NOAH
I’D BARELY SLEPT a wink last night.
For hours I’d lain there on my twin mattress staring up at the ceiling, replaying the day over and over again—one part of the day, anyway.
My hand still burned from when the king had put his over mine, sending shocks through my body, and not just because I was surprised at his touch.
I was attracted to him. I couldn’t even deny it at this point, and my stomach’s flipping over itself had only confirmed it. What did it say about me that the man causing butterflies wasn’t the one joking around with me over mahjong, but the one who glared at me and put me in my place?
Ugh, that was so messed up. One scowl from Nicholas and I tripped over myself, but then he’d gone and shown me a sliver of the man behind the crown, and I was done for.
It had really happened, right? I hadn’t dreamed that the king had shown up in the private library, taken Prince Gabriel’s place, then asked me questions about my life and family? And then put his hand over mine and actually thanked me for it?
Maybe all those things really had happened, but surely I’d been imagining the spark between us, because there was no way it wasn’t completely one-sided. A king didn’t look at his footmen as anything more than staff. Nicholas had made that abundantly clear many times over.
So, no, yesterday was a brief human moment, nothing more, and it was back to being professional in the shadows for me.
At least, that was what I was telling myself as he sat behind me in his dressing room and I prepared his shaving implements. Even in the modern monarchy, this was one old-world tradition that had been carried down, though this was the first time I’d been trusted to do it.
I took the rolled white towel out of the steamer with a pair of silver tongs, set it on the tray, and shut the top of the warmer.
Practiced precision was the only way my head was staying on straight today, and I tried to pretend this was just another day of doing the same routine with the duke when I’d been in his employ.
The towel was scalding hot, and I unrolled it then snapped it in the air, letting it cool enough to place it on His Majesty’s face.
I turned toward him and thought I saw his eyes drop back down to the tablet where he was reading an overview of what his first meeting this morning entailed.
“May I?” I asked, and he gave me a clipped nod, keeping his focus on the screen.
Reaching for the button on the side of the arm, I reclined his chair a bit and, once he was where I wanted him, laid the hot towel carefully along the lower half of his face and neck, making sure to keep it under his nose and curved up to his short sideburns.
Using gentle movements, I pressed the steamed warmth into his skin, moving my hands down his jaw and the length of his neck.
Nicholas’s eyes flicked to mine, and I startled at the intensity in those blue depths.
I dropped my hands. “Is the temperature okay?”
He gave a nod, and I backed away, then turned to get the soap ready.
Why, why, why did this man throw me so off balance? That wasn’t like me at all. Yet since I’d arrived, it was like I’d been completely thrown out of my element.
I poured the luxury soap he preferred into a small bowl, and as I began to swirl the shaving brush around to build a rich foam, the scent filled my nose and instantly made the butterflies come back with a vengeance.
It was exactly what Nicholas smelled like when he was close, when I was knotting his tie or when he passed me and the scent carried after him—expensive and regal and seductive. I wanted to bathe in it just so I could smell him on my skin.
I almost groaned as I whisked the brush a little faster.
God, get it together. I wasn’t going to have a job if I kept this up.
Once I had the lather where I wanted it, I set the bowl on the tray and took it over to the rolling cart beside his chair.
Then I pressed the towel once more against his skin and slowly removed it, and this time he didn’t look at me, but handed me the tablet to set aside.
He closed his eyes and arched his neck up just a fraction, and damn.
Being this close, able to look at him without him catching me… He was just so attractive—and, with his eyes closed, looked a lot more peaceful than usual.
I must’ve stared too long, because Nicholas cracked an eye open.
“I’m ready.”
“Yes, sir.” I quickly grabbed the bowl and dabbed the thick brush into the cream. As he closed his eyes again, I began to work the lather onto his face in circular motions, careful to avoid the facial hair I knew he preferred to keep.
Then I picked up the straight-blade razor and moved in to begin the shave. I tilted his head first to the left and worked around his sideburns, being careful to keep the length he liked, each stroke slow and steady, as I stretched the skin tight to make sure I didn’t nick him.
I continued my way across his cheeks, and as I went to rinse the blade, I reminded myself not to linger. The longer this took, the more inappropriate the thoughts swirling in my head became.
Like, what would he do if I leaned down and kissed his lips? Would he respond? Would he scold me? I wasn’t sure which I’d rather. No, that was a lie. I was almost positive I’d want him to scold me and then kiss me.
“Bennett?”
Damn it. I needed to focus. “Sorry, sir. I was just cleaning the blade.”
I turned back to find his eyes locked on me in that assessing way he had about him, and I could swear it was like he somehow knew I was lying.
But that was impossible, thank God, otherwise I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near him with a blade—or in general.
“Lift your chin, Your Majesty.” He did as he was told, and the act of submission from this man nearly made my knees buckle, though I knew it had nothing to do with my asking.
I applied a fresh lather and then began the close shave, the one that required I get as close to the king as any one person might, without a wedding ring.
The thought immediately had me thinking about his soon-to-be betrothed, and I wondered if this would become a task his husband would perform.
The idea made me pause for a moment before I shoved it aside.
The last thing I needed to do was think about that while I was up close and personal with the king.
The thought made something dark wash over me.
I moved in front of Nicholas, gripped his chin in my hand, and angled his head back so I could reach the vulnerable skin at his throat.
It was an intimate stance, one that had me practically between the king’s legs as I slowly stroked the blade up his neck.
I bit into my lip to concentrate as I dragged the blade along his jawline, under his chin, and finally around his mouth.
