The Prince

“It’s okay, Wes. Don’t be afraid.” Nora ran her hands up his arms. “Just talk to me and keep talking.”

“Tell me what to do,” he said as Nora started to unbutton his shirt.

“Anything you want.” She smiled up at him. A dozen spotlights ringed the dock and gazebo, and cast soft white light onto the pond. And in that light Wesley could see the happiness shining in Nora’s eyes. Happiness…not guilt, not fear, not shame and not Søren.

“I need a little more than that. I’m…”

“Nervous?”

“Oh, hell yes,” he said, and laughed. God, she felt so good in his arms. So soft and warm and real. Real and solid. Her br**sts pressed against his chest. Her fingers dug into his shirt. Her fingernails bit lightly into the sensitive skin of his upper arm where he shot himself with his insulin on occasion. She must have noticed the slight wince because she immediately moved her hands to his shoulders.

“Okay. We can do this. No nervousness necessary. You sure you want to do this here?” She glanced around the gazebo. They were exposed. Anyone who walked down to the pond could see them.

“Yeah. No way would I make it back to the house. And everyone’s in bed by now. Mom and Dad at least. We’re okay.” He tried to sound more confident than he felt.

“Good. Relief.” Nora laughed and he heard the slightest hint of nervousness in her voice. Instead of worrying him, it gave him comfort to know the one and only Nora Sutherlin got nervous around him. “Let’s see…first time. We better keep it simple. Table?”

“Table.” Wesley slid his hands down her back and wrapped both palms around the back of her soft thighs. She clung to his shoulders as he lifted her up and set her on the edge. Already he burned to bury himself inside her. “Do we need—”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’ve been tested. Totally clean. Good on the birth control. And you’re a virgin. Right?”

Wesley grinned. “Not for long…I hope.”

“No. Not for long.” She started in on his shirt again, reaching the bottom and attempting to yank the fabric from his pants. A button got stuck on his waistband and Nora groaned with frustration.

“This never happens in my books,” she said, tugging more gently on Wesley’s shirt to free it. “Nobody’s shirt ever gets stuck in their pants. And nobody has to worry about their damn parents walking in on them. And you never have the guy raising up his head and saying, ‘Um, I think you’re getting a yeast infection.’”

Wesley almost collapsed with a mix of disgust and laughter.

“What? You’re telling me romance novels and erotica novels aren’t one hundred percent realistic with the sex scenes? I’m shocked.”

He rested his head on her shoulder and she dug her fingers into his hair.

“Afraid not, kid. Nobody ever has morning breath. No one ever gets a cramp. The guys can always go forever. There’s never any ED scenes.”

“ED?”

“Erectile dysfunction.”

“Well, I can’t imagine you’ve dealt with much of that in real life. Except maybe morning breath,” he teased. He’d lived with Nora for a year and a half. He’d seen her at her absolute worst—straight out of bed, hair gone crazy, morning breath, the works. She looked even more gorgeous just crawling out of bed than most women looked after two hours primping.

“Oh, I’ve had it all. Had a charley horse once during sex with Kingsley. Screamed so loud his secretary called an ambulance.”

“ED?”

“Not much of that. Unless you count Søren.”

Wesley watched Nora’s smile fall from her face.

“Søren?”

Biting her bottom lip, she nodded. “Unless he hurts me…or someone, he can’t…perform.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. He. Can. Not.” Nora gave a wan smile. “He doesn’t hurt me just for fun, you know. It’s foreplay. I told you that.”

Wesley remembered that conversation. He hadn’t even moved in with Nora yet. Barely eighteen years old and a freshman at Yorke…December…almost Christmas break. And he couldn’t bear the thought of life without Nora at his school next semester. But she’d been brought in to teach only that one class. Spring semester would come and she’d be gone.

He’d fibbed a little and said his parents might take him out of the very expensive liberal arts college. Nora hadn’t missed a beat. Immediately, she told him he could move in with her, as room and board were at least half of what students paid at Yorke. But, she warned him, she wasn’t just a writer. She worked as a Dominatrix, as well. The look she took as shock had been merely confusion. He’d never heard of a “Dominatrix” in his life.

Then she’d told him about Søren, her complicated relationship with him, how he was both in her past and yet…and yet...and Wesley recalled the surge of testosterone he’d felt at the very idea of a man raising his hand to Nora, the woman he loved with a passion so furious he could barely breathe when around her.

“Just don’t let him around me,” he’d said, almost puffing his chest out. Even now he couldn’t think about that moment without blushing. He’d been so cocky, such a teenager. And he’d had no idea how truly intimidating Søren could be.

“What? You think you can take on Søren?” And then Nora had laughed. Laughed. It would have hurt his feelings less had she patted him on top of his head. “Wesley…never f**k with a sadist. For Søren, torture’s just foreplay.”