Paris and the Prince (Royal Weddings 1)

“So will you come back to Dalvana with me?”

Paris shook her head no. Alex looked wounded, until Paris leaned forward and kissed him again.

“I want you to meet my family first.”

* * *

“So, you want to marry my sister, huh?”

It was almost 2am, and the bar was mostly empty now. Alex had agreed to stay over for a few nights to get to know Orlando and the rest of the family before he and Paris flew back to Dalvana. Now they were sitting around a corner table by a fireplace, sipping craft beer as the jukebox played Bob Dylan. A few couples were dancing lazily to “To Make You Feel My Love” as Scott wiped down the bar. As Alex held Paris' hand under the table, he nodded solemnly at Orlando.

“Yes. Very much. I know we haven't known each other very long, but I knew the moment I saw her, that I would never want to let her go. I knew I would love her for the rest of my life. And I want to spent the rest of my life making her the happiest woman in the world, if you'll allow it.”

Orlando looked at Alex with a raised eyebrow.

“Will Paris be a... princess?”

Paris kicked her brother under the table, raising her eyebrows at him. He shrugged his wide shoulders. The thought terrified her. Alex squeezed her hand before he answered.

“No, sir. Our lineage is laid out as such that one must be born into the title of prince or princes. Paris would a Duchess of the capital city, so her official title would be Duchess Paris Lennox of Kara's Vale. But, eventually, when the crown passes on to me, she would... be Queen.”

Paris and Orlando both choked on their beer at the same time. Alex gave a bemused smile at their shock. Orlando wiped the foam away from his mouth and regained his composure.

“Well, that sounds... nice. But will she be able to continue her studies? She’s worked damned hard to get where she has.”

“I was wondering that myself,” Paris added.

Alex nodded again.

“Of course! She should be able to do whatever makes her happy. As soon as we get back, we'll make arrangements for her to take up her studies at our University. Then she can work as much or as little as she likes once she graduates. I've lived a very itinerate lifestyle these last few years, so it would be wonderful to settle down on the estate. Or wherever Paris decides feels more like home.”

Orlando finished off the last of his beer and slammed the mug down on the table.

“Well… I’m not her keeper. But if I ever see her crying again the way she did when she got here—you’ll have to answer to me, you got that?”

Paris kicked her brother again. Hard.

Alex smiled and reached out his hand to shake Orlando’s. “Got it.”

Scott switched off the “open” sign and Springsteen began singing on the jukebox as Orlando, Alex, and Paris laughed and drank into the night.

26

Orlando’s cabin only had one bedroom, so Paris found a small bed and breakfast in town that was still open and got Alex a room. The only room that was still available at the late hour was the honeymoon suite, which suited Alex and Paris just fine. But when they saw the room, they were blown away by how elegant and lovely it was.

The walls were a combination of oak panels and cream-colored walls. A stained-glass window was set over a king-sized bed, piled high with white and green pillows, atop of fluffy white comforter. A gold and purple chandelier twinkled over the bed, setting off the colors in a pale purple chiffon canopy, which was tied to two tall, thin real tree stumps set next to the bed. The bedside tables were also made of wood, and they were embedded into the trees, with a bouquet of white roses on each. Paris thought it was the most beautiful room she'd ever seen, and she'd seen many over the last few weeks.

Before they could walk through the doorway, Alex effortlessly lifted Paris up into his arms, and carried her across the threshold of the room.

The moon formed a halo around the Prince and the golden light of the fireplace accented his light skin, the ripples of his muscles and taught abdomen, the powerful line of his jaw, as he carried her over the threshold.

Paris leaned back, opening herself to him, reaching out and running her small hand along his jawline, turning his face to hers.

With a small groan, he gave in to the temptation he hadn’t wanted to resist anyway.

Alex gently set her down and they leaned into the soft pillows of the canopied bed. He wrapped his hand around her waist, moving to the small of her back, and pulled her closer. Feeling bolder, she reached a hand up and ran her fingers through his sandy hair.

