Chapter 7 #2
His laugh rumbles from deep in his chest, warm and inviting. “Aurelia, don’t look so incredulous. I’m just teasing.”
I huff a sigh. “Okay, yeah, right. God, I’m being so uncool about all this, aren’t I?”
He sets his whiskey down on the coffee table in front of the couch and takes my free hand in both of his. The gesture was a comfort this afternoon and again tonight; a simple touch from this man makes breathing easier. My heart still thrums in my chest, but not for nerves anymore.
“Seeing people, getting to know them. It’s supposed to be fun, Aurelia.” His tone is light but sure. “You strike me as someone who has had very little fun.”
I can’t control the rather uncouth snort that slips out, and a blush creeps up my cheeks.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” His blue eyes practically glow as we sit hand in hand, so close together and alone in his hotel room.
“It would be fair to say fun has always been low on the to-do list.” I got my first part-time job at fourteen, then picked up a second at sixteen when I realized exactly how expensive college was.
When I decided to move to Emarvia, Aunt Sarah had insisted on helping me pay for university, but I refused and took a campus job instead.
It’s safe to say my work/life balance has been way off kilter for the last decade.
“Frankly, it’s been very low on mine lately, as well,” the prince admits. He begins tracing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, his focus still intent on me. “But I do enjoy certain leisurely activities with people, and I would like to share some of those with you, too.”
I bite my lip. I think I’m following where this is going. “I get the sense we’re not just talking about soccer—sorry, football.”
“That wasn’t what you were talking about on the train earlier.”
I drop my gaze to our clasped hands. I can’t believe the words that are coming out of my mouth. “No. No, I wasn’t. I’m just not exactly sure…” I trail off, not knowing how to ask for the things I’m not exactly sure about.
“Aurelia.” His voice is soft, that same husky sound that made me weak the night before. “Can I ask you a very direct question?”
I nod, still not making eye contact.
“Have you ever had sex with a man?”
My whole body tenses, and I jump up from the couch, almost spilling my whiskey in the process. “Your Highness, I’m not—”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “No. Aurelia, that’s not what I’m getting at. I’m not trying to have sex with you.”
“Good, cause that is off the table.” I cross my hands in an X pattern.
This was a terrible idea from the start.
I should get out of here before I get in any deeper.
I thought I was ready; thought I could put Jaston and Louisiana and all that mess behind me.
But then the prince just goes and says the word ‘sex’, and flight mode kicks in strong.
I start creeping sideways towards the door.
“It’s not even on the table for me.”
That stops me short. I blink, looking him in the eyes again. “It’s not?”
“No,” he says gently, standing and coming to face me again.
Having him in my space does little to calm the hammering in my chest, but his soft expression and calm words work wonders to subdue my sympathetic nervous system. That and the cologne that smells like someone managed to bottle a walk in the woods at dawn.
“Take another sip of that.” He gestures to the drink still in my hand. “And take a few breaths, okay?”
I nod, doing as he says and allowing my nerves to simmer down as much as I can. The air is so charged around us.
“Better?” He pushes a wild strand of hair behind my ear, and goosebumps rise on my neck where his fingers trail down. The heat in his eyes is doing funny things in my lower abdomen.
I nod. His smirk sends coils of pleasure through me.
“Perfect. Now I think it’s time we talk straight, lay out some ground rules of this thing. Explicitly.”
“Agreed.” Rules are good. Rules mean safety.
“Fucking is a hard limit for me.” A small tick in his jaw slips through his carefully practiced facade.
“Really?”
“What?” He flashes a cheeky grin over the rim of his glass. “Do you think all royals are really as randy as the movies portray?”
I shrug. “I mean, yeah. Prince Claus is certainly trying his best to live up to the standard, if the gossip sites are to be believed.” The prince’s younger brother is a staple in the tabloids, not that I put much stock in what those rags print.
Prince Friedrich lowers his whiskey as he studies me. “And do you frequent the gossip sites? If so, then perhaps you’ll understand the reason I don’t have sex with women.”
“I mean, I don’t troll them regularly, but sometimes my friend likes to send me the particularly salacious bits. Why? Did they out you as some kind of deviant or something?”
