23

Cherry was wearing her pyjamas—or rather, an old band tee and some underwear, which passed as pyjamas for her. As much effort as she put in during the day, she didn't want to look good just to go to sleep. And yet, she was wearing a full face of makeup. She sat in the centre of the bed, the main lights off but the bedside lamp on. That counted, right? She was pretty sure that counted. A lamp was a light. This was ridiculous. As if she'd never had sex with the lights on before. Never like this. Never with someone like him. Cherry knew that she was insecure. Frankly, she didn't think it mattered. She liked herself, and she knew exactly who she was, and she knew exactly how she looked. So if she preferred to face the world with a solid inch of foundation as her shield, who gave a fuck? It wasn't that she cared about her scars, exactly. Or even that she cared what other people thought of them. Christ, she'd had acne long enough as a teen to get over that. But what she did care about was control. Controlling perceptions of herself. And she couldn't control what people thought, how they looked at her, unless she was flawless. Because once she was flawless, what could anyone think except… Wow. That's Cherry fucking Neita. She had no middle name. But fucking did well enough.

The only problem was, Cherry didn't go to sleep in makeup. She didn't sit in her room and go about her business in makeup. And if Ruben came home to find her sitting in bed with a smokey eye and red lip, he'd probably think that meant something. Like… that she didn't trust him. Or some shit like that. People had thoughts. Those thoughts didn't always make sense. But maybe she didn't trust him. Cherry really wasn't sure. So she did the only thing she could do—or rather, the only thing she felt like doing. She picked up the phone and called Rose. It rang three times. Just long enough for her to think, What the hell are you doing? You're the worst kind of friend. You practically disappear, and then you call her when you need her— "Cherry, darling. Goodness me, it's been a while." Cherry sighed. "Hi, Rose. I know. I know it has." "Well, Lord, don't sound like that. You're not up for execution, you know." Rose's voice lowered slightly. "Or are you? I have friends in Finland, my dear. If you require an emergency rescue—" Cherry laughed. Rose laughed too. And everything was easier. "I really am sorry," she said, the words running into each other. "I wanted to ring you but everything's so fucking weird and I didn't know what to tell you." She'd texted Jas, texted Beth, but Rose was sharper than the both of them and only accepted phone calls. None of 'that text message malarkey'. And Cherry'd had the strangest idea that if Rose heard her voice, she'd know something was wrong. But that worry had been in vain, clearly. "Don't worry, love," Rose soothed. "I understand. It's all rather overwhelming, isn't it?" If only she fucking knew.

"Yes," Cherry said, her eyes running over the room she'd come to think of as her own. The casual luxury of the furniture, the velvet drapes, the fucking four-poster bed on which she was now sitting. And yet, the thing that concerned her most of all was… "When did you know that your husband was different?" Rose's voice was careful when she said, "Different?" "Like, that things would be different with him. That he wasn't like anyone else you'd ever wanted. That he was special." "Ah." Rose sounded vaguely amused. "I see." For a moment, she was quiet. But then she said, "I think the first sign was the fact that… I started asking questions like the one you're asking now. First to myself, then my friends, my mother. He turned my mind towards the issue of forever. Of trust, of togetherness. No-one had made me think about things like that before. Not really." "Right." Cherry nodded, as if Rose could see that. Then, remembering herself, she added, "That makes sense." And it really did. "Are you sure? Because I thought it sounded like utter rubbish." Cherry chuckled. "No, I liked it. And I got the point." "Oh, good. Now, tell me; what's it like being a princess?" "I'm not a princess, Rose." "You might as well be. Is it awfully glamorous? Tell me, or I'll torture you with stories of your replacement." Cherry winced. "Is it bad?" "It's bloody awful. She doesn't have the sense God gave a goat. Chris insisted we hire her; I don't know what he was thinking." For the next half an hour, Rose regaled Cherry with tales of Rosewood Academy's admin floor, and Cherry tried to come up with stories interesting enough to entertain her slightly high-maintenance friend.

And when they eventually hung up, Cherry headed to the bathroom and washed her face. "It's been a hell of a day. Get some rest." Ruben rolled his eyes. "Aye aye, Captain." Then he tried to stay on his feet as Hans whacked him on the back with one brick-like hand. "I mean it, Your Highness. I'll see you tomorrow." Which would be even worse, since they'd spend half the day travelling and the other half with Harald. Fan-fucking-tastic. Ruben's already foul mood sank further into the murky depths as he waved Hans away and let himself into the house. Then he remembered, all at once, who was waiting for him. And just like that, he felt himself smile. He was headed upstairs when he saw the library door ajar, light spilling out like a golden trail. Ruben's heart thudded against his rib cage as he stepped towards the little room, pushing the door open. All of the dark thoughts that had spent the day chasing him were destroyed, set aflame by those snatches of light. There was nothing left in him but hungry anticipation. She was waiting for him. So he'd better make the wait worthwhile. Cherry lay curled up on the love seat in the centre of the little, book-filled room they called the library, a paperback in her lap. Her hair was piled up on top of her head the way he liked it, and in the low lamplight, he could see the T-shirt whose soft, worn cotton he'd once pushed aside in the dark. "Dolly Parton? Really?" She looked up with a start, a little smile curving her lips. "You're back." "And you're not in bed." She put the book she was reading aside. "Couldn't sleep."