He had always explored her body—he had always been the one in control—now she wondered if he would let her satisfy her own desires to explore him.

She let her hand run down the nape of his neck and along his jawline where the soft stubble of his beard peppered his face. His lips were beautifully formed with a high arch and soft skin. He bent his head to kiss her—to claim her, to mark her as his.

He lowered his head further, claiming her right breast, suckling the tight little nipple at the tip. He tugged on it gently and she wrapped her hands in his hair, drawing his head closer, cradling him with her body.

Her legs were wound around his and she felt his cock—hard and insistent against her thigh. She loved the feel of it, the thick turgid length, but most of all she loved knowing that she was the one who made him that way.

They made short work of divesting themselves of their clothing, and soon it was in a heap on the floor as they resumed their caresses.

Alex's other hand was on her breast, caressing her soft flesh, tracing the length of her body, the smooth curve of her hip. His hard body against her supple, yielding one delighted her senses. The soft smattering of hair on his chest rubbed against her, creating friction that sent a frisson down her core.

He played her body like a musician who was an expert at his instruments. His hand went to the juncture of her thighs and her legs spread wider, opening for him with little resistance.

Alex sought the access to her most secret place. Her wet slit opened for him, his hands rhythmically playing against her clit, rubbing it, bringing the little bud between her legs to life. His cock sought entrance, straining hard against her legs, but the Prince wanted to make this encounter last.

It was always a surprise to Alex, how much he wanted to hear Paris scream and moan in delight, how much pleasure he derived in giving her orgasms. Whether the women in his past had enjoyed themselves, it had always been incidental to his own pleasure. With Paris however, it was a point of pride for him to be able to make her experience sensations she had never experienced before.

His head was below her waist and he trailed kisses from her belly button to her mons. She gasped as he took her clit in his mouth, sucking on it, swirling his tongue around, enticing the head of her clit from its hiding place.

Paris's gasps and moans were coming furiously, the sounds reverberating in the still room, and in the cool night air. Through half lidded eyes, Paris could make out the shapes and shadows highlighted by the dancing fireplace.

The light of the flames caressed Alex's skin. In between her legs, Paris could see the rise and fall of the Prince’s tight buttocks and his thighs rubbing together as he strained, his cock pressing hard into the mattress. His lips were licking, tasting, delighting her.

He thrust two fingers deeply into her, matching the rhythm of his tongue on her clit. Her pussy was drenched with juices, slick and inviting to him.

Paris wanted to taste him, she wanted to taste him the way he tasted her. She tried to move but Alex resisted.

“Let me, I want to," she said.

Bemused, Alex let himself be led and turned onto his back. Paris was on him then, mounting him, raining kisses down his body. His hard flesh, warm and rough under her fingers, the ripple of muscles—of animal power barely contained—thrilled her. She let her tongue linger on his nipples, playing with one, and then the other. His hand was on her head, and he gently guided her even lower to wh

ere his cock was standing proud and erect, waiting for her.

She grasped him in her hands, spitting for lubrication, and began working on him. She opened her mouth and swallowed his cock, the smooth head going past her plump lips, her tongue swirling, tasting the salty musk of his smooth skin. Her hands were working furiously on the shaft of his cock, as one hand cupped his balls and played with them.

Alex moaned, his hands turning to fists as he grasped Paris’ curly hair, drawing her face closer to his cock, his thrusts growing deeper, and more frantic.

His hips were undulating as she worked her tongue on the shaft and the head of his cock. She kept time with his movements, his cock hitting the back of her throat, straining against her.

He wanted more.

So much more.

He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to feel the slick lips of her pussy enveloping him, the way her mouth was. It was his turn to roll her over, and he was between her legs before she could react.

She sensed his intentions as he splayed her legs wide, allowing them to rest on his shoulders as he aimed his cock for her tight hole.

He thrust in; her wet petals parted easily to give him access to her moist pussy.

They moaned together as he entered her.

"Oh, yes," she gasped.

He grunted, thrusting in deeply, housing himself to the hilt in her tight quim. He could never get enough of her; she fit him perfectly.