Chapter 10
BASH
The drive back from the beach felt different than any car ride I’d ever taken in my life. The same roads, the same truck, the same two people, but everything had shifted in some fundamental way.
We were doing this. We were actually doing this.
It was wrong. Rationally, I knew that. I was violating my oath as a Secret Service Agent. Yes, one could argue that since I was technically on leave and employed by a private firm, it didn’t apply, but I knew better. I should not be sleeping with a protectee, and I damn well knew it.
And yet…
I’d debated with myself all night after we’d kissed, arguing back and forth in my head.
Maybe this would be the only chance either of us would ever get at being with another man.
Maybe if we gave into the chemistry between us, it would sizzle out.
And no one would ever have to know, right?
In public, we’d play the part expected of us, and what we did in private was no one’s business but ours.
And once this assignment was over, he’d return to the UK, and I’d go back to the Secret Service, and this would be nothing but a fond memory.
Except I knew that every single one of those arguments was weak if not false, that I was spinning lie after lie to myself. And yet I couldn’t stop, couldn’t back off, couldn’t convince myself to walk away.
I wanted him. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life, and for now, that weighed heavier than anything else.
Back in our mini-apartment, Eddie put the kettle on for tea—and there was a sentence I’d never thought I’d utter as a southerner—while I hung up our jackets, and every casual brush of his fingers against mine felt loaded with possibility.
We’d been sharing an apartment for a few weeks now, we’d kissed, but somehow, this felt like the first time we were alone together.
“Tea?” Eddie asked, holding up two mugs, and I nodded even though I was pretty sure I was too wired to actually drink anything. I had to admit I had gotten a whole new appreciation for tea—the warm kind that Eddie made us in adorably regular intervals.
We settled on our small couch with our drinks and a bowl of pretzels. For a moment, we both sat there. I wasn’t sure about him, but I was hyperaware of the space between us and the fact that we no longer had to pretend there wasn’t something crackling in the air.
“Should we…?” Eddie gestured toward the TV. “Finish watching? We did get interrupted last night.”
The memory of exactly how we’d been interrupted and what had been happening right before that alarm went off sent heat straight through me. “I’m down.”
Eddie turned on the TV and navigated back to the show. On screen, Shane and Ilya appeared in what looked like another confrontation, all intense stares and barely contained tension.
“Right where we left off,” Eddie murmured, settling back into the couch cushions.
Except we weren’t where we’d left off, not really. Last night, we’d been pretending this was casual entertainment while dancing around attraction neither of us wanted to admit. Tonight, our cards were on the table. We both knew exactly what was happening here.
I shifted slightly, closing some of the space between us, and felt Eddie’s attention split between the screen and my proximity. On the show, Shane was backing Ilya against a wall, their argument dissolving into desperate kissing that mirrored exactly what had happened between us the night before.
“They’re good actors,” Eddie said, his voice slightly strained.
“Yeah,” I replied, though I was barely watching the screen anymore. My attention was entirely focused on the way Eddie’s fingers were gripping his tea mug, the way his breathing had changed, the way he kept stealing glances at me.
The scene on screen escalated, Shane’s hands tangling in Ilya’s hair, and Eddie tensed beside me. I reached over and took the mug from his hands, setting it on the coffee table alongside my own.
“Eddie,” I said quietly, and he turned to look at me with those impossibly green eyes.
“Yes?”
Instead of answering with words, I reached for him, my hand curving around the back of his neck to pull him closer. This time, there was no hesitation, no moment of surprise. Eddie came willingly, eagerly, his lips meeting mine with a similar hunger.
This kiss was different from the desperate, interrupted make-out session from the night before.
This was slower, deeper, with the kind of deliberate exploration that came from knowing we had time.
Eddie’s hands found the front of my shirt, fingers curling in the fabric, and I could taste the lingering sweetness of his tea on his tongue.
