She is the Princess, and he's her guard. A lust that's forbidden.
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Princess Celeste Lawerence is a snotty, rebellious, and vain temptress. At least, that's what the kingdom of Alvera says she is. Landing every one of her personal guards in exile or...
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Gray Anderson
I watched as she placed one of her feet into the stirrups, planting it there. With one strong tug of my arm, I hoisted her up onto the horse's back. She picked her other leg up and over the large horseback. I was silently impressed that she managed to move at all in those dresses.
With my hand still around hers, I felt her body slowly slip down the curve of the animal's back, fitting firmly against my broad body. The mounds of her breasts and smooth stomach pressed there, gracing me with a heat that was all too familiar.
"Ready?" I craned to look back at her down turned lips, so pouty. The red tint mouth was somehow more tempting with that taunting frown. I bet that if I leaned forward right now and brushed the color of her lipstick along my own mouth, that frown would not be there. I smirked.
She ripped her hand from mine, gripping the sides of the travel bags firmly to keep herself steady as I guided the horse into a walk. "Yes," she said.
I grabbed hold of the reins, raising a doubtful eyebrow at her. Holding onto the sides of the saddlebags was going to make this ride unpleasant, to say the least.
"You are going to fall if you don't hold onto me."
Those royal blue eyes turned nearly black when she narrowed them at me, the look stirring a challenge in my chest: "I would rather pull the sword from your hip and sever my arms." She illustrated this by dragging her flexed hand across her shoulder.
That challenge flurried into fiery delight; I would be enjoying this.
I simply shrugged and turned forward so she wouldn't see my satisfied smirk, "Whatever you wish, my princess."
I jerked my heel back into the stead, prompting him into a slow trot onto the main street. Her hand tightened around the leather bags, and her thighs squeezed harder.
Most inns and royalty suites would be occupied tonight due to the festival, and I didn't particularly want to take her to the designated royalty suites. It would be like strapping a sparkly sign to Celeste that told everyone where she was staying—too easy to monitor and track. The inns would be more private; the trouble now was finding a room.
When I was stationed in Urnsts a year ago I recalled a small establishment towards the edge of the city a few of my men and I stayed in while moving to the next camp. It was run down and not entirely welcoming, the perfect place to hide a Princess and my best bet at an empty room.
Glancing up at the setting sun, I whipped the reins down on the stead. The stallion shot off into a canter like a blurred shadow rejoining the darkness. The woman behind me yelled and shot forward. Two slender arms grasping at my chest for dear life as the wind rushed around us, carrying her dress in whirling tendrils behind us.
Her arms squeezed around me tighter, grabbing fistfuls of my pristine uniform desperately. Satisfaction rippled through me like the wind in my smokey blond hair, the smirk slipping up my face cat-like. There was something dangerous about how much I reveled in besting her, toying with the raven-haired woman. Getting an edge on her was an addicting feeling I couldn't help myself from chasing. Maybe it was because of how infuriating she was; maybe it was my distaste for royalty. Whatever it was, this cat-and-mouse game danced around an already blurry line.
