Page 35 of Princessa
Chapter 21
Fuck.
My mouth froze against the bare folds of her wet heat.
Arabella wasn’t just feigning innocence. She was the epitome of it.
As difficult as it was for me not to bury my face in her, get a taste of heaven, I composed myself, kissed my way back up to her full lips. “You’re a virgin?”
“Yes,” she whimpered. “And I’m so sorry, Grayson. I should have told—”
“Baby, don’t ever be sorry for being you. Everything about you is incredibly perfect. The fact you still have your V-card makes you even more perfect. Plus it’s sexy as hell.” She giggled as I traced her bottom lip with my tongue. “How is it no one’s ever made love to you?” I moved from between her legs and lay on my back, arm around her, as she nuzzled against my chest.
Arabella spoke softly as she explained more details of her upbringing, the fact her parents kept her under a microscope. How she was never really left alone with a guy before her ex.
“And what about him? Your ex. During the three years you were together, you two never came close to having sex? I mean look at us, we’ve known each other only a couple of weeks and already we’ve come close—veryclose.”
“Water. May I have some water, please?”
“Sure, baby. Of course.”
On our way into my en-suite kitchen, Arabella’s arms were folded over her chest and as we entered the small space, she fastened her bra, buttoned up her blouse. “Maybe I should just go home, call it a night.”
She was nervous, evident by her body language and fidgeting. The last thing I wanted was for her to leave, us parting ways like this. I poured tap water into a glass, then handed it to her. “Relax, beautiful. Have some H20. We’re not calling it a night.”
Leaning against the kitchen counter, she guzzled every bit of the water, then with a sigh, hugged the glass close to her chest. “Parker Jones and I never came close to sleeping together. Sure there were ample opportunities since he was the only one Mama and Papa allowed me to be alone with. After all, everyone assumed we would get married.”
Stepping toward her, I took the glass from her hands and set it on the counter.
“For three years, threefuckingyears, the jerk bag made every excuse why we shouldn’t sleep together—the most believable being he wanted to honor my innocence, save thebig defloweringfor our wedding night. Part of me wanted to believe it was him being a gentleman. But really, who in their right mind doesn’t want to be someone’s first?”
Listening to the mesmerizing beauty huff and vent, I stood in front of her, one hand flat against the counter, the other at the bend of her hip.
“Whether intentional or not, he made me feel like something was wrong with me. No matter what I did—sexy lingerie, bare naked in high heels, showing up to his house with nothing but me in a thong underneath a raincoat—he turned me down. Didn’t. Want. Me.” She blinked up, tears pooling her eyes. “When the asshole finally broke things off, he basically said I wasn’t good enough for a man of power.”
It all made fucked-up sense—the reason why the woman who exuded elegant confidence in the public eye, the one I was growing more and more into by the second, thought she wasn’t good enough for me. Maybe I wasn’t the one good enough for her.
“Only several weeks later, after the emotional damage had been done”—she continued—“I discovered the issue was never with me. Parker revealed he used our relationship to hide the fact he wasn’t sure if he was into women. The dick figured he’d have a better chance at a political career as a heterosexual male instead of a gay one.”
My jaw dropped, shock and anger coursing through my veins. What a prick. How could he do that to her? “So, what made him want to stop the charade, break up with you, make you think it was you and not him?”
“Someone—an ex-lover?—threatened to go on record about their relationship if Parker didn’t break things off with me and bow out of the political race. He lived up to half of that bargain: broke up with me, but then ran the race as the first openly gay Mayor of Savannah, Georgia, a city with forty-three thousand registered voters. He lost the election by forty-two thousand votes. There were too many voters loyal to me—loyal to the Royale family. I guess he never stood a chance.”
“Holy heck, Arabella. That’s some crazy, scandal-grade shit.” Hands caressing the nape of her neck, I pressed my forehead to hers. “And I’m so sorry he put you through that; you didn’t deserve it. But, I’m glad you didn’t sleep with the asshat bastard—or anyone else for that matter. Because whoever you choose to be your first, should feel honored.”
Her fingers crawled up the length of my chest, until they were buried in my hair. “I know of at least one strong contender.”
“Slow down, you’re going way too fast.” Finn was breathless, trying to keep up with me as I jogged along the beach’s shore. “What are you, training for a fucking marathon now?”
“Nope, just have some things to work out in my head, is all.” I playfully shoved him and he almost fell face-first before catching his footing. “And you’re out of shape, old man.”
“The bloody hell I am.” He shoved me back. “What the eff has you all riled up, running like you’re chasing a dream or evading a nightmare?”
In some ways it felt like both.
My dream: Arabella.
My nightmare: Iris.