Christ, I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted this—wanted him. The way he made small, breathless sounds against my mouth, the way he arched into me when I nipped at his bottom lip, the way his whole body seemed to melt under my touch.
On the TV, forgotten but still playing, Shane and Ilya’s passion provided a soundtrack to our very real exploration. But I barely registered it because Eddie was shifting closer, practically climbing into my lap, and every rational thought I’d ever had was rapidly abandoning me.
“Is this okay?” I asked against his mouth, my hands finding the hem of his sweater.
“More than okay,” Eddie breathed, and something in his voice—want and wonder and complete trust—made my chest tight with emotion.
I pushed his sweater up slowly, giving him every opportunity to change his mind, but instead of pulling away, Eddie raised his arms to help me get it off entirely. The sight of him—pale, smooth skin, sharp collarbones, lean muscle—made my mouth go dry.
“Your turn,” Eddie said, his voice rough with want, and I didn’t need to be asked twice.
I pulled my own shirt over my head, hyperaware of Eddie’s eyes tracking over my chest, taking in the scars that told stories I couldn’t share, the evidence of a life lived very differently from his.
For a moment, I worried that the reality of my body, marked by violence and hardship, might shatter whatever fantasy he’d been building about us.
Instead, Eddie reached out with careful fingers, tracing the scar below my left shoulder blade with the kind of reverence that made my breath catch.
“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly.
“Not anymore.” The physical pain had faded years ago. The emotional weight of the memories attached to each mark was harder to shake, but with Eddie touching me like I was something precious, even that seemed less heavy.
“You’re beautiful,” Eddie said, and the sincerity in his voice nearly undid me completely.
I kissed him again, harder this time, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the connection between us. Eddie responded with matching intensity, his hands exploring the planes of my chest, fingers tracing muscles and scars with equal fascination.
When I pushed him back against the couch cushions, he went willingly, looking up at me with flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips and an expression of complete trust. Eddie allowed me to see him vulnerable and wanting, trusting me with something precious.
I mapped his torso with my hands, learning the way he shivered when I traced his ribs, the soft gasp he made when I found a particularly sensitive spot. His skin was fever-warm under my palms, and every sound he made went straight to my head like good whiskey.
“Bash,” he whispered, my name sounding like a prayer, and I had to close my eyes for a moment to process the reality of this situation.
Eddie—Prince Gregory Edward William Mountbatten-Windsor—was half-naked on our couch, asking for more with every arch of his body, every soft sound he made against my mouth.
On screen, the fictional hockey players were doing things that would’ve made me blush to watch, but the reality happening on our couch was infinitely more compelling.
Eddie’s hands had found the waistband of my jeans, fingers ghosting over skin above the denim, and I felt every muscle in my body tighten with want.
“Can I…?” Eddie started, then seemed to lose his nerve.
“Whatever you want,” I said roughly, meaning it completely.
His hand moved lower, palm pressing against the obvious evidence of how much I wanted this, and my vision went white around the edges. I’d been hard since the moment we’d started kissing, but having Eddie touch my cock, even through layers of clothing, sent electricity straight up my spine.
“Christ, Eddie,” I gasped, and felt him smile against my mouth.
“Good?” he asked, sounding pleased and slightly amazed by my reaction.
“So good,” I managed, then decided turnabout was fair play.
When my hand palmed his dick through his pants, Eddie made a sound that was part gasp, part moan, his back arching off the couch cushions. He was hard, as aroused as I was, and the knowledge that I could affect him this way was almost as intoxicating as the physical sensation of touching him.
“Oh god,” Eddie breathed, his hips moving involuntarily against my palm. “I’ve never… That is, I haven’t…”
“I know,” I said softly, understanding what he couldn’t quite articulate. “Me neither. Not like this.”
We found a rhythm together, hands moving over each other through increasingly restrictive clothing, mouths meeting in kisses that grew more desperate by the moment.
