“Hook your legs around them, baby,” he says.
Once again, he helps me. My knees are bent, and I encircle the armrests carefully with my legs. I am in an ‘M’ position. I hope Alex has locked the door to this room, wherever it is, because whoever walks in on us is going to have a very awkward sight of my bu**ocks and splayed legs.
He ascertains that I’m comfortable. Well, as comfortable as I can be in that position and with his huge penis impaling me. I’m filled as only he can fill me. I’m filled in both my body and soul . . . with a satisfaction that only he can give me.
“Grind yourself on me, baby,” he whispers.
I know what he likes.
I oscillate my hips, grinding onto his c**k as though he’s a pestle and I am his mortar. It is as though he is molding my canal, shaping it into the funnel of his desires. His rigid flesh cores me in all the right secret places, pressing and rubbing my moist pleasure points. His penile head massages the hollow in my vagina at the back, right below my cervix . . . the left nook in my lower passage. Oh, he knows every part of me intimately, and he knows how to wriggle and maximize the narrow space afforded to him and its angles.
My clit prods against his pubic hair. His groin rubs and strokes it so pleasurably that my mind almost blacks out at the ecstasy.
“Oh, Alex, what you do to me.”
“Don’t stop,” he begs me.
I grind and roll my hips. I grip my shoulders and use my thighs as anchors as I begin to pump him. My bu**ocks begin their rhythmic dance as I slide myself up and down on his shaft. It’s as though my hips are possessed of their own kinetic energy, their own subconscious reflexes. Alex’s organ pounds and kneads and thrusts into me. My walls are so slick that I can hear the squish of our wet flesh rubbing against each other.
My breathing intensifies. My br**sts must be bouncing as I f**k Alex. His hands grip my waist, and then my hips, and then everywhere else, as though he’s very close to orgasm. As am I. His c**k repeatedly pummels my G-spot even as his groin digs into my sweet, tremulous clit. I’m being assaulted on two erotic fronts. I’m going to crest, I know it. I’m going to the edge, and I’m going to take him along with me.
His se**n explodes within me – hot, sensuous stuff that wriggles into my every crevice and fills me with a deep, deep satisfaction of being possessed. At the same time, I let myself tip over the precarious edge. One moment, I’m sane. The next – I’ve tripped over to a whitewashed world of spiraling bliss. Bliss that is intensified tenfold because of my lack of sight.
I shudder, my muscles spasming everywhere. I scream. I arch my back and almost fall off, had he not possessed enough presence of mind to grab my arms. My blood roars in my ears and my pelvis clenches, and squeezes his cock, as though intent to milk every last drop from him.
Oh, I can do this forever.
Oh Alex, Alex.
I love you. I will always love you.
One of his hands goes up to my face and pries the scarf away from my eyes.
Light descends onto my sudden vision. Alex’s beautiful face is contorted in a rictus of desire. His green eyes are almost black, almost all pupil. He is seated upon a fine chair.
A very, very fine chair.
Brocaded and gilded and ornately carved. A chair that is so exquisite that I can see the miniature details on it – of leaves and azaleas and stalks.
Oh my God.
We just had passionate sex on the royal throne of Moldavia.
3
I can believe that no one caught us in the throne room.
“Hey, it’s my chair. I can do what I want on it,” Alex clips.
I think I’m mortified beyond measure. It’s something I’m not likely to tell our kids. “Did you know your Mom and Dad had sex on the royal throne of Moldavia? Yes, your Dad blindfolded and tricked me.” That is one piece of trivia those Moldavian historians won’t be writing in their annals, you can bet on that.
“Relax,” Alex says, grinning. We are having breakfast on one of the East Wing balconies, overlooking the royal gardens. “It’s not as if it’s going to appear on ‘News of the World’.”
You never know. My face is on permanent (and very natural) blusher. What if they had spy cameras hidden inside?
“I erased them on the security videos,” Alex says with a straight face.
I gasp. “You mean there are security cameras in there?” You mean we were being watched by palace security? Oh my God, I think I’m going to pass out.
“I persuaded them to go for an extended smoking break during our . . . uh, rendezvous.” Alex throws his head back and laughs. “Oh come on, Liz. I never took you for a prude.”
Yes, I know we made love naked on the Indonesian beach. We made love in an archeological cave. But this is different! This is the throne of Moldavia!
I know I’m not going to let myself live this down.
Jasper enters the balcony, and I immediately turn my expression into one of utmost solemnity. (Are solemn people red-faced?) From the smug look on Jasper’s face, I think he knows what happened last night. He probably has photo evidence. He’s going to spread them on Facebook, Twitter and every single new Google app.
I cringe in my seat. I don’t think I have even taken a bite of my eggs Benedict.
“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Jasper nods to Alex. He turns to me. “Good morning, Ms. Turner.”
At least he has progressed to saying ‘good morning’ to me since Alex asked me to marry him.
“Good morning, Jasper,” Alex and I both chorus.
“Your Majesty, may I have a private word with you?” Jasper pointedly looks at me.
Alex waves his bacon-ridden fork. “Whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of Liz. Remember that, Jasper.”
Jasper suppresses a sigh.
“Your Majesty, I think it is time you let Lady Tatiana and her father, the Duke of Nuernberg, know that your engagement to her is off. It’s time to make it public.”
Oh.
Alex looks pained. I don’t blame him. It’s not a task I would relish either. I’m a pacifist by nature and I hate confronting anyone in any way.
“I suppose I need to get it over with,” Alex says. He reaches over the table to clasp my hand. “Then I’ll be able to announce our engagement to the public.”
“That isn’t wise, Your Majesty. It would be too soon after your father’s death. It would be extremely bad publicity. We are still in the bereavement period for the old King. To break up with Lady Tatiana, the old King’s choice for your bride, and to take on a new betrothal so soon might send many tongues wagging. It will not augur well for the start of your reign.”