“Fill me,” she pleaded with him.
Oh God, he wanted nothing more. Since the moment he’d seen her, he had known he would never be satisfied until she was dripping with him every waking moment. It was an impossible feat, but he was up to the challenge. Now that impulse was even more undeniable. He carried her to the wall, using it to brace her body as he thrust. His hips pistoned in deep strokes that bumped against her cervix. Belle began to gasp as her muscles clamped around his shaft.
“Everything for you,” he grunted as a sweat broke across his forehead. Somehow this gorgeous creature had chosen him. She had allowed his body to claim hers, and he would never stop giving her everything she deserved. He ground violently against her until her cries rent the air and her pussy milked jet after jet of his seed. Belle collapsed against him, sagging like a limp doll, and he caught her. She clung to him as he took her to the bed, but when he laid her down, she whimpered.
“More,” she begged.
Smith stroked his hand down his slick cock, pumping it vigorously as he lowered his body onto hers. Her thighs opened in welcome and he slid inside her in a swift motion that stole her breath. Bracing his palms on the bed, so he wouldn’t crush her under his weight, he called to her in a soft voice, “Open your eyes, beautiful.”
Belle’s lashes fluttered as she struggled to obey his command. She peered up at him through hooded eyelids and murmured dreamily, “Yes, Sir.”
“Not tonight,” he told her, even though he felt a pang in his balls at her words. She was giving everything to him—her trust, her submission, even her future. His mouth found hers and they kissed languidly, gasping and panting as their bodies moved in a slow, primal rhythm. He lifted his head to marvel at the unbroken circle of their love. “Do you feel that? I’m inside you—giving you life.”
She surged around him and he filled her, completing the circle once more.
Snow had arrived unseasonably early in London. The delicate flakes grew larger as I watched out the window of my private office. It was yet another reminder that the holidays were only a few weeks away. So was the memo reminding me that we were set to leave for the family home in Balmoral in a little less than a fortnight. And then there was the miniature Christmas tree that a staff member, in their infinite wisdom, had decorated and placed in the corner. The addition would delight Elizabeth when she came to visit Daddy. But no matter what changed, the room still felt like my father’s office. In due time, I’d replace the heavy, velvet drapery and send the ostentatious furniture to storage. It was merely a matter of priority. Removing the remnants of my father was less important after we’d been forced to move into Buckingham only a few weeks after the coronation. It didn’t feel like home. Perhaps, the holidays would finally change that.
There was a knock on the door and a stammering, young woman peeked in. I rarely noticed the girls on my staff, my eyes completely stuck on my own wife, but I couldn’t help but note that the poor thing was practically the shade of a telephone box. That meant that Brexton had arrived for our meeting.
“Show him in.” I saved her the humiliation of having to speak.
She nodded and backed up against the door. Her eyes trailed after my old friend as he entered. I’d seen this reaction to him before, even Clara hadn’t been immune to his looks the first time they had met. I couldn’t be sure if it was the strict, but confident posture he’d developed in the service or the wicked glint of trouble that was omnipresent in his eyes. He was dressed down for the day in jeans and an untucked t-shirt. Judging from the way her eyes lingered it didn’t matter if he was wearing this or his uniform as she was preoccupied with undressing him with her eyes.
“Thank you,” I called to her as he settled into the chair across from my desk. It took her far too long to realize she’d been dismissed. Curtsying, she quickly shut the door in embarrassment.
“Some things never change,” I muttered.
Brexton shrugged as though he had no clue what I was talking about. “Things do change. We used to be out there on the prowl together. Now you don’t need a wingman.”
“Thank god for that,” I said in flat voice. “You were a terrible wingman.”
“I resent that. We always went home with a girl,” he said.
“You always went home with a girl—usually the one I was eying.”
He ran a hand over his closely cropped hair that he still wore in military fashion. “Good thing I was deployed when you met Clara.”
I shot him a warning look. Ribbing was one thing. Bringing my wife into it was another.
“What couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” he asked, shifting topics before he got into trouble.
“I want you to look into the matter of my father’s other son.”
“Why?” he asked. It was clear he already knew about the discovery, given how nonplussed he was by my announcement.
“Because it’s your job.”
He blinked. Brexton Miles had known me far too long to be impressed by my title or authority. Most of the time I appreciated this fact, but today I was immune to the effects of sentimentality. That didn’t mean that my good-natured friend and former comrade would simply bow to my will.
Brex relaxed in his seat. Out of uniform he looked like he spent his days in the gym lifting weights, and, no doubt to his tight, black t-shirt, his nights guarding access to night clubs. However, I knew that he’d achieved his formidable physique by carefully adhering to the fitness regime of the Royal Air Force. “Going to boss me around, Poor Boy? I thought we had an understanding.”
Despite myself I grinned at the reference to our days on the war front. Brex had treated me no differently then, save to mock my lineage with his tongue-in-cheek nickname. We’d agreed that for him to work on private security team now that our relationship shouldn’t change.
“I am your king,” I reminded him.
“Bullshit,” he called, crossing his arms. “You wanted someone who wouldn’t pander to you, remember?”
“I remember,” I said in a measured tone. That particular detail had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I couldn’t recall what I had been thinking.
“It was always going to be easier said than done,” Brex pointed out. “But that doesn’t mean that you are off the hook.”