He turns to the window, one hand braced on the sill as he throws back a heavy gulp of alcohol. “Something like that.” His fingers play with a gold ring on the pinky finger of his left hand for a long moment.
I don’t know what to make of that. What does something like a deviant mean?
He obviously doesn’t want to delve into it, but he can’t honestly expect me to just drop the subject.
And the man I’ve come to know over the last few days, which now actually feels like a really short time—because it really is—doesn’t seem like the type to be into anything dangerous or illegal, at least.
Draining the last of his glass, he turns back to me, still leaning on the window ledge. “I’m in this for you, Aurelia. Any pleasure I take from this situation comes purely from the enjoyment of your exploration.”
It’s my turn to study him. “And any orgasms you might experience along the way?”
His smile makes the fluttering in my stomach start back up again. “A happy byproduct. Now, tell me about your experience.”
I crinkle my eyebrows. “Experience?”
“Yeah, like, what have you done?”
“I kissed my high school boyfriend a few times.”
Prince Friedrich cocks his head. “Just kissed,” he repeats.
“I mean, like, heavy kissing.”
“But that’s it. Lip to lip. No hands anywhere?”
I roll my lips between my teeth, my mouth making a tight line. “A little. Always over the clothes. And sometimes we would… um.” My face grows hot. “Well, sometimes we would like, dry hump,” I say to the floor. “But never to completion,” I hastily add, like that distinction makes any difference.
Jaston was the pastor’s son at the church my mother and I attended most of my growing up life.
Sexual purity was preached on so heavily over the years that we were afraid to take things too far, more out of fear of our parents rather than fear of god.
But church kids are always good at finding loopholes.
No genitals were touched, and no orgasms were had, so it doesn’t count, right?
I glance back up when the prince hisses and rubs a hand down his face. “Christ.”
Flushing, I bite out each syllable. “Well, pardon me.”
“No, it’s just… Are you sure about this? About doing this with me?”
I plant my feet and cross my arms. His gaze drops, and I lower my arms quickly, noticing the attention the pose draws to my boobs.
“I was enjoying the view.”
A thrill runs through me at his licentious smile, and I blush again for an entirely different reason. Is that what Margaret would call a panty-melting smirk?
“Does that make you uncomfortable? When I say something like that?”
The tightening below my belly button grows stronger. “No, it’s… exciting.”
Men had commented on my body before. I don’t have the typical runner’s build with my curvy thighs and better-than-average chest, but that doesn’t seem to deter anyone from looking. But it always felt dirty, like I existed solely for their benefit.
I don’t feel that with Prince Friedrich.
His attentions make me feel beautiful, confident.
It’s in the way he talks to me, how he checks in during conversation, how he uses gentle touch to reassure me.
It is easy to believe that the man who holds my hands and looks me in the eye when talk turns serious would be just as respectful of my body. The decision is easy.
“What are you hoping to gain in this venture?” he asks.
Well, that makes it sound transactional, and perhaps it is.
“You said it yourself, I could use a little fun in my life.” I toss back the last sip of my whiskey and set the glass on a side table.
“And I’m intrigued. Plus, I don’t have time for an actual relationship, and you are looking for a wife soon.
I gather you aren’t terribly excited about the prospect. ”
He scoffs. “You can say that again.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck and glances away, the first sign of uncertainty I’ve ever seen in him.
“I guess I’ve just never found anyone who makes me want those things.
A wife, a family. In all my adult life, no woman has ever just screamed future queen to me.
At least, not the queen I want by my side. ”
I step back into his bubble, pressing my advantage, hoping he’ll continue to open up. “And what kind of woman would that be?”
His eyes lock on mine. Is there a flash of pain in those depthless blues? “One who doesn’t want to be queen.”
“I don’t understand.”
We are so close now, I can feel his breath against my lips. I tilt my face to him to keep his eyes on mine. The fire crackles in the hearth, my belly is warm with the bourbon, and the prince’s body pressed against mine is like being caught in an inferno.
“Because you are nothing like those women, Aurelia.” His low voice sends shivers through me. “Your goal in life is to serve and nurture and love others. They seek adoration, fame, self-service. They could never love me, just my crown.”
“I’ve never seen you wear a crown.”
