Masked Prince (Fated Royals 2)

Her wetness increased and her clit swelled against my thumb. She parted her lips slightly and her breathing quickened. Fuck, I needed to be inside her. Right fucking now.

But just as I was about to get on top of her, she turned her body, and drew up her leg, pinning my hand right between her thighs. She was strong as fuck, much stronger than most women. I tried to rotate my wrist, but she had me pinned in the honeypot. Held hostage by the hottest pussy in the universe.

As soon as I stopped fingering her and massaging her clit, her breathing slowed and she drifted back off to the deep, quiet sleep from which I’d tried to wake her.

She was fucking exhausted, and no wonder. She’d been through hell and back yesterday, and then I rocked her fucking world hour upon hour until we were both spent and exhausted. Best thing I could do for her now was let her sleep. And that’s what I always wanted for her. The very best.

Though it pained me to do it, I slowly dislodged my hand from between her legs, careful not to move more than I had to. Once I had my hand free, I put my fingers to my nose and inhaled. Honey and seashells. My cock responded instantly.

There was nothing like that smell. Fucking nothing. The aphrodisiac to beat them all, bar fucking none.

Cock throbbing and so hard it hurt, I forced myself out of bed, adjusting my balls as I walked to the wash basin. Every muscle in my body was sore from fucking her. And if I was sore, I thought, glancing at her in the mirror, she must be fucking wrecked. After I splashed water on my face and pulled on a pair of britches, I made my way up to my own quarters, and tugged on a rope that ran up to the ceiling, which rang the bell for my maid.

After barely a minute, I heard a knock at the door. It was my maid, who’d been looking after me in one way or another since I was a kid. Her name was Melinda. I couldn’t have asked for better help. She kept all my secrets, put up with my shit, and wasn’t afraid to tell me I was being a bone-headed asshole when necessary.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said, with a deep curtsy. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my voice low. Iris was one floor below, surrounded by walls of the thickest stone, but I didn’t want to chance her waking without my being there. “But it needs to be seriously special. The works. No trouble spared.”

She looked a little surprised. Without fail, I had a simple breakfast of eggs, fresh bread, and butter. But after a moment’s hesitation, she regained her composure.

“Of course, my lord.”

“And make it for two.”

Now she looked really surprised. Never, not once, had I had a woman in my bed for breakfast. But Melinda was, as always, respectful about everything.

“Of course, sir.”

“And I mean it. The freshest fruit. Tea and coffee. Eggs, bacon,” I said, thinking back to the meals we’d shared at her farm. She loved sweets, I knew that for sure.

“As many jams and marmalades as we’ve got. Berries. Chocolate croissants.” I drew in a sharp breath. “Melinda, don’t let anyone else in the household find out about this. Go to the kitchens yourself, find the food and bring it back here. If anyone asks why you need so much, tell them I’ll be busy making preparations all day and don’t wish to be disturbed for lunch.”

“Yes, sir,” Melinda said, with an embarrassed blush coloring her wrinkled cheeks. “I get the idea. Discretion.”

I didn’t have to tell her to be quick about it, because she always was. So I was surprised that she hesitated before she turned to go.

“Might I just say, my lord. If…you’ll pardon my saying…” Melinda glanced up at me. I gave her a flick of my chin to tell her to go ahead. She smiled. “It does me good to see you so happy.” Then she gave me a quick curtsy and rushed off.

Happy. Happy. It was true. I felt happy and I must look it. It was a strange feeling, but a damned good one. It did me pretty fucking good to feel happy, too.

Melinda’s quick footsteps returned, and she peeked around the corner of the hallway.

“What about flowers, sir?”

“Shit, yes. Definitely flowers,” I said. I knew just the ones. “Make it a bouquet of the irises from my courtyard.” She gave me a sheepish smile and I added, “Thank you, Melinda.”

“I’ll be sure to keep them hidden until I deliver them here.” She nodded on a bow, turned and practically skipped down the stone hall.

When Iris woke up, the full spread was ready for her. There was a silver cart with four trays of food at the end of the bed, and one more tray on the comforter, with the bouquet of irises. There were coconut-rolled dates, fresh apricots with dew still on the outside, eggs, coffee and tea. As soon as she opened her eyes, I held out a bunch of grapes to her and said, “Eat.”