X: Command Me through Alexander's Eyes - Geneva Lee Page 0,27

there’s a snake hiding in her smile.

This wouldn’t have happened if you brought Clara. Where the fuck did that come from? I’ve spent the equivalent of a day with the woman. The last thing either of us needs or wants is to draw attention to the relationship. Plus, there’s the very real possibility that my father and his sycophants would corner her and tear her limb from limb. Pepper would probably lead the charge.

But it’s the fact that she doesn’t belong here that makes me wish I’d invited her. I don’t belong either.

Pepper lingers, continuing to brush against my arm. The touches turn my stomach.

“I’m not the Royal you’re interested in,” I remind her with a smile for the cameras still following us.

She stumbles back a step but regains her footing gracefully. Her eyes narrow into slits before she shakes off my subtle threat.

“What was that about?” Edward asks as we finally reach the foyer.

“You don’t want to know,” I assure him.

“I doubt most men would turn Pepper down.” He’s searching for information. My brother reads the tabloids.

“You would,” I point out.

Edward straightens his bow tie. His eyes on the door, waiting for his boyfriend to arrive. I have no idea why. They won’t risk being spotted together. He echoes my earlier sentiment. “I have my reasons.”

“I do, too.”

“Why didn’t you invite her?” Edward asks, turning the force of his mirror-like gaze on me.

“I thought tonight’s show was a comedy. You would have preferred a tragedy?” That’s what it would become if I’d brought Clara here amongst this viper’s nest.

“No one could object to a legitimate relationship.” To his credit, he sounds like he believes this. It’s worse than I thought. Not only has Edward made the mistake of falling in love, but he’s also made the mistake of buying that love conquers all.

“She’s half-American,” I remind him. “The wrong half.”

“How can you be the wrong half?”

“No accent. Self-confident. Feminist.” I might not have spent much time with Clara, but all these things are apparent. They account for why I find myself drawn to her. They’re also one of many reasons a relationship won’t work.

“So, you’re just shagging her?” Edward picks at his cufflink, his eyes still on the entrance.

“Are you just fucking him?” I ask as David enters with Jonathan and Priscilla.

“I don’t know what to make of that,” Edward mutters. Neither do I. Why am I being so defensive where Clara is concerned?

“He looks miserable,” I say. “Perhaps, you should save him?”

Edward flinches at the suggestion and turns away. “Let’s find our box.”

I follow as he strides away, leaving his real-life behind, abandoning the man he loves. It’s fitting, I suppose. Neither of us is a white knight. We don’t save the day.

That only happens in stories.

I wake up the next morning at the Westminster Royal with a hard and extremely frustrated cock. After an evening with family, I needed distance. The hotel is beginning to feel more like home than Buckingham.

But the bed feels empty.

I don’t know what Clara and I are. I only know that I haven’t been inside her for over forty-eight hours. My cock, it seems, is keeping track of our time apart.

Fisting it, I run my hands along the shaft, trying to get up the enthusiasm to do it myself. The trouble is that it’s felt her beautiful cunt squeezing over it, and it’s less than interested in a pathetic stand-in. Still, thinking of how she responded to my touch—how her body submitted again and again—is only making me harder.

Reaching for my mobile, I shoot off a text to her with one hand, my other still stroking myself. What else am I going to do today? My day is mercifully free of more official engagements. I’m merely a photo op waiting to be dragged to the next ball or state event or memorial day. Despite my father’s insistence that I need to learn about my future responsibilities, he keeps me away from the important meetings. I’m not king yet. I’m only expected to sit and wait until someone hands me the crown. At least, I know the best way to kill time.

Clara responds almost instantly, but it’s bad news: Can’t. Shopping and lunch with my mom.

For a moment, I imagine tracking her down and slipping into a dressing room. It only makes me want to fuck her against a wall. She wouldn’t be able to stay quiet—all those hot, desperate noises escaping her full lips. Everyone would know what we were doing. Fuck,