Our tongues dueled, chased, danced until I wasn’t even sure where my mouth ended and his began.
I wanted to inhale him, devour him, possess him.
Eddie was making sounds that drove me absolutely crazy, little gasps and moans that suggested he was as close to losing control as I was.
The friction was perfect and not nearly enough, the barrier of fabric both frustrating and somehow intensely erotic. Maybe we should’ve undressed, but somehow, this felt right. We had time and with him being a virgin in every way, he deserved to experience all the steps and not skip any.
I could feel how close Eddie was getting, could see it in the flush spreading across his chest, in the way his breathing had become ragged and desperate.
“I’m going to…” Eddie started, then cut off with a sharp gasp as I increased the pressure of my touch, pressing against his cock with the flat of my hand. He rutted against me, moaning loudly.
“Yeah,” I encouraged, eager to see him come. “Come on, Eddie. Let go.”
When Eddie came, it was with a soft cry that he muffled against my shoulder, his whole body going taut before melting back into the couch cushions. The sight of him completely undone was enough to push me over the edge right alongside him.
I came harder than I had in years, probably since I was a teenager discovering the mechanics of my own body. The intensity of it was almost embarrassing, but Eddie was holding onto me like an anchor, pressing soft kisses to my neck as we both tried to remember how to breathe.
For a long moment, we lay there tangled together on our small couch, the sounds from the TV seeming to come from another world entirely. Eddie’s skin was damp with sweat, his hair a complete disaster, and I’d never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life.
“Well,” Eddie said finally, his voice hoarse and satisfied. “That was unexpected.”
I laughed, because what else could I do? “Good unexpected or bad unexpected?”
“Very, very good,” Eddie assured me, tilting his head to look at me with a smile that was equal parts shy and smug. “If a tad messy.”
“Yeah.” I laughed again. “I haven’t come in my pants since middle school, probably.”
His blush deepened. “I’ve never…”
I cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “Then I’m glad I got to give you your first.”
He bit his lip. “If I do something wrong, will you—”
“I highly doubt there’s anything you could possibly do wrong here, honey. Just do what feels good or what would feel good for you, and you’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” He let out a small sigh. “We should probably clean up.”
He was right, though I was reluctant to move.
Eddie felt perfect against me, warm and pliant and mine in a way that I was already getting addicted to.
We were both a mess, and the reality of what we’d done was starting to sink in.
We’d crossed a line that we couldn’t uncross, moved into territory that was strictly prohibited in any professional bodyguard handbook.
Eventually, practical concerns won out over the desire to stay wrapped around each other forever.
We disentangled carefully, both of us hyperaware of our sticky clothes and the need to make ourselves presentable again.
Eddie disappeared into the bathroom first, emerging a few minutes later in clean pajamas with his hair somewhat tamed, looking like the picture of innocence except for the satisfied glow in his eyes.
By the time I came out of the bathroom, Eddie had turned the TV off and tidied up our abandoned tea mugs. The couch cushions were straightened, but I could still see the impression where we’d been tangled together, still catch the faint scent of arousal and satisfaction in the air.
We went to bed separately—Eddie to the bedroom, me to my familiar spot on the couch—but everything felt different now. I lay there staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment, every sound Eddie had made, every response I’d drawn from him.
This was dangerous territory we were entering. Not just because of the professional complications or the potential consequences if anyone found out, but because of how much I already wanted it to happen again. How much I wanted more.
Tomorrow, we’d have to figure out how to navigate this new reality. We’d have to go to classes together, maintain our public couple facade, pretend like everything was normal while dealing with the knowledge of how Eddie sounded when he came undone in my arms.
But tonight, I was going to marvel at the fact that it had happened at all. That Eddie—brilliant, beautiful, impossibly-out-of-my-league Eddie—had wanted me enough to let me see him like that.
I was in more trouble than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about the responsible thing or the safe choice or any of the reasons why this was going to end badly.
All I could think about was doing it again.