“Y-yes.”
“If I touched you now,” he says as he trails his hand down my thigh, gathering my skirt, slowly in his grasp, raising it up. If he keeps going, my center will be exposed. “Would you be wet for me?”
“Yes,” I whisper, feeling the cool air touch my heated flesh.
“How wet?”
“Soaking,” I admit.
“Lean forward against the railing for me,” he says, helping me place my hands on the wooden balcony railing of the box, my chin resting demurely on top of my hands. To anyone watching, it looks like I’m enjoying the show when nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, I have no idea what’s going on. “That’s my good girl.”
Rhys gathers my skirt in both hands after threading his arms under mine, embracing me behind the wall of the balcony. When my hem is high enough, he slides his hand beneath the gauzy fabric, his bare palm gliding up my stocking-covered thighs, up my belly, until he can slip his fingers under the waist of my stocking and down. I hear his muted hiss when the pads of his fingers touch the wet gusset of my thong.
“Open for me,” he hums. His fingers ghost through my slit, catching my breath in my lungs. “So fucking wet.”
One look at him and you’d think he was bored. He’s made no effort to hide that opera isn’t his favorite. It would be fair to assume he’s mentioned it in aninterview somewhere, sometime during his life. What the country would not expect is that this stoic king, even though newly married, is doing wicked, wicked things to me.
He swirls around my opening, again and again, before sweeping the tip of his finger around my clit, making me gasp, before tracing my slit again. I bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud and dig my nails into the wooden railing to keep myself from rocking against his hand, begging him for more.
I’m ready to weep by the time he spears me with his thick finger, gliding it in and out of me so slowly I want to scream. I clench around him and feel his deep chuckle everywhere before he slides another finger inside me, rocking the heel of his hand against my swollen clit.
“Rhys,” I whisper on a heavy breath. My legs are beginning to shake. It’s so much I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it. And if I can, can I stay quiet?
“That’s it, hen,” he praises me. “Feel how wet you are for me, how your pussy tries to hold me inside of you, not letting me go.”
“Yes,” I pant.
“Feel how your body reacts to my touch,” he says as he strikes that place deep inside me, driving my arousal even higher. The need to come is barreling through me and my heart beats even faster.
“Please,” I beg.
“That’s it, hen,” he croons. “I love hearing you begfor me. Do you want to come on my fingers or my cock?”
But then, as I fight thrashing around in my seat, desperate to climax, I see something I shouldn’t, or more accurately, someone. Suzanne, Lady Thomley, or more specifically, the woman who tried to kill me on the orders of the Dowager Queen, is in a box across the theater. And she’s staring directly at me.
“Rhys—”I have to get his attention but he’s still striking my clit with the heel of his hand while his fingers thrust against my g-spot. “Please. Baby. Listen.”
Unfortunately, he thinks I’m begging to come and doesn’t stop to listen to me. “You’re right my love, I want to feel you come on both,” he says as me moves faster inside me. I’m helpless to stop this rollercoaster and I squeeze my eyes closed as the most earth-shattering orgasm rips through me.
Before I even open my eyes, Rhys is moving me behind the curtain at the back of our box, and when I look back at where I saw her, she’s gone.
I wonder if I imagined it all between the scare with my sweet kitty and the champagne and the orgasm, but still, what a weird thing to imagine…
“I have to have you,” he says as he turns me toward the wall. “I shouldn’t be hard again, but near you I always am.”
“Rhys—” I try to get his attention again, but he’s lost to the passions he thinks we’re still sharing, and we are. I’m just confused, I think.
“I don’t ever want this feeling to go away,” he says as he places my hands on the wall to brace myself as he pulls my hips back. “I never want this desire for you to go away. I think I’ll be hard for you on the day that I die.”
“Baby. Baby, please,” I beg.
“Tip your hips back,” he commands and without thinking, I do as I’m told. “Just like that.”
I hear the teeth of his zipper hiss as he opens his trousers and then the back of my skirt is lifted up over my ass.
“Fuck,” he says when he sees my stockings that go up to my waist and my thong underneath. I feel his hands at the juncture of my thighs and then he jerks at the expensive material, ripping the gusset of my stockings apart and pulling my thong to the side before he thrusts deep inside of me.
“Oh God,” I whisper, feeling so full as my body stretches to accommodate him and how deep he is inside me at this angle. He covers my back with his massive body.