Chapter 16

He laughs sexily again. “Not everyone. My closest friends call me Nick. And I’m primarily known as the Prime Minister.”

My brow jumps. “You hold a political position?”

“It is my country,” he simply says.

True. But… “I once read the Queen of England doesn’t have real political power, mostly she’s considered influential.”

“My immediate family and ancestors have always been part of the overall governing body. Within small realms, as well. We’re a melting-pot region. An asylum for a hodge-podge of ethnicities. Our strongest persuasions are French, British, and Italian; however, we have a secondary balance that is an eclectic European mixture, we basically cover the gamut.”

Hence the reason I’ve detected so many different hints of accents without a particular one being more predominant than the others.

“It gives us diversity, culturally, yes,” he continues. “Also constitutionally, religiously, and ethnically.”

“A real ‘one nation,’” I muse.

“Absolutely,” he asserts. “That was an original proclamation when the federation was formed, and it’s held true all this time. The varied representations mean, on average, our citizens fluently speak and write at least three languages, and have a wide world view and are quite intimately familiar with global issues and concerns—most certainly those on our own continent. We’re proud to have a number of medical, diplomatic, and literary prize winners within our borders, though… Their country of origin is typically accredited to their success.”

He smirks.

I can see beyond the hint of sarcasm. “That really doesn’t bother you so much,” I venture. “It’s more important for you and your fellow denizens to be inspired by the equalities that are celebrated, in addition to the victories of your own people.”

“The freedoms we uphold,” he mumbles, and there is notable pride in his tone.

I have no doubt he is a fair and just leader—and because he’s done nothing but treat me with kindness, reverence even, despite my less-than-pleasant beginnings and the fact that I’m still struggling to get ahead in life, he’s never been anything but empathetic and encouraging. Helpful. By leaps and bounds.

So I tell him, “I’m more than convinced you’ve earned the title of Your Highness. And perhaps some sort of Top Chef accolade as well.”

He grins. “Cooking is a passion.”

And I can fully attest that the man knows how to embrace his passions. I can’t deny that I’m one of them. Happily so.

He pushes his empty plate aside, eyes mine, and then seductively suggests, “Maybe we ought to enjoy the molten chocolate cake in bed.”

“I don’t need cake,” I assure him. “Chocolate can’t do to me what you do.”

“We’ve barely scratched the surface,” he says with a wink.

And, yes, the liquid fire through my veins confirms Nick Angelini is infinitely more potent, more orgasmic than even a death-by-chocolate dessert.

“I’ll take a raincheck,” I tell him.

His expression is nothing shy of the cat about to eat the canary. “Then let’s give the ‘old-fashioned way’ another try… Shall we?”

“Too bad your voice-activated wonder can’t do the dishes for us,” I say as Nick and I carry them from the table to the island.

“She can after we load the washer,” he informs me.

“Or we can just push the buttons ourselves.”

“Or leave the dishes for Grayson.”

“Aw, poor Grayson,” I quietly quip.

“He secretly prefers to deal with everything to his particular liking.”

“Pride in ownership with his job,” I muse. “I fully respect that.”

“He’s extremely meticulous. I brought him from home. Even if you don’t feel comfortable with having someone at your disposal in that capacity, he’ll still be close at hand, in the guesthouse.”

“Won’t he be bored?” I ask as I clean and dry my hands.

“He enjoys reading. A lot. Plus, his daughter is in L.A., so they can visit when it’s convenient.”

We finish up and Nick flattens a palm against my lower back to guide me to the steps and along the vast hallway.

As we pass the grand piano, I inquire, “Do you play?”

“Of course. Music lessons were a requirement when I was growing up.”

“In addition to world history, civics, and social graces, I presume.”

“Naturally.”

“And you probably excel at horseback riding and polo.”

His rumbling chuckle reverberates within me. “I like to think so.”

“I’m sure so,” I comment. “You seem to excel at everything.”

“It’s sort of expected when you’re a prince.”

“And certainly when you’re a king.”

He gives a casual nod.

Meanwhile, exhilaration ribbons through me because I know a few of the things he’s damn good at and I wouldn’t be surprised if he has infinitely more tricks up his sleeve.

We take the steps down to the foyer and cross to the suite. I’m no longer referring to it as solely mine—I have a feeling we’re now sharing the space.

I barely turn around to face him and his fingers curl into the satin at my outer thighs and he slips the entire gown over my head. He lays it out to minimize the wrinkles—I’m guessing that’s due to him wanting to see me in it again.

Just… Not at this moment.

Oh, no. At this moment, he’s dragging away my panties and his gaze is sliding slowly up my body, from my bare feet to my eyes, with some lingering, longing stares in the places he finds most interesting along the way.

I’m instantly breathless. The man can eviscerate me with nothing more than a smoldering look that promises wicked things to come.

