Page 98 of The Devil's Pawn

“Oh, so the king and queen aren’t planning to join us?” I’m joking, but Alexander’s expression blooms with so much wickedness, I press my thighs together to stop myself from dribbling down my leg.

“No, and it’s just as well, considering the things I plan to do to you, Mrs. De Vil.”

“I thought you were all powerful.”

“Oh, we are. But I happen to respect our king, and while I’m not averse to a little exhibitionism, fucking my wife while our monarch looks on isn’t on my bingo card.”

“We can’t have sex on royal property.”

“Says who?” He slows the car to a stop and cuts the engine, twisting in his seat to face me.

“Me,” I squeak. “And what about Douglas and Steven?”

“They’re waiting outside. There’s more than enough security on the grounds to keep us safe.”

“Exactly!” I throw my hands in the air. “I’m not too happy for them to watch us, either.”

“They know we’re not to be disturbed unless we call.” He captures a tendril of my hair, twisting it around his finger. “You’re fighting me. I don’t like it.”

“I’m putting forward logical arguments.”

“Logic has no place in sex.” Opening the door, he gets out and wanders around the back of the car.

By the time I join him, he’s carrying a large picnic basket and a carryall.

“You brought a picnic.” I touch my chest. “I love a picnic. And I love my surprise.”

“This isn’t your surprise.”

Flashing his perfectly straight teeth, he clasps my hand and leads me around the rear of the property to a stunning garden filled with trees providing shade, neat hedges, and paved walkways. To our right, there’s an archway with scented flowers knitted together over the frame. He heads in that direction and sets the basket down on the grass, then shakes out a large blanket. From here, we’re completely secluded from the rest of the grounds and the house.

“Private enough for you, Mrs. De Vil?”

“It’s perfect. Can I take off my shoes?” I want to feel the grass beneath my feet.

“You can. Take off your dress while you’re at it.”

“I don’t care how private it is, I’m not having sex with you here.”

“We’ll see.” He follows my lead, taking off his shoes and socks, then sits on the blanket, patting the space beside him. “Sit. I want to kiss you.”

Before my ass hits the blanket, he’s on me, pressing me into the ground, his body covering mine. I gasp at the suddenness, and he uses the opportunity to stroke inside my mouth, his tongue twisting with mine, his hands exploring me, first over the top of my dress, then burrowing underneath. He toys with the lace edge of my panties before slipping his fingers inside. Groaning into my mouth, he slides two blunt fingers into me, hooking them, his neatly trimmed fingernails scraping my G spot.

I arch into him, my worries about being seen smothered by the urgent need to come.

“Wife.” He kisses my neck. “You’re dangerous.”

“Why?” I hiss through my teeth as he rubs my clit. I’m close already, and he knows it by the way he increases the pressure, pressing his thumb hard on the bundle of nerves.

“Because if anyone even looks at you the wrong way, I’d kill them.”

If it was anyone else, I’d assume it was only a turn of phrase, but this is Alexander, and I think he means it. That level of possessiveness should scare me, but it doesn’t. It’s an aphrodisiac. I’m not sure what that says about me, and I don’t want to look into it too closely. Maybe he’s slowly corrupting me, subsuming me into the De Vil family until everything that made me a Salinger has gone.

My body crests, peaks, then falls. I cling to his shoulders, grinding against the heel of his palm to draw out this feeling I can’t get enough of. As I recover and open my eyes, he’s gazing down at me with something akin to adoration swimming in his amber eyes.

How did we get here? It doesn’t seem all that long ago we were at each other’s throats, and now we’re drowning in one another.

My stomach chooses this sensual moment to growl.

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