“Is this what you fantasised about?” he gritted out, one hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. “Me bending you over in secret royal rooms? Fucking you so hard you forget your name?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “More—don’t hold back. I want it rough. I want you to ruin me.”
“Oh, I will,” he snarled. “I’m going to fuck the princess out of you.”
He grabbed my knees, pushing them back toward my chest to angle himself even deeper, and I screamed—no royal decorum, no reserve—just raw need spilling from my lips.
“Look at you,” he panted, sweat dripping from his brow. “So cock-drunk you can’t even speak. Just a filthy little royal whore getting off on her bodyguard’s dick.”
His words made my cunt clench hard around him, the filthy talk triggering something primal inside me.
"You love this," he growled. "You love being used like this, don’t you?"
“Yes! Fuck—yes!”
He shifted, pulling out nearly all the way, then slammed into me again, hard enough to make the mattress bounce.
"I should make you beg to come. Beg like a slut for your orgasm."
“Please, James—God, please—I'm so close.”
“That’s it," he panted, thrusting into me with ruthless abandon,"Come for me. Scream, show me how bad this dirty slut of a princess wants my cock I’m waiting, Princess.”
The brutal pace, the dirty words, the possessive way he looked at me—it was too much. I shattered, my orgasm tearing through me with a scream, back arching off the bed, inner walls clenching around him like a vice.
He swore viciously, pulling out in a rush, yanking the condom off, and fisting his cock. With a low, guttural groan, he came across my stomach, thick streams coating my skin as he collapsed beside me, chest heaving.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was our ragged breathing. Then James reached down, grabbed a nearby cloth, and gently wiped me clean, his touch surprisingly tender.
He stretched out beside me, pulling me into his chest, still breathing hard.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered against my hair. “You’re going to be the fucking death of me.”
I smiled, body boneless and utterly ruined. “Then what a way to go.”
Chapter Twenty
James
Three days. Seventy-two hours since I'd walked away from Bellavista. Three nights since I'd held Evangeline in my arms.
I stared at the London skyline from my office window, rain streaking down the glass in rivulets that matched my dark mood. The city sprawled beneath me—familiar, busy, indifferent. Nothing had changed here whilst I'd been gone, but everything had changed in me.
The memory of that night in the stable-master's quarters haunted me. Her skin beneath my hands, her taste on my tongue, the sounds she made when I pushed her past the edge of control. I'd had women before, of course, but never like that. Never with that intensity, that connection that went beyond physical pleasure to something deeper.
Something dangerous.
I'd left the morning after our night together, despite every instinct screaming at me to stay. I meant to stay for another three days but I physically couldn’t be near her again after fucking her that night, so I gave Dara some spill that I wasneeded in London. What else could I do? Although Halliwell might be incompetent, they installed him, and my security company needed my attention. But leaving her in his hands felt like abandoning her to wolves.
Evangeline had awakened curled against my chest, her golden hair spread across my skin like sunlight. When her eyes opened, I saw the moment she realised what we'd done, what lines we'd crossed.
Neither of us spoke about it. There were no tearful goodbyes, no desperate promises to stay in touch. We re-dressed ourselves, and we walked back to the palace in the frigid December dawn. She'd gone to her royal duties, I'd gone to pack my things, and six hours later, I was on a plane back to London.
Professional. Clean. Finished.
Except it wasn't finished. Not for me.
My phone rang, pulling me from the memory. Spencer's name flashed on the screen. I answered it, grateful for the distraction.
