Page 17 of Her Red Hot Secret Royal Fling

But then what?

Then what?

It was a question Ares had asked himself at least a billion times in his lifetime. Unlike most men, he couldn’t simply act without thought. He couldn’t let situations play out and see where they went. He couldn’t ‘roll with it’. Ares had to plan. To think through his actions, the consequences, the optics. He had to imagine the political ramifications, the publicity, the impact that might arise from any decision he took.

And frankly, he was tired of it. He was tired of overthinking everything, of having a team weigh in on his choices, advising him over every aspect. He was tired of that same team negotiating, amongst themselves, what he might wear for any given event—what message would a blue tie send, though? Wouldn’t red be bolder?

From birth, Ares had been a person of action. Until he was fifteen, and his whole world had dramatically changed, he did exactly as he wished, when he wished. He had been only the‘spare’, the backup to his older brother’s likely inheritance of the throne. And he had been bold and confident.

He was still confident, and where it mattered, he was bold, but he was also respectful, careful to listen to his advisors and always, to imagine what his parents might have done to guide him in his decisions.

But with Sofia, he simply wanted to act, not think.

He was tired of thinking, of overthinking, of analysing, and letting chances pass him by. This would be their second—and second to last—night here. The opportunities were dwindling. Was he really going to ignore what was right in front of him, and keep being the classic good boy?

As if to answer his unspoken question, the fire flickered to life, a flame licking tantalisingly close to his finger, reminding him that he was, indeed, playing with fire. But Ares wasn’t sure he cared at all about getting burned…

CHAPTER FIVE

IT WAS A COOL night, and the fire provided a blissful warmth, flickering golden flames as they ate the meal Ares had reheated over it, and talked some more about the country. Sofia was interested in its history—she’d always loved history as a subject, and Moricosia was ancient—and the culture. She particularly liked talking about light subject matters—not her mother, or his parents, or anything too deep and real.

It kept her brain free to think about what happened next.

After dinner, they went to the amenities hut together. Ares rinsed their dinner dishes at an outside tap while Sofia got ready for bed.

But not to sleep.

The thought kept occurring to her, running around and around in her mind until she was nervous. Actually nervous. She concealed it, or at least, she hoped she did, but she laboured over every step, seeing herself from the outside, imagining how she looked, sounded, until nothing seemed natural.

Ares peeled the corner of the tent and held it aloft for Sofia to step through. “Do you think you’ll be warm enough tonight, Sofia?” he asked, no hint in his tone of whether he wanted her to say yes or no. No hint as to what he wanted at all, so it all camedown to Sofia. He was leaving the choice up to her—because they both knew he wasn’t really asking about her temperature. If she said no, they’d sleep as they did last night, except sleep was the last thing they’d do.

“I—,” she looked up into his eyes, and suddenly, all of the nervousness, the indecision, the uncertainty drifted away. She lifted a hand to his chest, placing her palm there. She could have said something. Like reiterated the rules for what would happen if they did this—lay down the boundaries, so that she could know neither of them would get hurt. But the time for talking had passed. They both understood what the other wanted; she was sure of it.

And so, she pressed forward a little, crushing her hand between them as she pushed up onto the tips of her toes and brushed her lips over his in a silent, but unmistakable, invitation. It was like the igniting of a firework. No, not the igniting of it. That had happened the moment they’d shaken hands at the palace, and every minute since had been a slow yet spectacular ascent into the night sky.This…This contact was the explosion. It spread throughout the heavens, sparks of light and heat, radiant and beautiful; all-encompassing. Because a brush of their lips wasn’t enough, and the moment she pulled back slightly, Ares was moving after her, his mouth seeking hers, as if, having had a taste, he wanted more, more, more.

Just a kiss,he promised himself, as he held her hard against his body, which was rejoicing in her nearness, the sweetness of her slender frame, the warmth of her, her fragrance. But it was a kiss that reached inside of him and shifted everything around. He flicked her tongue lazily at first as if he wanted to simply get the feel for her, but then, it wasn’t enough. He didn’t just want to kiss her, he wanted to be everything to her, just in that moment.

His body was strong and big, and he moved easily, bringing her with him into the tent—him walking, her stumbling a little, both laughing as they tumbled onto the totally insufficient camp mattress with sleeping bags unfurled. But the moment he lay on top of her, the laughter died, and he was kissing her again, swallowing her little panting sounds, tasting them, delighting in them. And his hands, oh his hands. They made a liar of him oh so fast.Just a kiss.Yeah, right.

They found the bottom of her shirt and pushed it, way too soon, way too quickly, up over her body, chucking it across the tent so it hit the canvas wall and dropped to the floor. He barely noticed. He wanted light. More light, so he could see her properly, but instead, he would content himself with feel, his hands moving to her breasts, curious as to how they’d feel. She wore a lacy bra, with smooth patches of silk, that he definitely hadn’t imagined.

“Fancy,” he said, grinning, despite the way his body was alight.

“You can take the girl out of the palace,” she said with a lift of her shoulders.

He laughed.

“I really didn’t pack for this,” she reminded him, wriggling a little beneath him in a silent demand that he keep going. He didn’t need to be asked twice. Dropping his head a little, his mouth connected with the silky soft flesh in the curve of her neck, and he kissed her there, slowly at first, then nipping her with his teeth, and she wriggled, her hands doing an exploration of their own, but mostly settling on his bottom, which she cupped and held close to her. As if she thought he might pull away.

As if he could.

He wanted to fill his hands with her breasts—he’d wanted that since he’d first seen her if he was honest—but in thismoment, there was a pleasure in slowing things down a bit, in taking his time to explore and enjoy. In making sure she enjoyed. He reached behind her to unclasp the bra, then slowly slid each strap down her arms, his fingertips trailing over her until her wrists, which he briefly clasped in his hands and held firm at her sides, so she stopped wriggling and let out a small, soft moan.

His arousal jerked in his pants. God, he wanted her.

Her breasts were exposed and all he wanted was to touch them, feel them, nip at them with his mouth, but he was taking some kind of pleasure—or maybe it was penance—from slowing this down and drawing it out, from withholding his deepest fantasy for a time. So, he kissed her instead, bringing his torso down over her body, so he could feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest, though how he wished he wasn’t wearing a shirt!

As if she could read his mind, her hands came between them, finding the buttons that ran down his middle and unfastening them, pushing at the shirt with just as much impatience as he’d shown and grunting at the final stretch, as she pushed the sleeves down and freed him from it.

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