Page 254 of Naughty Nelle

The front door of the castle is unlocked. I kick it open and pull him inside, hoping not to wake up Calla. She’ll freak out if she sees her father in this state. Marcella doesn’t concern me. I remember what Calla told me. She sleeps with earplugs. Nothing could wake her. Not even a cannonball blowing through her window.

Taking a deep breath, I rest for a moment. Now, all I have to do is get The Prince up to his chamber. Forcing myself back to work, I slide him across the entry hall, then lug him up the grand staircase. Each step is torture. Pure torture.

Finally, we reach the top of the stairs. I’m a sweaty, wheezing, woozy mess. I take another breather, then haul him down a long, dark corridor. It seems much longer than I remember. And he seems to be getting a lot heavier. His chamber is unfortunately at the very end. When my head slams against a wall, we’ve hit a dead end and made it.

The door to his chamber is unlocked. Swinging it open, I poke my head inside. It’s pitch-black; the drapes must be pulled. I can’t see a damn thing. I glance down at The Prince lying by my feet; he’s still out cold. It’ll be easier to leave him here at the doorway and come back for him after I locate his bed.

This is my first time inside Gallant’s personal quarters. The room must be very spacious because I can’t find his bed. Stumbling blindly, I knock into chairs, tables, candelabras, and statues. When I dip my hand into a water tank filled with finger-nibbling fish, I almost take a fall. Let’s hope he doesn’t have any loose swords lying around.

A thought crosses my mind. A new problem. If I ever find the bed, how will I remember my way back to it with Gallant in tow? I remember the story Winnie told me about her two kids. How they got lost in the woods and left a trail of bread crumbs to find their way home. That’s what I’ll do! But wait, I don’t have any crumbs or bread. Maybe I can find some parchment and make spit balls.

But why get ahead of myself? I still can’t even find his bed. Weary and wasted, I’m about to give up when I stumble over what could be a boot and tumble head first into a mound of fluffy down. Heaven! Gallant’s bed! It’s fit for a king with its luxuriously thick duvet and array of luscious, plump pillows. And it smells so fresh and inviting. I wish I could curl up right here, right now, and call it a night.

I force myself to get up. Rolling out of the bed, I knock something over. Crash! It must have been a vase because water is seeping through my shoes. I scoot down, find the vase still luckily in one piece, and fumble for the flowers scattered on the plush rug. They smell like roses. And there’s dozens of them. Brainstorm! Forget stinky beer-breath spitballs. I’ll scatter rose petals along the floor. Jane, you clever, clever, girl!

Creating a fragrant path with the velvety petals, I crawl back to the entrance and retrieve Gallant. With one hand gripping his collar and my nose to the floor, I inch back across the rug, sniffing away. My little plan is working though not exactly like a charm. By the time we get to the bed, my knees are stinging from rug burns; the smell of roses is sickening me, and I’m exhausted from lugging Gallant. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if my arms fell off.

Staggering to my feet, I gaze down at Gallant. How the hell I’m going to get him into the bed? Without over thinking, I grab him by his wrists and miraculously manage to heave him onto the duvet.

Okay, I can get out of here. I so need to get sleep. My head is swirling, and I don’t know how much longer I can stave off waves of nausea. As I creep away, Gallant groans. He groans again, this time louder. Of course! He must be miserable in his tight britches, those boots, and that buttoned up jacket.

I start with the jacket. Yet another challenge. Fumbling for the buttons, my fingers run down his chest, feeling the ripple of every finely honed muscle along the way. My fingertips feel like they’re on fire. With each button, I find myself growing hotter and fighting the urge to rip the jacket right off his body.

Grabbling for the last one, my fingers graze a hard bump between his legs. This is not a button. I hastily pull my hand away.

Suddenly, Gallant comes to.

“Branch, I want you. Come to me,” he mutters. At least, that’s what I think he’s saying. Holy crap! He’s into that tree-hugging game too?

I’m out of here. As I pivot around, he grips my arm and pulls me on top of him. To my shock, he gropes my breasts and strokes my neck with the tip of his warm tongue as if he’s painting me. The sensation arouses a divine tingling deep inside me. Moving his fluttering tongue to my chest, he wraps his muscled arms firmly around me. I struggle to break away, but he’s too damn strong for me in his drunken stupor. Or I’m too damn weak in mine. Rhythmically, he slides his body against mine. Up and down. Slowly. Then faster. I find myself rocking in perfect harmony. Inside, I’m throbbing. Moaning. I don’t want him to stop. It feels good. So good. Oh God! Too good!

The Prince lets out a long, loud sigh and falls back to sleep. I tiptoe out of the room, careful not to knock anything else over and relieved that I didn’t take his britches off first.

I hope The Prince remembers none of this tomorrow. And I hope neither do I.

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