Royally Knocked Up by Pamela DuMond
Chapter 6
Nick carried me into his private ‘house arrest’ palace quarters that, out of the corner of my eye, appeared austere, but clean. My legs cinched around his waist as he kissed me, his teeth claiming my lower lip, tongue owning my mouth. One of his hands held me tight under my ass, the other wrapped around me and tugged at my hair tie until he yanked it off and tossed it across the room. My hair bounced off my shoulders and cascaded down my back.
He came up for air, panting, a hungry look in his eyes. “Mine, Lucy. You are mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours, Nick.”
“Not Cristoph’s. Mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours, Nick.”
“I love you. I missed you.” He palmed the back of my head weaving his fingers through my hair, pulling me toward him, his lips covering mine. He tossed me on a bed and climbed on top of me, as he wrangled my fleece hoodie over my head and pitched it.
I kicked off my shoes and he yanked my running tights down my hips and thighs until they bunched at my ankles.
“Take them off,” I panted.
“I’m trying,” he said, tugging on them. “They’re like a second skin.”
“That’s because they’re running tights. A girl can’t wear loose leggings. One could trip and fall. These are super strong and suck everything in.”
“That’s the problem. I want everything that’s sucked in to be set free.”
“You’re stronger than the tights. Be brave, Nicholas. Try harder.”
He did, and my running pants flew across the room, thwacked against something that crashed to the floor, and the room grew darker. He wasted no time straddling me, his hands caressing my bare thighs, his mouth trailing kisses down my stomach.
“Foreplay later.” I grabbed onto his muscular arms and pulled him flush against me. “I want you naked. I want HRH inside me. Now.”
He grinned. “HRH thought you’d never ask!” He kneeled, unzipped his khakis, and pulled off his drawers. The not-so-little prince saluted me.
“All hail,” I said. “Hurry up.”
“I don’t have condoms.”
“I don’t care.”
He entered me. I gasped and remembered another reason why I missed him so damn much. We were like two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.
“Lucy, Lucy, I missed you,” he said, making love to me like the first time, moving inside me like he owned the place.
Twenty minutes later, or perhaps it was a day—I was too happy and had lost track of time—he lay spent, breathless, collapsed on top of me. He was warm and glowing, smelling of Nicholas; fresh salty skin, and a hint of peppermint toothpaste.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you back.” He kissed my cheek, and caressed my neck and shoulder with his fingers.
As much as I wanted to lie there forever feeling him trail his fingers across my naked flesh, I had to give him the crappy update. “I’ve got bad news. Do you want me to text you?”
“My palace ‘house’ arrest quarters are a step up from the Sauerhausen royal jail but I still don’t have access to a phone.”
“Right. I’m just going to come out and say it. I’m pretty darn sure I’m married to your brother.”
“I suspected as much,” he said.
“What are we going to do?”
He rolled off me, stood up, and stretched. “I’m drawing a bath.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m furious, darling. Not at you, obviously. We’ll figure it out. In the meantime you get to order another appetizer from the Palace Jailhouse menu.”
“I spent hours marching for your release today. I’d like a foot rub, please!” I propped myself up on one forearm and watched him walk away from me. Good God, the man had the best ass in the world. Step aside international underwear models and cute Chicago Bears’ football players. This man’s ass had no rival.
“I was thinking you might like something more spectacular on the carte du jour.” He swiveled his head, looked back at me, and waggled his eyebrows.
“Has anyone told you recently that you’ve got a great ass? Let’s take pictures and post them anonymously on Instagram. I bet you’d get a lot of likes. I’m ordering that on the Jailhouse menu with a side of bangers and mash.”
“One foot rub it is, darling. We’ve already done the bangers.”