Page 24 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

“Order some goddamn food already,” I say under my breath as I hear the water turn on in the bathroom.

The least I can do is feed her. But the moment I look at the menu, I realize I know very little about Clara Bishop. What if she doesn’t eat gluten or has a food allergy? It would be my luck to kill a beautiful woman with a peanut. I could go into the bathroom and ask, but I don’t trust myself to see her naked and wet. A man only has so much restraint.

I settle my dilemma by ordering everything and a good bottle of Champagne. They assure me it will arrive swiftly. No one in the kitchen knows who is in this room, but they know what room is calling. Unfortunately, impending room service demands clothing.

As it turns out, waiting is boring—and made harder by knowing Clara is nearby. I haven’t had enough time with my new toy yet. I want to play with her, discover every little sound she makes.

She fought me earlier, and it had only turned me on. I tell myself I would have stopped. I was raised a gentleman, after all—but I can’t ignore how her protest made my cock ache to fill her. It’s fucking sick. I know it. She deserves better. A nice barrister or doctor who’s in touch with his feminine side and never thinks about silencing her with his body. I’m building her ideal man, turning it into some perverse psychological torture when the food arrives.

The staffer is older and only barely betrays that he recognizes me as he wheels the cart inside. He’s probably attended to rock stars and diplomats and god knows who else, but being the prince of England carries a caché that can’t be matched.

“Sir?” he asks as though he’s talking to any guest, and I motion for him to leave it by the chair. Peeling a few bills from my wallet, I tip him for his discretion. It’s the strict standards that set the Westminster Royal apart.

I resume my musings on how much better Clara will be when she moves on, deciding that she might be better served as a career woman.

Clara appears in the hotel robe, which is a bit of a disappointment. Although, if she’d come without it, she might end up never getting fed. She’s even more beautiful with her hair piled on top of her head. She looks at ease—comfortable.

“Did you order everything on the menu?” she asks, taking in the array of dishes that take up both the top of the cart and the shelf underneath it.

“Personally, I worked up an appetite,” I shrug as if this is a normal amount of food, “but if you need to work on your own, I still want to screw you against that window.”

She holds up a hand in protest. “Stop. I’m famished, but maybe after?”

That can be arranged. I like taking care of her in every way that I can. “You continue to surprise me, Clara Bishop. One minute you’re running away from me, and the next—”

“You have my panties off in a lift?” she interrupts. “Be honest, this isn’t the first time a girl has dropped her knickers for you.”

“Well, no.” I can’t lie. “But you hardly dropped them. That reminds me that I need to buy you another pair.”

She pretends to not care, but her eyes hood slightly. She enjoyed having them ripped off. I’ll buy her another pair just so I can see that reaction again. I stashed the ruined pair in my suit jacket. It may be a tawdry souvenir, but I’ll know where to find them. Then again, I might prefer she leave that sweet cunt bare. She seems to guess what I’m thinking and heads toward the room service cart with renewed purpose. Her eyebrows shoot up when she lifts the lid on the first dish and discovers hamburgers.

“I hope it’s okay.” I can’t help but join her, suddenly hungry myself. But rather than reaching for the food, my hands find her hips. There’s only one thing here that can satisfy me. “You aren’t a vegan or something? I haven’t mortally offended you?”

I’m about to tell her there’s a salad here somewhere. Chicken. Caviar, I think. Clara twists in my arms before I can.

“It’s fine,” she reassures me. “I love meat.”

My cock responds to her Freudian slip with petulance. Apparently, Clara is determined to turn me into a sex fiend.

“Tell me more,” I tease.

“After we eat.” She pulls away, and I let her go. Clara grabs a plate without bothering to check the other offerings. “I had no idea the royal family ate things like hamburgers.”

“Oh yes, usually it’s only crown roast and leg of lamb and mint jelly.” It’s meant as a joke, but it comes out bitter. There are some subjects that I can’t take lightly, even if I’d like to. “Actually, my family dinners are terrible. Stiff. Too many courses. Too many forks. Someone’s always picking a fight, usually me. Maybe that’s why I skip so many of them.”

Clara swallows hard, studying me for a moment. Her hand’s frozen mid-air. Then she shakes it off. “I can relate to that.”

“Ah yes. Your parents are web entrepreneurs,” I say. “Lots of dinners alone?”

Her eyebrow arches into a question mark. “Checking up on me?”

“I was interested, and if I have to spend my whole life in the public eye, I might as well enjoy the perks of my position.” I take a seat next to her, wondering how she’ll take this. Surely, she can’t have expected me not to look her up. How did she think I’d found her? She hadn’t left a glass slipper.

“Translation: it’s okay for you to spy on me.”

I laugh off the accusation, not wanting her to know she’s right. “It was not nearly so clandestine. You probably learned more about me on the internet than I did from MI5 files.”

“I have an MI5 file?”