Chapter 13
Thirteen
FRIEDRICH
I don’t remember much about the match. I remember Aurelia booing the ref for a bad call, I remember her shouting whenever a player made a bad pass, I definitely remember the sheer joy when her favorite player scored an incredible header on a corner.
My will power is facing its biggest test. All I want to do is kiss her senseless because she is so sexy when she gets worked up, and that trace of a southern accent kicks in the more animated she becomes.
Even at halftime, she’s all business, rehashing moments with Miles and sharing tactical ideas over seared scallops and truffle risotto.
My friend even starts to soften as the match goes on.
We stay in the box after the match ends, giving the rest of the stadium time to empty out as we enjoy celebratory drinks.
It’s easy to forget we are still very much in public, even in the private box.
Our hands touch, and she links her pinky in mine, so casual, like we touch each other often.
My heart thrills. I want more than just her pinky finger, though.
We lock eyes, lingering for a moment, and I get lost in the heat radiating between us.
Her green eyes scream desire and something more.
Want. She wants me. I’m fighting a losing battle to keep up appearances.
Fuck appearances. I reach a hand up, poised to stroke her wind reddened cheek simply to feel more of her.
But then someone clears their throat, and I drop my hand.
Anyone could point a phone camera towards the box and see us clearly enough for a gossip column photo.
In the elevator, I take my chance, pulling her into my arms like I’ve yearned to do all day. I can practically feel Miles and Trixie rolling their eyes with their backs turned to us. I couldn’t care less.
Aurelia fits so right against my chest, and I’m sure my heart is loud in her ear as I run my hands through her thick auburn hair and inhale the scent that has become so perfectly cataloged in my mind as her.
Christ, I want to show her exactly what she does to me right here; I’ve been sporting a semi most of the afternoon, but too soon the elevator comes to a stop.
I want to groan; I haven’t had a chance to taste those lips.
She jumps from my embrace like a scolded dog, her cheeks turning the most adorable shade of pink as she studies her shoes. The wind that was buffeted by the stadium kicks up around us as we step out onto the pier at the rear of the stadium, where cars wait for both Trixie and me.
“Come home with me,” I whisper, resisting the urge to trace my nose along the shell of her ear.
She turns her head up again, those green eyes nearly glowing. “Your Highness,” she breathes.
“Fritz,” I correct.
Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, sending all kinds of signals straight to my dick. I grit my teeth, trying to keep it at bay.
“What if someone sees me getting in your car?”
“Ride with Trixie, she lives on the same grounds.”
Miles and Trixie shoot me a pointed look before turning back to each other, heads bent in conversation.
Aurelia shrugs. “I’m not sure your cousin is up for the favor.”
I raise my voice a bit to be sure it reaches her. “She’d do well to remember the number of girls I snuck out of the palace for her when we were teenagers.”
Her head pops up. “Fritz, you truly are the biggest pain in the ass, you know that?”
I can barely make out Miles uttering, “I think it’s the other way around, Trix.”
I roll my eyes at their snickering and turn back to Aurelia.
The wind off the bay whips her long red locks around her face, the briny sea air mixing with the jasmine scent of her shampoo.
She looks wild, and my heart races as thoughts of other ways to mess up her hair come to mind.
I have been balancing on the edge of my self-control since I had her alone in my train compartment only days ago, and no amount of solo sessions has eased the ache I feel for this intriguing, gorgeous nanny.
“Well, let’s go then!” Beatrix shouts from the back of her pink Rolls, where her driver is waiting with the door held open.
Aurelia’s smile sends a shock right through me, and the anticipation that’s been simmering in my blood all day grows to a full boil.
Aurelia is in my house. She’s in my living room and looking at the pictures on my mantle and browsing the books on my shelf and running her fingers along my upright piano.
She’s in my home, and we are alone, and every part of my being is screaming for me to get her naked right fucking now.
But I’ve spent years pressing down my baser needs, only letting them out in very specific and controlled environments.
So, even though this woman does something to me that no other ever has, I work my way through distraction techniques I honed in my randy teenage years.
