She caught the pulsing nub between her index and middle finger and squeezed it, sending a shot of pleasure up her body—the current so strong, it almost made her buckle her limbs and fall on the mattress. He inched more of his cock inside her, a discomfort pinching her bottom and traveling through her body. To distract from the ache, she inserted three fingers into her wet pussy, then kept a shallow invade and retreat motion, violently, quickly.
Little dots dimmed her vision, her heart pounding in all her pulse points. Somewhere between her touching herself and his exploration of her anus, pain succumbed to pleasure. He thrust deeper, and she mimicked his actions, plunging her fingers inside her pussy. When he withdrew a bit, she did the same, and they continued in tandem for long minutes.
Sweat coated her face and limbs, and if she continued at this rate, she’d slip from her position and flatten herself on the bed. Not yet.
Sparks of pleasure built in her core, sending sizzles through the rest of her, and she could no longer stop herself. She plummeted her digits into her sex one more time, and with a loud, long-winded moan that sliced the air like a blade, she let go. Waves and waves of the best sensation she’d ever felt washed over her, accompanied by little aftershocks of awareness, like she’d just experienced a short circuit within her.
He put both hands at her sides, and intensified the rhythm of his invasions, slamming into her ass. Unable to keep on her fours, she fell to the mattress, but he lifted her ass and fucked her, until his own release came and she felt his cum in her hole, in her ass, on the small of her back. The hot, sticky liquid dribbled down her thighs, cementing his claim of her. With an animalistic growl, he slumped next to her, breathing ragged, body sweaty.
“I don’t think I can move,” she said, half joking, half serious.
He scooted close enough to kiss her shoulder. “I finally got you right where I wanted you.”
She smiled, concealing the insecurity snaking into her gut. What if she couldn’t give him what he needed, despite the sexual stuff?
What if I don’t know how?
…
“Izzy. How nice to see you here,” said Kesia the following day.
Izzy clenched the book about ancient African history she’d bought during a quick visit in town and looked at Nassor’s mother. She’d hoped to be able to make her way through the private lobby section of the castle without his mother noticing her. Damn it. She should’ve simply waited until Kesia left.
She’d seen her, talking to the concierge, probably going over chores that she would never have to do herself. The life of a queen.
“Same. I was just—” Izzy lifted the book, unsure of what to say. She’d walked out of the event the previous night, a feat she imagined not many did to the royal family. Should she apologize or move on? She hadn’t meant to offend the queen, even though she suspected Queen Kesia had been smart to bring Morowa Peete as her plus one.
Kesia lifted her hand in a silent gesture for her to keep quiet. “I’d love to have a word with you in my studio.”
“Of course.”
Izzy followed her into Kesia’s quarters, a wing of the castle she’d occupied since returning to the limelight months ago. Or so had Candace, Izzy’s maid, said. Silently, Izzy walked alongside Kesia, striding through a pristine hallway with long family paintings displayed on either side.
She opened heavy French doors, and Izzy entered the large space, filled with canvases, a multitude of brushes, and colored tubes. Fascinated, Izzy studied the finished paintings. They reminded her of impressionist masterpieces, with ordinary landscapes like the sea, the woods, and the castle, but with an intense color variation that ended up making the image more meaningful like poetry in motion. “These are amazing. Did you paint them yourself?” she asked.
Kesia glanced around, a spark of recognition and pride illuminating her coffee eyes. “Yes, I was hoping to use some of them for a fund-raiser in a few months.”
“It’ll do really well. If you need any help, I used to help with the after-school art program and small-scale charity events,” she said. Help? Most likely, she wouldn’t be here in a few months. Anxiety cooled her veins, and Izzy shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Why on Earth would Kesia need someone like her, with her public school experience, to help manage an event where art pieces could easily cost millions?
“Thank you.” Kesia sat in one of the beige tufted chairs and gestured for her to do the same. “Have a seat.”
Izzy ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she’d been more prepared for this conversation. Was this when his mother would offer her money and a return ticket home? Slowly, she chose the loveseat across from Kesia and sat. She’d been through worse in her life, way worse. This conversation should be a piece of cake.
“You left in a hurry last night, didn’t stay for the rest of the event,” Kesia said. She shot her an intriguing look, like she wanted to figure her out.
“I apologize for leaving in a hurry, but I’m not sorry I left.”
Kesia lifted her chin. “Why not?”
Izzy squared her shoulders, ignoring the heat churning in her stomach. Damn it. “Because I felt like a third wheel. If we’re being honest, I understand you brought that gorgeous woman as a future match for Nassor, and I wasn’t going to stay there and watch.”
“Yes. I didn’t know my son would take you, and when I found out it was far too late.”
“I understand.”
“You do?” Kesia asked, moving in her seat and angling her head, somehow diminishing the distance between them even though a heavy coffee table still stood in the middle.
