32. Willa
Chapter thirty-two
Willa
N ick's mother made good on her threat to force me to move out of the palace and into one of the small cottages on palace property. Unfortunately for Queen Beatrice, I welcomed the move. I enjoy the privacy and appreciate the space from his overbearing mum.
Stoneleigh Cottage is a small, two-story home surrounded by leafy green trees and flowering shrubs.
Sitting at the rear of palace grounds, it offers gorgeous ocean views from the back patio, which is often where I spend my time.
The interior of the cottage is dated and quaint, decorated in pale plaids and floral designs.
I affectionately call the style grandma's cottagecore , and I love it.
Despite only living here a few weeks, it already feels like home.
Since moving in, Nick has spent almost every night with me in the small house. He isn't able to officially move in because the optics of a prince living with his girlfriend aren't good, according to the royal press secretary, but Nick spends as much time here with me as he can.
Our blossoming relationship feels surprisingly normal now that it has been removed from the confines of the palace.
We spend most evenings cooking dinner or eating take-away while watching the telly, as Nick says.
We discuss current events. We argue over our favorite bands and movies.
We laugh at each other’s stories. And we spend our late nights making love.
Now that I’m no longer working long days on film sets and traveling for weeks on end, I finally have the time for a pet.
Since the cottage is surrounded by a charming white picket fence, it will be the perfect setting to house a dog.
I haven’t broached the topic yet with Nick because I don’t want to rush things, but I’m excited about the idea.
I wish I could adopt Bruno, but that seems unlikely since he’s a trained military dog.
Although I’m no longer living under her roof, his mother does as much as she can to separate Nick and me.
Her last attempt was successful. She feigned an illness and requested that Nick take her place during a diplomatic trip to The Netherlands to meet with the Dutch royal family.
Their youngest daughter is unwed and only a year younger than Nick.
Stunningly beautiful, she's exactly the kind of woman the queen would select for Nick to marry.
I'm sure Queen Beatrice prayed Nick would meet Princess Amalia, fall madly in love with her, and dump me.
Nick is due to arrive home any minute and I’m eager to see him. This is the longest that we've been apart since we reunited. Talking on the phone and texting doesn't cut it. I want to see him and touch him and feel him.
I miss him.
As I stand in the kitchen, tossing the salad, I contemplate how much I enjoy playing house with Nick. I'm pulling the lasagna out of the oven when the front door opens, followed by the thud of Nick dropping his luggage in the hallway.
"Perfect timing," I call out, my heart beating erratically. "Dinner is almost ready. "
A jolt of nervousness bursts through me. Dressed only in high heels and an apron, I wanted to give Nick a sexy surprise when he arrived home. What if he thinks my behavior is trashy rather than sexy?
"You’re a fucking sight for sore eyes, my darling.
But now that I’ve seen you, I’ve lost my appetite.
" Nick murmurs into the side of my neck as he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling my back into his front. With a feral growl, he nips the side of my neck with his teeth. “Unless of course, you’re on the menu.”
My earlier moment of second-guessing myself dissipates instantly. “I certainly can be.”
“This is how I expect you to greet me every time I return from a trip.”
Turning my face to the side, I nuzzle my nose into his neck, inhaling his scent. "You always smell so good."
His hand slips to the hollow of my neck.
With gentle pressure, he holds me to him.
His other hand slides to my breast. Through the thin material of my apron, he squeezes and kneads my breasts roughly, switching from my left to my right and back again, as he whispers sweet nothings in my ear about how much he missed me.
The urgency and desire in his voice heighten my arousal.
My fingers cuff his wrist, and I tug his hand from my breasts, lowering it to where I want him. To the pulse hammering between my thighs.
"Greedy girl," he rumbles.
Arranging one of my legs over his forearm, he splays me open. “So wet for me already,” Nick growls. His fingers delve between my lower lips, massaging my little bundle of nerves feverishly. Then he inserts two fingers inside me. Instinctively, I clench around him.
A moan billows from my mouth as his growing erection throbs against my back. My head drops, increasing the pressure from his hand on my neck and my breath comes in gasps.
“I’m going to bend you over this counter and take you from behind. How does that sound?”