Blessed is the man that walks not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night.
She watches me, head tilted to the side, brows drawn together, and too late I realize she had said something that required a response while I was busy reciting the first psalm in my mind.
I rub the back of my neck. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”
She places a hand on her hip in adorable consternation, and I want so badly to kiss those pursed lips. “I said I was half expecting to walk into a disheveled bachelor pad complete with beanbag chairs and empty pizza boxes.”
I clutch my chest and give her my best faux offended stare. “You are talking to the responsible eldest of the Rothstein clan. I throw my pizza boxes away at least once a month.”
Her laughter sends a pang of joy through me, and I can no longer control myself.
I go to her, slipping an arm around her waist to pull her tight against me, my other hand threading through her hair to bring her face to mine.
Her mouth is pure fire, and I waste no time teasing her lips to beg entrance.
And her hands are on me too, pressed against my hammering heart and clutching the back of my shirt, and then I’m clamoring to consume all of her with my mouth and my arms and my body.
I am the prodigal son returned, and she is my celebratory feast. And I have to taste more because if her mouth is this delicious, then the rest of her must be divine.
But somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny spark of reason flares up and reminds me this woman is so very inexperienced and houses some sort of hidden trauma she won’t speak about.
I slowly peel myself away, though every nerve in my body is ablaze for her.
My arm still rests in the dip of her lower back, and her hand remains on my chest, but I’ve moved my hips away a fraction, hoping to Christ she didn’t feel my erection against her.
Her eyes are almost sad as she peers up at me and gives me the most tantalizing view of her arched neck. I trace a finger along that curve and feel her pulse thrum against it, fast and hard. She swallows and closes her eyes once more, offering herself to me again.
“Aurelia,” I breathe, my voice low and gravelly.
“Prince Friedrich,” she whispers.
“I’m about to take you up to my bedroom and divest you of all your clothing, and you still can’t call me Fritz?”
Her pupils are so wide there’s only a sliver of green around the edge, and her breaths are coming in short, erratic puffs. “You want me to get naked?” Her rosy cheeks are the perfect complement to her reddish-brown hair, which I can’t keep my hands from stroking.
“I’d like that very much, yes,” I rasp, tracing the rosy arch of her cheek. “I’ll return the favor if that makes you feel any better.”
She’s now reached full-blown blush, and I want to explore just how deep that reaches on her chest. I give her leg the slightest brush with my aching cock, suggesting how much I want that.
Her little gasp is so adorable, and I need to hear it again.
I want to hear those breathy gasps turn to deep groans.
I ache to know the sounds she makes as she takes her pleasure from me, and my self-control can only hold out so long.
She squeals as I sweep her in my arms and toss her over my shoulder like a sack of flour. Her thick thighs are oh so tempting under my hand, and I give a little squeeze, which elicits another shriek from her.
“Your Highness!”
I squeeze again, harder this time, and she squirms, but I hold her fast. My muscles may not look like much, but I like that they show rather than tell.
“What do I have to do to get through to you, woman?” I grumble as I start up the narrow stairs to the second floor, where my bedroom waits with its huge bed and absolute privacy.
I drop her unceremoniously onto my bed and fall over her, catching myself on my forearms on either side of her head. Auburn waves spread across the duvet in a crown of jasmine-scented temptation.
And then our mouths fuse again, urgent and needy. Tongues and lips and teeth battle with the storm raging between us. She’s putty in my hands, and the little hisses that escape between our merged mouths sends shocks straight south.
I don’t want to stop; I can’t take my lips from hers as I start to explore underneath the kit she still wears.
Her back arches to allow me to push the Portyard shirt up high enough that I can give her marvelous tits proper attention.
I’ve been dreaming of these for a week. The tempting hint I caught at Bertram’s victory party a week ago was enough to send my imagination into overdrive.
But the real things are better than my brain could conjure.
Even bra-clad, they’re firm yet pliant, healthy handfuls that yield to my touch as I knead the tender flesh.
Her hardened nipples tease my palms through the fabric.