Code Name: Tiara by Sawyer Bennett
CHAPTER 20
Camille
Tremors rocket through my body. I’m on my hands and knees, in the middle of my bed, turned perpendicular to its length. Jackson is behind me, one hand on my hip, the other one woven through my hair where he’s gripping it tight so I’m forced to hold up my head.
It’s forcing me to look into the dressing mirror that sits in the corner of my room that I’ve never before used to look at myself. It’s always just been a piece of decorative furniture since I have a dressing mirror in my actual dressing room.
But tonight, Jackson thought it would be a good idea—and at this moment, I don’t disagree—to take me from behind and make me watch.
At first, I couldn’t.
When he ordered me to watch us in the mirror, it was too overwhelming to see him driving into me and the emotions washing over his face. The way his arms flexed and his neck muscles strained as he worked me hard. Hearing his sounds and watching as they matched the pleasure on his face, it was just too much.
I dropped my head, squeezed my eyes shut, and threw myself backward onto him to increase the force.
“No, no, no,” Jackson chided softly, and that’s when he took me by the hair. His demand was simple. “Watch.”
I obeyed, and within just a few seconds of my eyes connecting to our reflection, my orgasm furled inward before pulsing out in torrential waves of pleasure that had me crying out. And now I’m watching with bleary eyes as he continues to drive into me.
Jackson laughs darkly. “I bet everyone in the palace heard that.”
He continues to pump his hips hard, and I can tell by the staccato vibration in his voice he’s getting close. And I find it fascinating that he doesn’t seem to care that I might have been heard.
Not sure I care either. That orgasm was worth the doors being knocked down by all the agents in the palace.
“Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again,” Jackson says gruffly as he abruptly pulls out of me and leans over the side of the bed. Before I can voice my displeasure at the loss of him inside me, he’s back on the bed with his hands on my jaw, forcing my mouth open. I think he means to kiss me, as he often does when his hand works my jaw like that, but instead he shoves in my panties that he pulled off me not long ago, stifling a muffled sound of surprise. He grins and kisses me on the cheek. “That should keep you quiet.”
I’m reeling at how unbelievably domineering and sexy that was, as well as downright playful. He moves his big body behind me again, and I watch in the mirror as he lines up and drives back in deeply.
I cry out against the panties, and they do indeed muffle my sound.
Jackson picks up his pace again, threading his fingers back through my hair, but he doesn’t need to force me to watch. I’m spellbound.
His other hand doesn’t go back to my hip, instead going in between my legs.
Shit … he’s going to make me come again.
I love and hate when he gets determined that way. The orgasm he just gave me was so shattering, I’m convinced there’s no way I have anything left inside to give him.
But the minute his fingers touch my clit, yearning rolls through me, and I know I can’t fight it.
Pounding, pounding, pounding away inside me. Fingers working hard between my legs, me watching Jackson in the mirror as he gets closer.
As I get closer.
The wet glide of him inside me, a new feeling since we disposed of condoms, makes me feel closer to him than ever.
Jackson’s hand abruptly pulls away to give me a sharp whack on my ass. I scream into the silk and lace, and my orgasm starts firing.
Jackson throws himself into me and his fingers are back at my clit where he pinches it lightly, and I am done. The panties in my mouth soak up my scream as my back arches low. Things go hazy, but I vaguely hear Jackson grunt, “Fucking beautiful,” before he shoves in one last time and comes with a long growl.
He milks every bit of himself by rocking and flexing his hips against my ass, forcing every last drop from him to me. Jackson’s hands slide around my stomach and he lowers us to the mattress, rolling us to our sides so we are spooning. I pull the panties from my mouth and toss them to the floor. Jackson is still lodged deep within me, and I’m blissed out beyond repair. If I could stay like this forever, I would lead a happy and fulfilled life.
Cuddling with Jackson is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s always done in the quiet, with his muscular arms wrapped securely around me. His chest rises and falls heavily, and I feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against my spine. I’m safe and cherished.
It’s within this quiet, without the need to say any words of affection or affirmation, that I feel deep in my bones the closest to him.
I wonder if it’s the same for him.
Normally, the silence is eventually broken by one of us making a silly comment. But this time, it’s Jackson who speaks first, and the comment isn’t silly at all. “You haven’t said anything about me staying on until after your birthday.”