“Good,” I say, my voice breathy, brimming with need.
“Only good?” His fingers stop their sensual assault.
“Amazing. Fantastic. Stupendous. I need to feel you inside me, Nick,” I whine, rushing my words. “I’m aching to feel your hard cock filling me.” Shamelessly, I rub my ass against him, grinding into his erection as he resumes rubbing my clit again, this time more forcefully.
“It turns me on to hear those dirty words spewing from my good girl's sweet mouth. Knowing I’m the only one who hears this side of you.”
He’s right. I’ve had sex with other men, but no one has owned my body and mind like Nick.
He steps back, retreating. I turn questioningly. When our gazes collide, Nick swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes darken with lust.
“Take off your apron but leave the heels on.”
I comply. Before the apron hits the ground, he’s on me again, cornering me against the cold marble of the kitchen island as his warm hands skate along my body.
My knees feel weak and wobbly. He spins my body to face the counters and sweeps my hair to the side so he can pepper my neck with kisses.
His lips are silky but his five o’clock shadow feels like sandpaper against my skin.
Like always, I adore the contradictory sensations.
When I hear the zipper of his slacks, I push my ass out, desperate for him to press inside me. I’m drenched and slippery and on the edge of euphoria already .
When he pushes into me with one hard thrust, I mewl.
His fingertips dig into my hips as I lower my breasts to the counter to get just the right angle where he can hit my g-spot with each punishing thrust. His movements are wild and uncoordinated and driven by pure, unbridled need.
He doesn't handle me gently, and I love how rough and unrestrained he's behaving, as if he's driven to the brink of insanity with desire.
Releasing one of my hips, he grabs my hair and pulls it. “Look at me,” he snarls.
I turn my head to the side again so that I can see him, and his lips come crashing down on mine. His kiss overpowers me, working my mouth into submission so that I feel him everywhere. On my lips. On my body. Inside me.
My body is taut, my muscles rigid, and my heated skin flushes with arousal. A trickle of sweat slides down my spine. With each of his movements, I push against him, sucking his dick deeper and deeper into my quivering channel.
With an explosion, the need inside my body uncoils as wave after an unrelenting wave of pleasure courses through me. My hips jerk, and Nick’s fingers grip my body hard enough to leave bruises as he finds his own release.
Breathless, we both slump forward onto the cold counter. When Nick stands, he lifts me into his arms. My head lolls against his chest as he carries me up the stairs.
Depositing me gently onto the middle of the bed, Nick begins undressing. I watch as each piece of clothing is haphazardly discarded. Normally, I'd admonish him for not picking up after himself, but now, I have other things on my mind.
He stands in front of me, with his gorgeous face, disheveled blond hair, and sculpted, muscular body. But what truly captures my attention is the hungry look in his eyes. He holds my gaze, thrilling me as butterflies swarm in my stomach.
The bed dips from his weight as he crawls to reach me, hovering over me. Pressing a gentle kiss upon my lips, he whispers, “God, I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
Nick combs his fingers through my tangled hair, brushing it off my face and over my shoulder.
He captures my bare neck, lightly sucking just below my jaw, enticing a soft moan from my lips, before he moves to my collarbone.
And then my nipples. With every kiss he deposits on my body, he leaves a trail of arousal.
He circles his hand around my wrists, pinning them above my head, stretching me out before him. Then he slips inside me again. His tempo, slow and steady, has a reverent feel. I wrap my legs around his hips, holding him close.
The pressure begins to build within me and my eyes slip shut, luxuriating in our explosive shared connection.
“Willa,” he rasps. I lift my hooded eyes to meet his piercing gaze. “Willa, I love you,” he murmurs. "I love you so much."
The earnest, sacred expression on his face traps the breath in my chest because it highlights the importance of his whispered confession.
“I love you too, Nick. I love you so much.”
"Say it again."
I say those words aloud time and time again. When we come together a few minutes later, I realize that this is the first time I’ve ever truly made love to another.
The next morning, as I'm getting dressed, I spy the tiny little bruises that litter the skin around my waist and hips. The marks that match the imprint of Nick's splayed fingers from our round of sex in the kitchen. They're bruises I'll proudly wear as secret badges, testaments of our love.