Page 45 of Princessa
Tossing my phone on the bed, I scrubbed my hands over my face.
Clearly, I’d become the poster fucking child for sexual frustration at its finest.
And as I was laying there feeling sorry for myself, another text came through.
Arabella:One more question: If I weren’t still a virgin how would we have spent the afternoon?
Me:Depends. Are we hypothetically together for the first time, or are we already hot-and-heavy sexually involved?
Arabella:Suppose we’d already slept together quite a few times.
Me:Alright. Do you want an honest play-by-play version of how I think we would have passed the time together?
Arabella:YES.
Me:Okay, well, as you sat, legs sprawled open on the kitchen counter, I would have gone down and devoured your sweet heat until your whole body quaked. Then my mouth would have slowly traveled back up to your lips, kissing you, allowing you to taste your erotic juices as I drove my cock in and out of you over and over, deeper and deeper, until we both…
I had to stop, too aroused by the thought of us coming together, Arabella on the counter, the floor, the couch, up against the fucking wall.
Me:From the kitchen we would have made our way into my bedroom, stepped into the shower together, and lingered, taking turns soaping up, exploring each other long enough to be ready to go at it again. Afterward, we would have fallen into bed, cuddled, then fucked one or two more times before showering again—only this time separately because otherwise we’d lose track of time. Then we would have gotten ourselves dressed and ready for dinner.
Radio silence on her end caused me to regret going into great detail—regret being so straightforward. Maybe a virgin was frightened at the idea of getting fucked all afternoon. Who knows? She was the only virgin I was into, so really, I had no clue.
Spike practically flipped me off.
If dicks could talk, mine would have said, “Thanks for nothing, dude. You ruined my shot at getting to meet the shag of my life.”
Staring at my phone, I lay there, willing it to do anything other than display an inactive—painfully quiet—screen.
Finally, the floating dots in the bubble popped up.
Arabella:I’d be honored to someday spend an afternoon with you…exactly how you described.
Do princes swoon? Because I sure the fuck did.
A couple of hours passed and there we were, standing face-to-face at her bedroom door.
My gaze swallowed her from bottom to top, mesmerized by how stunning she looked in an all-black dress and heels. Her hair fell down the length of her back, and she smelled as fragrant as the roses in my front garden. I leaned in, practically inhaling the woman who had me worshiping the ground she walked on, then planted a soft-as-silk kiss along the slope of her neck.
“You’re so incredibly perfect, Arabella. I can’t wait to introduce you to King Matteo and Queen Isadora.”
Dinner began without incident, my parents immediately taken by Arabella’s elegant charm and presence.
They chatted about any and everything, from the fact she’s an heiress to a hotel chain, her parents, life in Savannah, what she studied at university, her Insta-stardom, to the girls’ home she visited once a month.
“Did Grayson tell you about Castle Primo?” My mom beamed.
Replying on her behalf, I said, “Yes, and Arabella and I may pay the boys and gals a visit tomorrow.”
“Oh, splendid. I heard a little one was brought over yesterday. A newborn baby girl from Barcelona.”
The enthusiasm on Arabella’s face perished, her hand over her heart as if to soothe it. “A newborn? How incredibly sad.”
“Yes, it is. And I don’t know the circumstances behind her arrival, but the nuns are fighting over who gets to hold her,” Mom simpered.
The way she and Arabella spoke to each other—effortless and easy—brought a sense of comfort to me. Sure, my father’s approval was important, but for some reason, my mother’s meant that much more to me.
When dessert was presented, Arabella excused herself to use the restroom. Mom and Dad sat across from me, grins plastered to their faces.
“She’s lovely, Grayson.” Dad sipped his wine. “Just lovely. So genuine, lively, smart, and beyond gorgeous. Well done, you.”
Mom nodded in agreement. “I love her personality: neither shy nor pretentious. At the same time, I can tell she possesses reserved qualities about her. I can definitely see why you’re so taken.”
Dad cleared his throat. “Do you love her, son? Is she the one?”
Never have I felt so strongly for anyone, and while I’ve not admitted as much to Arabella, the writing on the walls surrounding my heart were clear as day. “I am, without a doubt, so very much in love with her.”