It’s true. I didn’t see Jackson all day after we returned, but I’d promised I would come to his room. He surprised me instead by coming to mine not long after I had dinner with my parents. In fairness, he didn’t give me much opportunity to say anything. He closed the door and his mouth was on mine. Hard to talk about my thoughts and feelings when he’s kissing the breath out of me.
“I’m obviously glad you’re staying,” I say carefully. I want to keep my emotions out of this, because they have been swirling all day thinking that Jackson was leaving tomorrow. “I know I’m safer when you’re going to be protecting me.”
“Mmm,” he says, a hum of affirmation, and then silence once again.
I decide to give him something more. “On a personal level, I’m glad I get more time with you.”
There… I said it. A simple statement, still vague enough to hide the true depth of my feelings for this man, because deep down, it’s a gift to be given more time.
I settle back into him, accepting quiet if that’s all there is left. I even imagine myself dozing in his arms before he has to leave.
I’m not prepared for him to say, “I obviously agreed to stay on to protect you, but also because I wanted the extra time too.”
I smile, happy to know we’re on the same wavelength. I’ve been gearing up the last few days for us to make the break. But when my father told me Jackson would be staying on, no part of me thought, “Oh no … now I have to harden myself all over again in preparation for his inevitable departure.”
Because the hurt is going to compound the more time I spend with him.
But no, I never thought it was bad in any way, and I figure it’s worth feeling that increased pain to have eleven more days with him.
“You have big things ahead of you,” Jackson says conversationally, and I know it’s his way of moving away from something that could turn heavy.
I chuckle. “You mean, a ridiculously large birthday party that will be a complete spectacle and most of the people my parents have invited I don’t even know? Yeah … I have big things coming.”
Jackson gives me a squeeze, and I feel his responding rumble of laughter. “I’m talking about the fact that you are turning twenty-five in less than two weeks, will be the heir apparent to the richest monarchy in the world, and you have the burden of naming a secret heir.”
I can’t help the giggle. “I guess there are some bigger things coming than my birthday party.”
There’s a long pause before Jackson says, “The threat to you and your father is real. Your birthday party is going to be when you are the most vulnerable. From this moment forward, you are not to be out of my sight, not ever. Do you understand?”
“Never?” I ask. Because twenty-four-seven has a lot of implications.
“Never,” he repeats gruffly. “That means I’m in your room at night.”
That’s a bold move. Especially since we aren’t open about our relationship. We’ve been operating on the down low.
“Won’t that raise suspicions?” I twist my neck and look over my shoulder at him. “Won’t people talk?”
His eyes bore into mine. “Dmitri knows.”
I jolt and scramble around to face him. Eyes wide with concern, I ask, “Dmitri knows? How? When? Do you think my parents know?”
Jackson cocks an eyebrow, his lips curling into a teasing grin. “Why? Are you embarrassed if your parents know about us?”
I shake my head and glare at him. “Of course, I’m not embarrassed. But if word is going to make it to them, I’d rather sit down and tell them myself. I’m an adult. They know I can have adult relationships, and they respect that. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to get married and you’re going to sit on the throne beside me.”
Something flickers in Jackson’s eyes, but I can’t tell what it is. However, I instantly regret mentioning the throne. It’s a harsh reminder of the different worlds we come from and the exact reason we cannot be together permanently.
I rush to soften what I said. “Not that you wouldn’t make a fabulous prince and then king someday. I just know that’s not something you want. It’s not something either of us are even ready to consider. I mean… we’re absolutely not considering it. We agreed this had an expiration date, and I’m cool with that. If you are, that is.” A huge sigh gushes out of me. “I feel like I’m flubbing this.”
Jackson tightens his arms around me again and pulls me in close before pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I know what you mean. I know that you and I are never going to be anything more than what we are right now. We’re from two vastly different worlds. It sucks… but I understand, and I know you do too. You have a duty, loyalty, and obligation 99.9 percent of the people in this world will never understand the burden of. I picked the wrong girl to get entangled with.”
There is nothing in his words that indicates sadness. No frustration.
No anger.
Jackson just calls it the way he sees it, and he’s coping—same as me—with the ultimate fact that we can’t be together.
