The pressure to marry has intensified since my return from serving in the Royal Air Corps. The law dictates I marry by my thirtieth birthday, and with my twenty-ninth now come and gone, time is running out. I haven’t seriously dated since university, and despite the frankly shocking number of noble women Father has paraded before me over the last few years, none have sparked much in me. Certainly, none have struck me as potential wifey material.
Potential future queen material.
My heart rate ticks up, and I toss back the rest of my whiskey, the glass slipping a little in my damp hand. Before I can set down my empty glass, a waitress comes by to take it, another drink at the ready.
“Arranged marriages worked in the past,” another woman in our group puts in.
“I don’t know if worked is quite the word for it,” Trixie’s friend interjects as she slides her fingers through my cousin’s chin-lengthblonde hair.
“And what if you didn’t like the woman the king picks?” another adds.
“We don’t have to be wildly in love. We just have to get along and produce heirs,” I say.
“But this way you get to have some say.” Miles gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Perhaps you can find someone to more than cohabitate with.”
Father and parliament came up with this idea after I turned twenty-nine. Out of sheer desperation, they sent out invitations to one hundred eligible daughters of the aristocracy from around the world in a showcase of potential marriage matches for me. I mean what I said, I don’t honestly care anymore if I don’t find a love match, but Iwilldo my duty to my country. So, I probably shouldn’t be thinking about the charming Miss Aurelia in the midst of all this; my obligations are otherwise engaged, but I can’t get those green eyes and arched lips out of my mind. At least there is always The Club if I need certain kinds of attention my wife doesn’t want to provide.
As if reading my mind, one of my favorite workers appears behind me. I recognize her without even turning around by her rose and honey perfume. Miles drops his arm from my shoulders as Ashton begins massaging them in the exact way I like.
“I could see how tight you are from across the room,” she breathes in my ear. “What has my Fritz so wound up?”
I drop my head back against her, comforted by the soft cushion of her stomach. As with the bouncer andthe women sitting around me, I’m not the prince, just Fritz. “Same shit, different day, Ash.”
I groan softly as she moves her hands up, threading her fingers through my thick, dark hair that’s admittedly getting a bit long, but I’m kind of liking the look. She rubs my scalp in firm circles, sending chills right through me. The front of my trousers twitches as my cock reacts to her attentions.
“Let me take care of you.” Her lips whisper over the curve of my ear.
My body is already putty under her strong hands, but I find my legs and drain the last of my whiskey. There’s no need to make excuses around here; everyone is here for the same thing and knows what goes on behind closed doors. I give a small nod to the group, and Miles slaps me on the ass before I follow Ashton down a back hall.
The private rooms are pay-to-play, and I drop several large bills on a small table by the door as Ashton unfolds a massage table and turns on the warming function. I strip completely bare, not bothering with the towel hanging on the back of the door. Ashton licks her lips at the sight of my semi-erection and motions for me to lay down. I start on my stomach, the pad already warm beneath me.
Ashton begins to work, paying special consideration to my neck and shoulders, where I carry all my stress. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, or will wear one day. She finishes my back, skipping over my ass to work my thighs and calves. Then she comes backand begins on each cheek, her touch firm and soothing, working away each knotted muscle and rubbing away the soreness from a particularly grueling workout this morning. Her breathing changes as she works my glutes, breaths coming in shorter puffs.
Need pokes through my relaxed haze as she spreads my cheeks.
“Fuck.” It comes out in something like a whimper, decidedly unmasculine, but I can’t care less.
“Not yet.” She gives my rear a gentle pat. “Turn over first.”
I do as I’m told so she can work her magic on my front side. Her hands are strong. I bet she could kill someone barehanded and not even break a sweat. My body responds as she rubs along my pecs, giving each nipple a teasing circle and causing my back to arch. My dick is at full attention now and close to adding precum to the oils covering my body.
She continues her work, eying my prominent erection with delight but working around it, down my legs and back up to attend to the inside of my thighs. She mixes pleasure with relief with such skilled ministrations, and I’m stuck in limbo between utter relaxation and painful excitement.
After what feels like hours, but is probably more like forty-five minutes, she finally takes my balls in her palm, tracing lazy circles with her thumb over the tender skin.
“Such a needy bitch today, Fritz,” she coos as I hiss at her tormenting caress.
“Just suck my fucking cock,” I growl.
She makes a littletsknoise. “Let’s not forget our place now, dearest.”
Dearest.That’s what Aurelia had called the little girl. And now my thoughts are back to her, and for once, I’m wishing it was her hands on me instead of Ash’s. Her soft, delicate fingers would be useless torture to my strained muscles, but they’d be oh so sweet, gripping and pumping me to release.
Wet heat on the head of my cock brings me from the fantasy into the present, where Ashton is at fucking last giving me the attention I’m all but dying for. Her thick black hair hangs in sheets around her face as she bends down to take me in, inch by inch, until I bump the back of her throat and she swallows to take me in a little more. I’ve been walking around in a state of barely contained arousal since my chance encounter with the nanny Aurelia—the gorgeous American who supports my own favorite football team—and I am not far from coming completely undone as Ashton’s throat ripples around me. I’ve seen plenty of dicks in my time to know that mine is above average, but she takes it like a pro. Ash slowly lifts her head, sliding my member languidly along her tongue and lips all the way to the tip before just as slowly dropping back down. Each stroke of her skillful mouth is blissful agony.
The shaded lights in the room are suddenly too bright, the essential oil diffuser in the corner too fragrant, the soothing music in the background too loud as I grow closer to my release. Ashton speeds herwork, bobbing up and down as she continues to take me all the way down. Her teeth scrape lightly along my sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through me. She swirls one finger around the ring of muscle below my balls, and I’m undone. I almost miss the chance to tap her shoulder, our signal I’m about to come. She gives one last hard suck, slipping her finger inside me, and I shoot down the back of her throat with a cry that bursts from my chest like a caged animal.
It’s as if she’s swallowed down the last of my tension, and I lay limp as a rag doll on her table. Ashton stands and moves to the head of the table, trailing her hand along my exposed ribs, eliciting a shiver and goosebumps.
“Such a good boy,” she murmurs.