Right." He moved closer, felt himself prowling the room like a predator but couldn't stop. He could see the outline of her nipples, through that T-shirt, dark and thick, dragging his mind into dangerous places. Her legs were bare, and only her soft, blue underwear hid her pussy from his gaze. It was very thin underwear. The kind he could rip right off her, if he really wanted to. His cock went from interested to painfully hard in the space of a second. She gazed up at him with eyes turned obsidian in the low light. "You look…" "What?" He choked out. His voice was almost a growl, but he didn't care. There was no hiding his feelings now, if he'd ever managed to. Cherry shook her head. "It's late. We should go upstairs." She started to rise, but Ruben pressed a hand to her chest and pushed until she sank back down onto the love seat. He pushed off his suit jacket and dropped it onto the floor, rolling up his shirt sleeves. Then he sat down beside her and picked up the book she'd abandoned. "Devil's Embrace," he read out. "Sounds… Actually, I'm really not sure how that sounds." Cherry grinned, snatching the book out of his hands and putting it down on the floor. "It's a real bodice-ripper. Very dramatic. Very old-fashioned. I don't know how I feel about it." "You found that in here?" He put her legs in his lap and she allowed it, relaxing into him. Forgetting to be self-conscious. Her toes were painted the same pink as her nails. "I did. I think Agathe—" "I really need you not to finish that sentence." She laughed. "Fair enough." Then she shifted in his lap, and her laughter faded, her eyes widening slightly as her bare foot nudged the unmistakable swell of his erection. He tried not tomoan at the contact, but he couldn't stop his eyes from sliding shut or his hips from jerking towards her. He was more on-edge that he'd thought. He needed her more than he'd thought. No surprise there. But it was a surprise to feel her come to him. It was a surprise when she rose up onto her knees, when she put her hands on his shoulders and straddled his thighs. Ruben opened his eyes to find Cherry gazing at him as she settled into his lap, watching him with that dark, endless gaze. He leaned forward and kissed her, quick and gentle. Just a taste of her sweetness, his tongue feathering along her lower lip until she moaned softly, rolling her hips. He caught the hem of her T-shirt in his hand and whispered, "Let me see you. Please." She let her forehead rest against his for a moment. Then she straightened up and pulled the fabric away from his fingers. She took it off on her own. He didn't look. He couldn't. He kept his gaze on her face as she shifted against him, fiddling with something he couldn't see. "What are you doing?" "I'm trying to take off my underwear." Ruben slid his hands down the smooth plane of her back until it curved into her arse. She had dimples everywhere, it turned out. He grabbed her underwear in both hands and tore. She gave a little yelp, then looked down. He wanted to look down too, but he thought he might die if he did. "You know," she said, "I think you have to tear both sides." He moved his hands around her hips until he came to the front of her body. Caught the fabric there. Tore. "That better?" He rasped out. She smiled. Then she reached between her legs and produced the remnants of her underwear, waving it around like a flag. "Very efficient."

He slid his palm down over her mound, his middle finger easing between her swollen folds. All he could say was, "You're wet." Her hand cupped his jaw, and he felt like he belonged. "I was waiting for you." "Good." Ruben pushed his finger into her, revelled in the clench of her walls around him, stroked until the tightness eased and his skin was soaked in her desire. Then he slid out of her velvet cunt and rubbed his slick finger over her clit, massaging the stiff nub in a slow, easy circle. She clutched his shoulders and moaned for him. Her hands floated to the buttons of his shirt. He let her undo the first, the second, before he captured her wrist in his spare hand and said, "No." He stopped touching her clit. "Why?" She demanded, frustration in her eyes. "You're not in charge, sweetheart. Remember that." With a little growl, she caught his face in her hands and kissed him. He allowed himself to enjoy her lush mouth, her hot, searching tongue for a few seconds before he pushed her away. Then he brought his palm down against her arse. Hard. She bit her lip on a moan, grinding her pussy against his erection, through his clothes, and he spanked her again. "You're going to mess up my suit, love." "Fuck you." Another slap. Before she could react, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back, his grip just tight enough to stop her moving. "Don't push me, Cherry." She laughed, the sound breathy and hoarse. "But that's what I do. I push." His hands couldn't stop roaming over the cool silk of her flesh, but they might as well still be in the dark, because he still hadn't looked down. Her face was devastating enough, beautifully bare, her lust impossible to miss.

That animalistic voice in his head, the one that had come to life the moment he'd first set eyes on this woman, chanted in time with his ratcheting pulse: Take her. Now. He'd wanted all of her. Now he could have it. "Stand up," he ordered, sounding as desperate as he felt. So much for fucking control. "Let me see you." Her tongue slid out to wet her lips, and he imagined the way her mouth would feel on his cock. He wanted that. Then she eased off his lap, and he released her hair, and she stood. And he couldn't look away. At the sight of her naked body, his mouth went dry and his mind went fucking blank. Jesus Christ. Fully clothed, Cherry was already a walking fantasy. Naked, she became something unimaginable. However hard he tried, Ruben could never have dreamt this up. His eyes followed the curves of her body, from those wide hips to that soft, rounded belly, to the gentle sag of her heavy breasts with their thick, dark nipples. She was like a rose in full bloom, delicately decadent. She trailed a hand down her stomach, towards the apex of her thighs. "You better have condoms." "I have fucking condoms." He reached down to fist his cock through his clothes, squeezing hard until the pain of his own grip took the edge off of his savage desire. He wasn't about to shove his dick in her like a fucking animal, but that's what his balls were demanding. All at once, he stood, intending to get the damn condoms from the suit jacket he'd discarded. But it turned out he was physically incapable of walking past her at that moment. When he tried, his feet refused to move, and his hands brought her to him. Ruben clung to his control as if it were a cliff's edge, clung to her as if she were sanity. And he kissed her, and kissed her, and wondered how the hell he could want one woman more than anything in the world.