In fact, he’s coping much better than I am. Just thinking about him leaving sometimes makes me want to cry.
But let’s be honest, he said he chose the wrong girl to become entangled with. He didn’t say he was falling for me, or that he cared deeply, or that he loved me. No, all we are is an entanglement. And I have to accept that it’s going to end.
Our destiny is for us to become untangled.
I lower my head to rest on his shoulder, and he pulls me in even closer so our chests are mashed together, our legs entwined. Now is the point I should feel my eyes starting to get heavy with sleep as I just had a brutally long flight home, an exhausting day reuniting with my parents, and two blistering orgasms that wrecked me. Yet, my emotions are so frazzled right now because of Jackson I can’t seem to turn off my brain. I start thinking about what-ifs.
What if I walked away from the throne?
What if he would be willing to give up his career?
What if we were really in love but neither of us can admit it because we each think the other wants something different?
None of those seem feasible to me.
Or I’m too scared to think one might be right.
Jackson’s breath blows out across the top of my head. “So what exactly awaits you down the road?” he asks quietly. “I know your responsibilities are going to increase from what you’ve told me, but what other duties will the princess be expected to take on?”
I give a mirthless laugh. “There’s only one last great expectation that I have to live up to,” I say flatly.
“What’s that?” His tone is mild but interested. He’s always interested when I talk.
“My parents expect me to get married sooner rather than later and produce the next heir.”
Jackson doesn’t say anything. In fact, so much time goes by with a heavy silence surrounding us, I think he might have fallen asleep.
I need to get up and use the restroom, so I start to tug away from his embrace, but his arms tighten. “You’re just expected to get married and have a kid?”
“Well, not like the day after my twenty-fifth birthday. But yes, carrying on the royal line is an important tradition. My parents expect it. It’s why they keep trying to push Marius and me together, even though we have both told them it’s never going to happen.”
“He’s a suitable match for a husband?” Jackson asks lightly.
I hesitate in answering; this conversation is getting uncomfortable. “Ideally, tradition calls for our line to mix with another royal line. Historically, that is the first preference. But someone who is suitably accomplished—”
Jackson interrupts. “And by accomplished, you mean wealthy?”
“Yes,” I state flatly. “Wealthy enough to run in the same circles as my family.”
Jackson’s voice is tight. “Do you have a certain age by which you are expected or required to marry? Pop out a kid?”
I laugh, even though I don’t feel the humor, but it cuts the tension. “Silly Americans … popping out kids. You make me sound like a vending machine. No, there is no requirement or age deadline. Merely parental pressure to perform my duty to carry on the bloodline, but also because my parents want the joy of becoming grandparents.”
“But you’re only just turning twenty-five,” he points out.
“Agreed, and I honestly don’t see myself having children until I’m at least thirty, maybe even a little older. I’ve got a lot of responsibilities that make for hectic days. When I become a mom, I’m not going to let nannies raise my child. I want to be actively involved. So that’s off in the distance.”
“But marriage may not be? Your parents would like to see that sooner rather than later.”
“That they would,” I murmur. They would most definitely be happy if I would just find someone to marry.
Jackson clears his throat as if he wants to say something but he’s not sure he should. I wait him out, and finally, he asks, “Are you actually allowed to fall in love with someone? Or will your father pick a suitable man for you?”
I snort with laughter and playfully push on his chest. “You read too much People magazine. Of course, I’ll be able to marry for love. It’s just that the pool of men I have to choose from is a lot smaller than most women’s.”
Jackson laughs in return and squeezes me. “Hey, I saw how that worked out for Diana and Charles. Not very well.”
“Well, the Bretarian monarchy is nothing like the British. My parents are a bit more progressive.”
Jackson loosens his hold and leans back so he can look down at me. His eyes are somber, but I see a deep tenderness within. “It’s my hope for you, Camille, that you find the greatest love of your life when it comes time to make that commitment. You deserve no less.”
I feel like it may be the greatest lie ever told in the history of lies, but I manage a glorious smile in return. “Thank you for saying that. It’s my greatest hope too.”
But I know that hope will never come to fruition, because what has been plaguing me these last several days is that I’m pretty sure the greatest love of my life is lying in bed with me right now, and there is no way we can ever be together.