54.1
“Darling.” My mother greets me like I’m the prodigal daughter, arms outstretched, her face beaming. She never calls me darling, but I can’t help but smile anyway. She looks happy. Really happy, like I haven’t seen her in years, and despite our differences, that makes me feel good.
“Mother,” I say, as she draws me in close, giving me two air-kisses. “You look really stunning.”
She’s breathtaking in a cream-colored chiffon evening gown that trails to the floor, a huge diamond statement necklace lying carefully over the scooped neckline of the dress. Her hair is piled on her head, and she wears a small tiara – not the royal crown, which she’ll wear during the wedding, but gorgeous nonetheless.
“Thank you, darling,” she says, smiling. As she pulls me close, she whispers softly. “I know you hate these big social things, but please try your best and I promise I'll make it up to you."
I smile politely, the moment interrupted when King Leopold takes my hand. “Isabella,” he says, his voice warm. “Have I told you how delighted I am that you’ve decided to stay for the summer?”
“I’m honored to be a guest in your home," I say.
Leopold laughs, a deep sound that comes from his belly. “My dear, you’re family,” he says. “Please don’t ever call yourself a guest again.”
“I’ll try to remember that, Your Royal Highness,” I say, bowing my head.
“Kev tells me he showed you around Senijk,” Leopold says, referencing the town where their summer estate is. My mind immediately flashes to exactly what Kev showed me in the village that day – his skill with his fingers.
“I showed her the most important parts of Senijk,” Kev says, beside me, and I avoid looking at him as the vibrator flicks on inside me, low and slow, but the movement surprises me and I yelp.
“Are you okay?” Leopold asks, and I just know my face must be bright red.
“Uh…yes,” I say, coughing to hide my embarrassment. “I just turned my ankle in these heels. I’m afraid I haven’t gotten used to wearing high heels again.”
“I imagine this entire thing is a bit of a shock for you,” Leopold says, as Kev increases the intensity on the vibrator. I look over at him and shoot him the most murderous glare I can muster under the circumstances.
The vibrator is one thing, but turning it on when I’m trying to carry on a conversation with his father is another thing entirely.
A very bad, very warped thing.
“It’s…yes…a shock, I would say.”
“It’s probably difficult to leave someplace that intense,” Kev says, his voice the epitome of professional and measured. Except for the fact that he looks me right in the eye, his expression filled with mischief, and lingers just a little too long on the word intense, turning up the intensity of the vibrator as he speaks.
“Uh-hum,” I say. What the hell were we talking about again? I can’t think clearly when all I can focus on is what’s happening between my legs.
It’s a good thing that there is a ballroom of people waiting for an audience with my mother and the king, because I there’s no way I can muster a coherent sentence. My entire body feels warm, heated to the point of discomfort by the arousal surging through my veins.
Kev leans close to me as we walk away. “Do I hear a faint buzzing sound?” he asks.
“Shut up,” I reply, through gritted teeth. Oh God, if he keeps this going, I’m going to have to walk out of here right now.
“I’m kidding,” he says. “Totally silent. Although, judging from the expression on your face, it’s obviously working.”
“I don’t know why I let you put it in me,” I hiss, barely able to choke out the words. Another surge of the vibrator, and I stumble, putting my hand on Kev’s arm for support.
“Oh, trust me, luv,” he whispers, smiling politely at someone from across the room, someone important who’s undoubtedly walking toward us to say hello. I can’t tell who it is because I’m practically seeing double already. “I’m going to be putting more than that in you.”
“Miss Kensington,” a voice says, and the vibration stops abruptly. Thank God, because I was about to cause a scene. I look up to see an older gentleman, and Kev introduces us – he's a politician of some kind. Or was it an earl? I've already forgotten.
Then Kev and I are split up. For the next half hour, one of the royal family's handlers, a public relations expert named Christine who dictates my every move, escorting me from guest to guest. There is a whole team of public relations handlers on staff, all dressed in identical black suits on non-event days and gowns and tuxedos on nights like tonight.
Christine is stiff and rigid, all business and no pleasure, her jet-black hair pulled up in a high ponytail that only serves to make her face look even thinner than it is. She introduces me to guests in a clipped tone, with just a hint of a smile, an expression that must serve her well in this capacity. Everything about her screams ‘don’t fuck with me.’
She's positively terrifying.
And the entire time, the vibrator flicks on and off inside me, at random intervals that Kev determines from wherever he is in the ballroom.
I smile and nod and exchange pleasantries with people until I’m dizzy, unable to think of anything except the throbbing between my legs. All-business-Christine introduces me to important people, reminding me between introductions of the importance of learning royal customs and maintaining royal bearing. And the whole time, Kev is sending random pulses of vibration through me that nearly leave me breathless.
I’ve been reduced to a weak-kneed, quivering bundle of desire, controlled by my pussy – and by my stepbrother.