His gentle chuckle reverberates in my chest. “My metaphorical crown, sweets.”
“Rather silly, no? Getting caught up in a metaphor.”
He pushes a hand through the hair on the top of my head, his fingers firm on my scalp and forcing my neck to arch even more.
“Much of my life seems to be lived in the abstract.” He runs his tongue along his lower lip.
“Except you, mi’ lady.” He grips my hip and pulls me tight against him as if trying to pull me into himself. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
I can’t nod for how close we are, so I shut my eyes and offer myself, holding on to the safety of his arms.
His lips are soft and warm, gentle against mine, like caressing something delicate and precious. The tenderness sends heat flooding through me, and my body aches for more.
But he doesn’t press, doesn’t move, and all too soon steps out of our embrace. My pulse thrums in my ears and somewhere much lower. I can’t remember the last time I felt that. My arms are empty and cold, and all I want is to taste him once more. Perhaps twice.
“Do that again,” I breathe.
He grits his teeth and straightens his back. “Not just yet, minx. There is so much I want to do with you, so much to explore, but I have my own terms.”
“And what might those be?” I try to keep the disappointment from my voice, but judging by the grin that ticks the corner of his mouth, I’m not successful.
He goes back to the bar, grabs the entire bottle of bourbon and pours more for each of us before leaving it on the coffee table within reach. He gestures back to the couch. I sit, one leg bent under me and the other dangling.
“First, you will get the full boyfriend treatment. You are too good for a fuck and run.” I sputter, and he holds up a hand. “Not actual fuck and run, as that is the mutually agreed upon line. But I want to take you out. Football matches, dinner, dancing.”
“I do not dance.”
“You don’t? What a shame to waste an ass like that.” He drops onto the couch next to me.
I slap his arm playfully. “You’ve been checking out my rear?”
He shrugs. “In those leggings you wore this morning? Kinda hard not to. It’s a great ass.”
I laugh and hide my embarrassed pleasure at the compliment behind my crystal tumbler.
“A couple problems with that, though,” I say, holding up a finger.
“One, you already know I have limited free time.” I put up a second finger.
“Two, I don’t want to be dealing with the media if they catch on to us. ”
“I’ve already thought of both of those.” He pushes down my middle finger.
“I’m going to recruit my cousin, Princess Beatrix.
We’ll make it seem like you are her date when we go out.
You may still get some attention, she’s rarely seen with the same woman more than two or three times, but we’re talking long-distance shots and maybe a made-up article in some trashy tabloid.
” He pushes down my first finger. “As for time, I’ll keep our plans strictly to Friday and Saturday nights or Sunday evenings. ”
I nod. “I accept these conditions.”
“Good. Next term, I want you to attend the group events for these upcoming ‘princess trials’ as my guest.” He rolls his eyes as he mentions the little games set to begin next week.
I sit back on my heel, mouth slightly open. “What? Why?”
“Because next to you, the particularly vapid ones will stand out like a sore thumb. And because I value your opinion.”
“You hardly know me.”
“I know you enough to know I can trust your judgement.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever you say, Your Highness.”
He nods. “Thank you. Also, stop calling me Your Highness. When we’re together, I’m just Fritz.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand.
“Or Friedrich, if you’d prefer. But if we’re about to do what I think we’ve agreed upon, we’re going to move way past honorifics, don’t you think?”
I relent. Can’t argue with that.
“Next, open communication is a must. What did you like? What did you not like? What do you want more or less of? You have to tell me if you’re afraid or uncomfortable because the last thing I want to do is fuck up your perception of the beauty and the fun of the everything but.”
I nod. The everything but. Margaret’s books have definitely gotten to me because I am a bit too excited to explore what that means.
He takes a long sip of his bourbon. “And finally, when this does come to its end, I want us to remain friends.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Friends?”
“Yes.” He rubs his neck again. “I, erm, don’t have many close friends.” He sighs. “Christ, that’s pitiful to admit.”
I slide in closer to him. My knee brushes against his thigh, and I hear his sharp intake of breath. It makes me bold, knowing I have an effect on him.
“No,” I breathe. “I imagine it’s difficult for someone in your position to make real friends.”
He scoffs. “You have no idea.”