push her over the edge. I backed away and she cried out.
“Do you feel how ready you are?” I asked. “I could blow on your clit and you would come. You only get one chance to get this right, beautiful. One brush of my finger or my tongue? A kiss? How do you want me to break you?”
“Give me your cock,” she begged, “sir.”
“Fuck, I could never deny you that.”
I resisted the urge to slam inside her. I was so ready to feel her milking my dick that it took more than a fair amount of self-control. I wanted to enjoy every moment of her climax. I stood behind her stroking my shaft. Her head shifted, straining to see what I was doing.
“I want to come with you,” I told her, moving so she could watch me jack off. I jerked my dick slowly but roughly until a bead of ejaculation formed. Belle whimpered, knowing she was about to get what she wanted, and I couldn’t help myself.
I brushed it off with my thumb, leaned over, and offered it to her. She took it, sucking it clean with wild eyes. If I wasn’t about to come that would have been all I needed. I grabbed her hips, guiding my throbbing dick inside her. She began to come as soon as I breached her and so I took my time, giving her pleasure inch by inch until she burst as I buried myself inside her and released.
This was how it was with us. I wanted her like it was the first time—everytime. I took her like it was the last time—everytime.
After, I laid awake and watched her sleep again. It was becoming a bad habit, but I couldn’t ignore the dread I felt every time I closed my eyes—every time I took my eyes off her.
8
Belle
The baby was never coming out of me. I was going to be the first woman in history to be pregnant for years. Despite Smith’s ambitious lovemaking, I hadn’t felt so much as a contraction yet. The doctor had been no help. She simply told me what the internet did: walk, have sex, wait. So I pulled past the gates of Buckingham, parked my car in the farthest space from the living quarters and heaved myself out of the seat of my Mercedes. Smith was put out that I wouldn’t take the Range Rover, but I would be consigned to it soon enough. I wanted to enjoy the last little freedoms of life as long as I could. The sight of me huffing my way towards the palace, temporarily stunned a Beefeater in the middle of a ceremonial shift change enough that he stopped in his tracks before remembering his duty and snapping back to attention. I didn’t know whether to be offended that I’d managed to distract a trained guard or proud.
Georgia met me at the entrance of Buckingham with a smile, which I immediately found suspicious. She’d been getting along a lot better with Clara, but that friendliness hadn’t exactly carried over to our relationship. I couldn’t help feeling that somehow she disapproved of Smith marrying me, although I had no idea why. I was the best thing that ever happened to him. I considered telling her this, but settled for a simple, breathless, “Hello.”
“Should I get a wheelchair or something?”
“Hilarious,” I said in a flat tone. “I’m trying to get some exercise in, so this diva will get the hell out of me. And that’s pretty impossible since I’m not allowed to go anywhere thanks to you.”
“Me?” She snorted, flicking a lock of hair over her shoulder as she led me towards Clara’s private residence. “That’s all your husband, sweetheart.”
“You’re enabling him,” I said grumpily. I’d thought Smith handled the situation at the baby shower better than expected—until the following morning when I discovered Brexton Miles was my new shadow. It could be worse. He was funny and sweet and built like a tank. But any hopes I had of scurrying around London, enjoying my last hurrah, were dashed by his presence. I felt like I had a babysitter.
“You lucked out. You got Brex. Your best friend is stuck with me,” Georgia said as she opened the door.
“It’s terrible,” Clara called from her sitting room. William was on her lap, gurgling happily. She’d put him in a pair of short pants that matched his blue eyes. A sweep of black hair stuck up on top of his head, making him look more like