I freeze as the consequences of what we’ve done hit me.
If Elin finds us in here—
Dammit, I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen if Elin finds us in here. I can’t remember why Manning is supposed to marry her in the first place. Did I ever know?
Or did he just give me some story about doing it for country and duty?
I briefly wonder what it would be like to have Elin as a princess of my country, and decide that even at twenty-seven, and even growing up in Goat’s Tit, I’ve lived long enough, seen enough political news here, and watched enough of my celebrity crushes marry the wrong person to actually understand.
The people of Stölland will be horrified.
Or at least a good portion of them. Probably half, at a minimum. Or so I’d hope. She’s really unpleasant. And everyone did look so happy to share in the king’s joy on his wedding day that I’d like to think the royal family is popular.
“Manning?” Even muffled by the wall, there’s no mistaking the clipped irritation in Elin’s tone. “Where the fuck are you?”
I tell myself she won’t find us—especially like this, with Manning’s cock still half-hard and buried deep inside me—and I hiccup.
His gaze shifts back to me, and I simultaneously pick up the are you alright? question, the do be quiet glare, and the careful with squeezing the goods, love, I’m not quite ready for the next round wink.
I hiccup again, and this time it comes from so deep within me that my entire stomach caves in with the pressure, and a half-burp carries out of my throat along with the hiccup noise.
Manning’s cock stirs harder against my sensitive walls.
“Manning?” Elin says.
I clap my own hand over my mouth and pinch my lips together. Another hiccup is coming. Dammit. I didn’t even eat that much. Or drink anything.
There’s silence for a moment, followed by the chirp of a phone and—
“Hello, darling. I was just thinking of you.”
I blink. Manning blinks. Our gazes collide, and I hiccup again.
His pupils darken, and when his perpetual smile grows, there’s nothing innocent or friendly about it.
It’s pure carnal delight, with the evidence of his interest growing within me.
And no, I’m not talking about the baby.
“I know,” Elin says. “I’m bloody well doing everything I can. He was out of town all last week.”
Guilt socks me in the gut. And where guilt goes, apparently hiccups follow.
I spot my tank top on the table, and I shove the fabric in my mouth to stop the sound.
Also, my neck’s starting to ache from holding my head up. These beer-can curlers aren’t exactly the most comfortable pillow.
Also also, some of the paint I used on my teeth is in Manning’s beard.
And there’s something sticky on his chest that’s making our abdomens make a weird slurpy-slidey noise whenever I hiccup and our skin peels apart.
This has to be the most hilariously terrible predicament I’ve ever found myself in, and I once almost got arrested for mooning the local Baptist preacher because I was hyped up on too much caffeine and sugar after Tammy and I bet the geek busters we could out-drink them.
Yes, it was last year. And yes, I still got out of it by telling the deputy Joey would kill me if I got arrested.
I hiccup again, Manning’s eyes go darker and linger on my lips, and he hardens even more inside me as though he intends to go again.
My pussy gives me a high five, because either pregnancy has made me incredibly horny and sensitive, or he’s just that good.
“One more week, darling. Surely he’ll cry off by then.”
I’m ignoring Elin, because Manning’s fingers are creeping down my breast to tease my already over-stimulated nipples. And my already over-stimulated nipples demand that I arch up into his touch.
Dog, the warmth in that smile when his hooded gaze locks on mine again.
Elin’s saying something again, but her voice is going more distant. I hiccup again, a giant, dorky, completely unsophisticated hiccup barely stifled by my tank top, and there’s no mistaking the effect on Manning.
His cock thickens hard, and he gently rocks his hips against mine.
Dog help me, he feels so fucking right inside me.
More words on the other side of the wall, but they’re so far away. So far away.
I hiccup.
Manning squeezes his eyes shut. “Gracie,” he mouths, my name barely audible on his lips.
“I can’t stop,” I whisper.
“Thank god,” he replies. “That feels wonderful.”
I giggle, a mixture of pain and pleasure dances across his features, and I give my hips a tentative pump.
“You’re going to bloody kill me,” he breathes into my ear.
I don’t reply.
Instead, I hiccup. He moans softly and thrusts again.
We lay on the table like that, listening for any sounds outside the room, me hiccupping, him moving his hips just so, igniting my raw nerve endings and making me want so badly.
Just want.
Want to stay here. With him. In his bed. His home. His life.
I tell myself this was necessary sex. That I had to seduce him so that he’ll help me understand why he has to marry Elin, because problems are so much easier to solve when you can get to the root instead of treating the symptoms.
And once more, I hiccup.
Once more, he groans and thrusts into me, and suddenly I don’t care why I’m lying here on this table, because that desperate release is spiraling deep inside me, hovering on the brink of explosion again, my tender, wrung-out flesh pulsing with desire, and ohmydog I’m coming.
He moans into my neck, sparks shower across my skin, and I don’t care if anyone can hear me gasping and panting as shockwaves of pleasure roll through my body once again.
This can’t be normal. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.
My body’s entirely too satisfied to complain about anything, even if this last orgasm is short and pushing the boundaries of what my body is capable of.
But I still manage another hiccup.
Manning winces as he pulls out, pressing a kiss to my forehead as though to compensate for leaving an empty void inside me. “Magic hiccups,” he says, still softly, I assume in case Elin is lying in wait, hoping to catch us when we walk out. He touches one of my can curlers. “These can’t be comfortable.”
Now that he mentions it, there’s one on the side pulling my hair weird. I must be a mess. A sexed-up, satisfied, utter mess.
He pulls me to sitting, steps back, and stifles a howl.
Legos.
Legos all over the floor.
“Oh, no,” I whisper.
“Quite worth it,” he tells me with a grin. His real grin—easy, friendly, and happy—not the smile that comes with the twitch in his cheek or hard glint in his eyes when someone’s being a pain in the ass.
He touches my hair again. “I’m afraid I’m quite useless at fixing this.”
“And you need to get back to your party.”
He blinks as though he’s forgotten he has guests. “Quite right.” A brief break in his smile makes his brows furrow. “Gracie—”
“If you’re planning on telling me anything about honor and duty without telling me the real reason you’re betrothed to Elin, I’m going to sneak in here and dismantle every last one of your Legos and steal your shoes and hide pieces all over your apartment.”
His smile widens, and he bends to press a quick kiss to my swollen lips. “Quite bloody terrifying when you want to be, aren’t you?”
“I learned from the best.”
He brushes a thumb over my cheek as though he can’t get enough. I can relate—I’m stroking his arms, the thick cords of muscle beneath hot skin, and I don’t want to stop.
“Stay.” He waves a hand about the room. “Play to your heart’s content. I must get back downstairs. I’ll have someone bring up food. After the party…”
He pauses.
“We’ll make a real plan,” I say.
There’s that look again.
The look that says he’s just going to humor me, because he thinks he can solve this all by himself.
Sweet man. Misguided and wrong, but sweet. I’ll let him think he’ll get away with it.
But only until the party’s over.
Then, he’s going to find out just how stubborn I can be.
