eyes burn into mine, veritable flames igniting something in me that refuses to be extinguished. As my fingers pump harder, his hands grip the armrests of the chair, knuckles white and nails digging into the wood.
“This is what I’d have you do. With your hands. Your mouth. Your cock.” I slide my fingers out, drenched in my own arousal, and swirl them fiercely around my clit. My head falls back, and the arm that supports my weight begins to shake. “I can’t—” I say. “I can’t last much longer. Make me come,” I plead. “Make me fucking come, Benedict!” My voice is not my own. It is something savage, a need I didn’t know existed until now.
“I cannot,” he says, but the words are a primal growl.
“Do it!” I command, my eyes on his again. “With your words, Benedict. Just your words. Tell me what you would do to finish me off. They are nothing more than innocent words.”
He leans forward, hands still glued to the armrests, and I can see that his pupils have grown so large his eyes look black. “Fuck.” He grits his teeth. “Fuck.”
But he says nothing more. So I collapse on the bed, one hand spreading myself open for him to see, the other sending me over the edge and into oblivion.
I don’t hold back. I don’t stifle my scream as I fill myself with one finger, then two, then three until I buck against my palm.
When I finally slide my hand free with a shudder, I lie there, limp and languid from the most perplexing orgasm I’ve ever experienced.
What does it mean that I enjoyed what just happened...or that I wanted it to be his hands on me instead of my own? I was prepared to give him a good show, but instead, despite the undeniable pleasure of the evening, I’m left wanting more.
“That was...different,” I say, my voice back to its soft lilt. “I’ve never done anything like that before. I assure you.” I laugh, my eyes still shut, lids heavy as the aftermath threatens to carry me off to sleep before he can respond.
I open my eyes to gauge the prince’s reaction, to congratulate him on his restraint.
But the chair is empty. And when I hear the front door slam, I wonder if the first night of our arrangement will be the last.
Because Benedict is gone.
Benedict
I KNEEL IN front of the high altar of the royal chapel. The tabernacle is open, exposing the Eucharist, the consecrated bread transmogrified into the body of Christ. I need him to see what I have done this night, reveled in lust, taken pleasure in bending a woman to my will, woken my dormant craving for sexual domination. As Ruby undulated in her sheets, her pale skin flush with the intensity of her orgasm, a single refrain played through my mind.
What would her wet pussy feel like throbbing around my own fingers?
Would she enjoy it as much as what she’d just done to herself? Would I?
“No!” I don’t realize that I’ve spoken out loud until the word echoes through the marble-walled nave. Even now, even here, my thoughts are polluted. I cover my hands over my face. How can I be what my duty demands? Why can’t I conquer these urges?
If I stray from my path, where will it lead?
A frustrated moan escapes my gritted teeth. I am so fucking weak.
“Can I be of assistance?”
I’m on my feet before my next breath, hands braced against the altar rails. “Who said that?” The voice comes from near the pulpit. Could it be the miracle I’m looking for, the gift of salvation? “Lord? Is that you?”
The low, deep chuckle is familiar. X steps from the shadows. “Careful, Highness,” he says with a wry smile. “You want to give me a God complex?”
“Where’d you come from?” I snap, embarrassed at my error.
“Couldn’t sleep, and you were otherwise...occupied.” He shrugs. “So I took a stroll through the catacombs.”
I blink. “Where?”
He saunters down the altar steps and sits in the first pew, crossing a foot over his knee. As always, he is dressed in an impeccable suit. It would be tempting to dismiss him as continuing to have fun at my expense, but the dust coating his hair makes his salt-and-pepper locks appear saltier than normal.
“The ancient catacombs beneath the chapel. As far as I can tell, they’ve been sealed up since the early seventeenth century by your nine-times great-grandfather King Ivor the Protector.”
I cross my arms. “I haven’t been down there. We were thought too young to attend my mother’s funeral.”
He gives me a look of sympathy. “Many of the tunnels are in disrepair, and I encountered a rat the size of a cocker spaniel. That’s when I exited through a secret passage here beneath the high altar beside the statue of Saint Everly, the patroness of our realm.”
X has been a fixture of the castle since I was a teenager. And yet he is an utter mystery to me. “What were you doing there if it is so dangerous?”
“The more interesting question is whether you are enjoying the company of Miss Ruby. You might not be aware that she comes from The Jewel Box, a Rosegate pleasure house valued for its discretion but also quality. All the girls there go by the names of precious stones.” He gives his chin a musing rub. “I’ve had the good fortune to while away many a pleasant afternoon with a most diverting escort named Pearl. She used to insist on wearing nipple clamps and would do anything to get a chance to go under my flogger.”
I am ashamed to realize that I know little about Miss Ruby. I can describe every inch of her perfect body, but I haven’t the first clue about her actual life. I clear my throat, deciding to hide my discomfiture behind a question. “You consort with escorts regularly?”
My bodyguard is an enigma. I knew my brother was a favorite of the ladies, but apparently, when it came to his most trusted bodyguard, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Not for the first time, I wonder why he requested a transfer to my security detail.
X’s laughter is amused, not unkind. “I consort with women regularly. Some of them are escorts. Some are not. All of them are quite skilled at...consorting.”
I stare blankly for a few seconds, struggling to process his words. Again, I can’t help but wonder, Who is this guy? Like Ruby, I have never wondered much about X’s past. He was my brother’s bodyguard, but it seems there is more than meets the eye. The tabernacle bores into my spine, the eyes of the Lord waiting to judge my next move. I have questions that require answers, but I can’t ask them in here.
“We will continue this conversation out of the church.”
I stride toward the thick carved doors as X replies, “Very good, sir.”
Outside, the night air is crisp. The wind blowing over the surrounding snowcapped peaks
