Royally Matched
Page 29

“And you’re an even worse feminist.”
“Agreed. That’s something I need to work on. You’ll help me, won’t you? We should spend as much time together as possible—every minute of the day and night. I’m hoping you’ll rub off on me.”
Sarah pushes my shoulder. “Ha! You’re just hoping I’ll rub you off.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. Because she’s not even a little bit wrong.
“But there’s never been anyone? Really?”
Sarah shrugs. “Penny and I were tutored at home when we were young . . . but in year ten, there was this one boy.”
I rub my hands together. “Here we go—tell me everything. I want all the sick, lurid details. Was he a footballer? Big and strong, captain of the team, the most popular boy in school?”
I could see it. Sarah’s delicate, long and lithe, but dainty, beautiful—any young man would’ve been desperate to have her on his arm. In his lap. In his bed, on the hood of his car, riding his face . . . all of the above.
“He was captain of the chess team.”
I cover my eyes with my hand.
“His name was Davey. He wore these adorable tweed jackets and bow ties, he had blond hair, and was a bit pale because of the asthma. He had the same glasses as I and he had a different pair of argyle socks for every day of the year.”
“You’re messing with me, right?”
She shakes her head.
“Argyle socks, Sarah? I am so disappointed in you right now.”
“He was nice,” she chides. “You leave my Davey alone.”
Then she laughs again—delighted and free. My cock reacts hard and fast, emphasis on hard. It’s like sodding granite.
“So what happened to old Davey boy?”
“I was alone in the library one day and he came up and started to ask me to the spring social. And I was so excited and nervous I could barely breathe.”
I picture how she must’ve looked then. But in my mind’s eyes she’s really not any different than she is right now. Innocent, sweet, and so real she couldn’t deceive someone if her life depended on it.
“And then before he could finish the question, I . . .”
I don’t realize I’m leaning toward her until she stops talking and I almost fall over.
“You . . . what?”
Sarah hides behind her hands.
“I threw up on him.”
And I try not to laugh. I swear I try . . . but I’m only human. So I end up laughing so hard the car shakes and I can’t speak for several minutes.
“Christ almighty.”
“And I’d had fish and chips for lunch.” Sarah’s laughing too. “It was awful.”
“Oh you poor thing.” I shake my head, still chuckling. “And poor Davey.”
“Yes.” She wipes under her eyes with her finger. “Poor Davey. He never came near me again after that.”
“Coward—he didn’t deserve you. I would’ve swam through a whole lake of puke to take a girl like you to the social.”
She smiles so brightly at me, her cheeks maroon and round like two shiny apples.
“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “I’m all about the compliments.”
Sarah shakes her head. “Anyway. Once word got around school, no one else wanted to come near me. And here I am—twenty-five and probably more of a virgin than the Virgin Mary was.”
Sarah makes the sign of the cross, just in case that’s blasphemous, I guess.
“But you have some experience, don’t you?” I slide my fingers together meaningfully. “Even . . . just with yourself? Rubbing one out is good for the soul.”
Her reaction is a level-five blush . . . crimson.
“That’s private,” she murmurs.
“That’s a yes.”
And holy hell, the images that come to my mind. My cock moans—willing to give up a neighboring nut for a peek at Sarah Von Titebottum pleasuring herself.
“Since I’m staying in your room, we should work out a system. A sock on the door or such. I don’t want to deprive you. Or . . . you could let me watch—I’m a fantastic audience member.”
She glares, still blushing. “I don’t like you anymore.”
I tap her nose. “Liar.”
When we pull back into the castle courtyard, James is waiting. And he does not look happy. Actually he looks like a blond Hulk . . . right before he goes smash. Sarah sees it too.
“He’s miffed.”
“Yep.”
We get out of the car and she turns so fast there’s a breeze. “I should go find Penny. ’Bye.”
I call after her. “Chicken!”
She just waves her hand over her shoulder.
Slowly, I approach him. Like an explorer, deep in the jungles of the Amazon, making first contact with a tribe that has never seen the outside world. And I hold out my peace offering.
It’s a Mega Pounder with cheese.
“I got you a burger.”
James snatches it from my hand angrily. But . . . he doesn’t throw it away.
He turns to one of the men behind him. “Mick, bring it here.”
Mick—a big, truck-size bloke—brings him a brown paper bag. And James’s cold blue eyes turn back to me.
“After speaking with your former security team, I had an audience with Her Majesty the Queen last year when you were named heir. Given your history of slipping your detail, I asked her permission to ensure your safety by any means necessary, including this.”