That’s going to be me. Without doubt. When his hands glide over my hips to the dip of my waist, and he eases me toward him, I melt under his delicate, yet skilled touch.

My palms splay over the swells of his pecs. His skin is warm and smooth, his muscles tightly bunched.

Excitement dances along my spine.

I glance up at him from under my thick lashes and seductively say, “I’m one-thousand percent for increasing our odds.”

Desire flashes in his grey-green irises.

I suddenly wonder if he’s even thinking about our “mission.” Or if he’s caught up in the lust and the zings ricocheting off us.

I stretch on tiptoes and shamelessly whisper against his lips, “Anyway you want me, Nick…”

“Well, since the window of opportunity is still open…” His strong arms wrap around me. He lifts me up and lays me on the bed.

My teeth sink into my lower lip as he steps back and strips down.

He’s already hard for me.

And I am in dire need of him.

His hand hooks my calf, and he spreads my legs. He positions himself between them and then his mouth is on me and I’m…in heaven.

His tongue flutters over my folds and then targets my clit. I sigh ecstatically.

My fingers comb through his hair. My thigh drapes over one of his broad shoulders and I tilt that hip, knowing he has every intention of giving me so much more.

Sure enough, he works two fingers into me. With the better access I’ve just provided, he can pump deeply, steadily.  

He is amazingly talented with his teasing tongue and his stroking fingers. I love being this tangled up with him and yielding to all the scintillating sensations he spawns and the ensuing slow burn that has throaty moans falling from my parted lips and anticipation mounting within me.

It is so, so easy to close my eyes and cede to the darkly erotic, consuming vibrations and the highly acute feeling of Nick’s mouth on me. The gentle crooking of his fingers to caress that perfect spot…

“Oh, God, Nick…” I murmur. My pulse jumps.

I have one hand in his hair and the other is fisting the comforter beneath me and it is literally only seconds before I’m coming apart at the seams and calling his name.

I know he’s quite pleased with his expeditious feat because he playfully nips his way up my body and just when the shudders rocking me start to subside, he withdraws his fingers and thrusts fully and confidently into me. I cry out again.

He rolls onto his back, bringing me with him. I straddle his lap. One of his arms circles my waist. His free hand cups my breast and kneads enticingly. He kisses me, even though I’m breathless.

He keeps us sealed together as we move in a sensual, yet insistent rhythm.

He breaks the kiss and his lips skim over my chin, to my neck. He knows where to tenderly bite, below my ear, and he knows to soothe the skin with his tongue.

I’m absolutely drowning again. He capitalizes on my bliss by sexily saying, “You are so incredibly beautiful, Bailey Storm. So exciting.”

This sends another shiver through me that culminates in my inner muscles contracting around him.

He lets out a primal groan. Thrusts a bit more commandingly.

“Nick…” I moan.

His head bends and his tongue flits over my nipple. Then his mouth closes around it. He suckles and I nearly burst into flames.

My hips rock. He remains in sync with me—even increases the tempo a bit.

I’m fully losing myself in the sensations. His semi-embrace is a powerful one and he’s massaging my breast with the perfect pressure. He’s assertive and controlling and my lack of experience has absolutely no bearing on anything, because we are fantastic together.

He whispers in my ear, “I shouldn’t want you this much…”

I’m over-the-moon ecstatic that he does.

I also grasp his meaning. It’s significant.

We have a deal; we’ve signed a contract.

Yet when we’re naked like this and his skin is sliding against mine and our bodies are moving together, I can’t really obsess over the business aspect.

Especially not when he grips the edge of the mattress with one hand and the other slips under my ass so he can angle me appropriately. My foot presses to his butt, in turn, so that we’re fused together, and he pumps in a stronger, heartier cadence that’s magnificently decadent.

“Nick,” I say on a thread of a breath. “Oh, God… Right there. Yes… Oh, God, yes…”

He hits all the high notes within me. Meanwhile, his sexy groans blow over my throat and his hand cupping my ass cheek clasps me even tighter and I know he’s on the verge. I know he can’t resist this anymore than I can, that he can’t help but to succumb, to surrender.

The magnetic pull is too great, too alluring.

And just as he plunges a bit more aggressively, I climax once more… Sparking his release.

“Oh, Jesus, Bailey,” he sharply mutters. Then: “Fuck, you feel so good. Too good. Goddamn!”

His body vibrates and his heat flashes through me. I clench him as fiercely as possible, drawing out every ounce from him. Tremors take hold of him. His breaths are now razor-thin like mine as another orgasm claims me.

I am wholly cognizant of my responsibilities here.

And yet…

I am wholly twisted up in Nick, finding myself whispering, “I’m glad you want me this much.”

Knowing the can of worms that opens…