder has never gotten stoned?”

“I’m not Little Miss Do-Gooder,” she says, disgusted. “Why are you trying so hard to corrupt me, anyway?”

I turn to face her. “Because you need corrupted, luv,” I say, softly. “Tell me you didn’t love all of that tonight.”

Her face flushes, and she brings the vaporizer to her lips.

“Suck it into your mouth,” I instruct her, laughing. “Ironically, I have a feeling that’s what I’ll be telling you pretty soon.”

When she laughs, a vapor cloud blows out her nose and she coughs. “If you’re implying that I might blow you soon, you’d be mistaken. I am so not blowing you out here.”

“Oh, I didn’t say out here, luv.”

“Shit,” she says, as two security guards walk down the side of the property in our direction. She turns and walks quickly toward the palace, while I amble slowly behind her. I don’t bother trying to remind her that I’m the Crown Prince – my family’s security has caught me doing worse things than smoking weed behind the palace.

We take the long way around, away from the ballrooms and all the hoopla that surrounds our parents’ engagement party. Belle walks in front of me, her bare feet padding on the thick carpets that line the hallway. A piece of her hair falls out of its updo, and even though she doesn’t look completely disheveled, she looks undone.

I’m responsible for that undone state.

I have the irresistible urge to undo her completely.

She looks over her shoulder at me as if she can read my thoughts. “Where are we going?”

I look around at my choices of rooms. “In here,” I say, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the hallway.

“What are you doing?” she hisses.

“I’m not finished with you,” I tell her.

“No,” she whispers, looking up at me with wide eyes. She might say no, but her eyes betray her. Her pupils are practically the size of saucers, and she runs her tongue along her lower lip.

“No?” I ask.

“The throne room, Albie?” she asks, noting the plaque outside of the room that labels it. “Aren’t there security cameras?”

“I already told you, luv. My dad has a thing about cameras. They’re only in the public spaces,” I say. “This wing isn’t considered public.”

I wave my key card over the door and the green light flashes when it unlocks. “Come on,” I say. “Don’t be a scared kitten.”

“A scared kitten?”

“Isn’t that the American phrase?”

“You mean scaredy-cat,” she says, laughing. The door closes with a heavy thud, and I step close to her.

I shrug. “Exactly.”

“Not quite,” she says. She takes the edge of her lip between her teeth.

“Scared pussy.”

“That’s definitely not right,” she says, giggling, and I don’t let her keep laughing. I bring my mouth down hard on hers, harder than before. She moans as her tongue wars with mine.

I’ve kissed a lot of girls, but this kiss is something else entirely. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you need more, and I’m not used to needing anything.

“So you’re saying that your pussy isn’t nervous at all, then?” I ask when I pull away.

“I’m not saying anything about my pussy.”

“It didn’t seem nervous to me a few minutes ago,” I say. “I should refresh my memory, though.”

I reach for her, and she backs away from my grasp, nearly catching her foot on the hem of her dress. When she doesn’t fall she just laughs. I reach for her again, and she runs, giggling, across the wooden floor of the throne room and down the purple carpet that leads up the stairs to the thrones.

She stops short in front of the thrones. “We shouldn’t be in here,” she says. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”