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6: In Which She is the Cat that Gets All the Cream

6: In Which She is the Cat that Gets All the Cream

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Dinner was horrible.

Of course, there were worse things in the world than having my best friend in the whole world giving me the silent treatment for no reason whatsoever, my crush’s fiancée giving me sly looks over the main course and a freaking sex god sitting beside me with the most magical fingers imaginable.

Seating arrangements were nonexistent at these evening dinners at the palace, which was how I found myself beside Nikolai, his fingers up the hem of my dress under the table while he innocently conversed with one of Inga’s older brothers on his right.

I couldn’t eat; couldn’t even think. Not when he was just discovering that, like the plebeian I was, I hadn’t worn any underwear to dinner.

Parting my thighs for him, I felt his fingers halt when he encountered no barrier at the V of my legs. Giddy with excitement, I could’ve cried with relief when he slowly began to move, his fingers blazing a trail of heat to my clit peeking through the folds of my pussylips.

“Inga mentioned you do a little acting,” a voice chirped from my left side.

I jerked my head in that direction, totally horrified. Inga’s mother was going to talk to me while Nikolai started finger-fucking me?

“Um, y-yes. I do, Mrs. Antonova,” I shakily replied, worrying my lower lip when I felt Nikolai’s forefinger circle my clit.

I glanced in his direction, astonished that he was discussing Ruslavia’s practically nonexistent healthcare with Inga’s brother – Sergei, I remembered – while his hand was up my dress.

“Please, dear,” Inga’s mother began, “it’s Ellen.”

I flashed her a real smile, simultaneously jolting in my seat when my clit was worked by his fingers in a way that instantly made me see double. “God, that’s nice…of you,” I added in a high-pitched voice, sure that I was now the twin sister of a freaking cross-eyed tomato. “It’s very nice of you to let me, uh, call you by your first name.”

Ellen gave me a weird look. “Are you all right, dear?”

“I’m great,” I said quickly, giving my untouched Spanish roast chicken a wistful look. Nikolai chose that exact moment to drive a finger inside me, finding me soaking. My hand flew to my mouth, smothering my cry. “I’m sorry,” I squeaked, catching Inga’s knowing eye from across the table. “I can’t… I don’t feel too well. Excuse me.”

I stuck a hand under the table and wrenched Nikolai’s away from me, grabbing my napkin from my lap and setting it on the table before unsteadily getting to my feet and beating a hasty retreat. I wasn’t about to climax in front of my father – and that was a given where Nikolai was involved. It wasn’t proper etiquette to leave the table before the king allowed you to, so I was more than overjoyed that he was still out of the country.

The castle was ancient; marble staircases, gaudy décor and stained glass windows. A guard stood sentry at the end of each hall, and the number of men was testament to just how seriously royal security was taken. When I finally stumbled through the door of my suite, I could’ve collapsed from my overwhelming need for some kind of clitoral stimulation, which sounded so unappealingly scientific in my head but made me crave Nikolai’s touch that much more.

My wristwatch informed me that it wasn’t even eight yet.

How fucking unlucky, I thought with frustration, kicking my pumps off and flopping onto the couch. I shut my eyes.