I was careful not to touch the full lower lip as I delicately outlined the curve of it, and up to the top.
He didn’t always get such a close shave, but today he’d requested it. As I stared down at his smooth face, it took everything I had not to lean down and brush my mouth over the top of his.
My cock ached at the thought. The very idea was a fantasy so far out of reach that the forbidden nature made it impossibly hotter.
What if he reached for my hips?
What if he pulled me into his lap?
What if the door opened…?
Every illicit thought was sexier than the last, and when I finally straightened and dropped my hands—and Nicholas raised his head—I found myself frozen in place.
Move, my brain told me. Move away from him before you’re ordered to. Or before security is called and his bodyguards physically remove you.
But I didn’t do any of that. Instead, I stood where I was between his spread thighs with a blade in my hand.
“Are you finished?” Nicholas asked, his voice rougher than usual, and it scratched something inside me that had my dick jerking.
“Yes, sir.”
Nicholas slid his tongue along the lip I’d just been admiring, then slowly let his eyes roam over me.
The smart thing for me to do would’ve been to go get the washcloth to clean him up and check for any missed spots. That way I’d remove myself from temptation and remove my body from his inspection.
But I couldn’t seem to remember how to walk. Hell, I could barely remember how to breathe as his eyes stopped below my waist, where my overeager cock was most definitely standing up and saluting its king.
I waited for his look of disgust and almost certain dismissal from his chambers—and possibly his service. But neither came.
Nicholas raised his eyes to mine, and the heat swirling there sent flames licking along my skin.
“Is there a problem, Bennett?”
Other than my body giving away my wandering mind? “No, sir.”
“Then why did you stop?”
“I…” I lowered my eyes, suddenly finding it difficult to concentrate. But that was a mistake, because my attention zeroed in on the tight fit of the king’s pants, and the hard-on outlined there.
“You what, Bennett?”
I swallowed, and imagined what it might be like to move down to my knees and run my hands along those spread thighs. Then the king shifted in his seat, raising his hips slightly, and I lifted my gaze to find a slight crook to his lips.
“I’m finished. I just need to clean up.”
I made myself turn away then. It was either that or do something inappropriate. More inappropriate than ogling my king.
Oh God. That thought didn’t help at all, because while Nicholas was my king, he wasn’t my anything—not in the way I wanted.
“What if I don’t want you to?”
I picked up the washcloth, trying to remember my place, and moved back between his legs to start wiping off any residual lather. “Don’t want me to what, sir?”
“Clean up.” His eyes found mine as he tilted his head back and I gently dragged the cloth under his chin.
My lips parted at the request, my dick throbbing as the heat in my body crept up my neck and into my cheeks. Then he reached for my hand, stilling it, and took the cloth. He dropped it on the floor, and as I stood there between his open legs, he placed my palm on his cheek.
“Sir—”
“Nicholas.”
I sucked in a ragged breath as he lowered his hand, leaving mine there, touching him. But while I’d held his face earlier, angling it for the best slide of the blade, this was completely different. This was sexual in every way, and the invitation in his eyes matched the desire flooding my body.
“Do you want to touch me?” he asked, and when I nodded, he slid his tongue along his lower lip and said, “Then touch me.”
My hand shook slightly as I gently stroked my fingertips along his cheek, and as I brushed them down to his jaw, a low groan rumbled out of him.
The sound was so hypnotic, I swayed closer and Nicholas opened his legs a little wider. The sun was shining through the window, bathing the room in light, and when I reached his chin I turned his face toward it. I wanted to see it shine over all those sharp angles.
His lips parted slightly, and I wasn’t sure what possessed me, what boldness overtook me, but before I knew it, I was stroking my thumb over his lower lip.
Nicholas’s eyes flicked to mine, but when he didn’t tell me to stop, I applied a little more pressure—
A discreet knock on the door had me jumping back from him like someone was about to barge inside.
If I’d been thinking about anything other than how soft his lip had felt under my thumb, or the fact he’d let me touch him, or that he’d told me to call him Nicholas, I might’ve remembered he had to give permission for them to enter.
But I wasn’t thinking; that much was apparent from the erection I had no hope of tamping down. I turned back to the sink as Nicholas called out, “Come,” and I had to remind myself he didn’t mean me.
I could hear the door open behind me but didn’t dare turn to see who had entered.
“Baxter,” Nicholas greeted my boss.
God. Could this get any worse?
“Your Majesty, the lord chancellor has arrived.”
“Very good.” I heard movement behind me, indicating Nicholas had gotten to his feet, and I had no idea how he was keeping his composure when I could barely breathe. “I’ll be there shortly. If you’ll please make sure he’s comfortable?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Thank you, Baxter.”
“Your Majesty,” Baxter said, and the door clicked shut.
I let out a shaky breath, hardly believing what had almost happened. What Baxter had almost walked in on.
“Are you okay?”
The voice was soft and close enough to startle me, and I whirled around to see Nicholas standing only feet away. It was crazy how different he appeared standing as opposed to sitting, somehow more untouchable, bigger than life.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, and when he frowned, I wanted to bite my tongue.
He’d asked me to call him Nicholas. But it somehow felt too personal now that we weren’t in that moment.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded, and he reached out to put a hand over mine where I held the rinsed towel.
“Thank you for the shave,” he said. “I enjoyed it, very much.”
“You’re welcome.” He raised a brow, and for a second I got a glimpse of the person behind the crown. The man who was just that—a man. “So did I.”
Nicholas smiled then, actually smiled, then nodded and turned to cross the room to the door. “Have a good afternoon, Bennett. I know I will.”