Prince Albert(60)

"You're so jealous."

"I'm not so jealous," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm saying that I don’t want to be aiding and abetting a cheater."

"Jealous."

"You're so annoying," she says. "This is why I'm in the library, by the way."

"So you can avoid me holding up a mirror to your jealousy?"

"Not jealous."

"Not telling the truth." I sit down beside her on the sofa, too close for comfort – hers or mine. Shoulder to shoulder with her, I catch the faintest whiff of her perfume. I haven’t smelled it in days, and I inhale deeply. The scent is already burned into my brain, and it reminds me of the last time I was close enough to smell it.

When I had my arms wrapped tightly around her.

When I had my cock buried deeply inside her.

"You're avoiding giving me a straight answer," she says. She's looking at her book – some kind of thriller – but I know she's not reading it. She just stares at the pages, pretending to read, all the while sitting perfectly still. But her chest rises and falls more quickly than before, as her body betrays how she obviously feels about me.

"If I give you a straight answer, will you tell me exactly how wet you are right now?"

"No," she says. But she licks her lip. Her tongue lingers on her lower lip the way it does when she’s aroused.

"Okay,” I say. “Then I won’t tell you how hard I am just sitting here next to you. Or how I want to reach over there and lift up the side of that little skirt you're wearing, slide my hand between your legs, and find out for myself exactly how wet you are."

She crosses one leg over the other, causing her skirt to ride up high on her thigh. "Nope. I’m not wet at all," she says. "And you should go sit on the other side of the room before someone sees us."

"Look around, luv," I say. "This library is completely deserted. Our parents have retired to their residence, so they're otherwise occupied."

Belle puts her hand on my thigh, pushing me away with a sigh. If my cock weren't rock-hard before, her touch would certainly remedy that. "Eew, gross, Albie," she says. "Talking about our parents doing it means I'm definitely not wet now."

“So you admit you were wet, then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

But she uncrosses and crosses her legs again.

"No one is going to walk in on us."

"There are still a million people in this place."

"At least now you're considering letting me slide my fingers under your panties," I say. "Wait. Panties or no panties?"

"I did not say I was considering it."

"Erika is not my girlfriend, Belle," I say. "She's very firmly in the ex category. Your mother and whoever else assumed that it was Erika and I who used the pool house, but I can correct her, if you like. I'd be happy to let her know what really happened."

"No!" she blurts out before clearing her throat. "I mean, no. That won't be necessary. And I'm not jealous. I'm not insane enough to think that just because we screwed around that I have any kind of claim over you. I just don't want to be the other woman."

"What if I want you to have a claim over me?" I ask.

I don't know where the fuck that just came from.

"Erika hinted that you guys will be engaged soon," she says.

"She did what?"

Belle exhales heavily. "What Derek did to me was shitty. I would never do that to anyone else. So if there's supposed to be an engagement between you two – even if it's a political arrangement…"

"Whatever Erika told you, she's crazy," I say. "There's no engagement, real or political. This isn't the eighteenth century, Belle. There are no arranged marriages in Protrovia. And I'm not engaged to Erika."

"It's not really any of my business – "

I don't want to hear what else she has to say. I interrupt her, taking her hand and placing it on my hardness. "This is yours," I say. "I'm not fucking around with anyone else. And this…"

I slide my hand across her thigh, my fingertips touching the crease at the edge of her bikini line, but not going any farther. She breathes in sharply.

"This is mine," I say.

"My thigh is yours?" she asks, her tone lighter now. But she doesn't move her hand away from my cock.

"Your thigh," I whisper, then slide my hand further between her legs. "Your wet pussy."

She inhales sharply, squeezing reflexively around my cock as I roll my fingers over her clit. "Yours," she whispers.

"Mine."

Then I withdraw my hand from between her legs. She looks at me, eyes already pleading, and I think I hear her whimper, but I might be imagining it.