🌹🌹The Swedish Prince 🌹🌹
🌸🌸(ROYAL r0m@nç£) 🌸🌸
It’s been a couple of days since Maggie arrived in Stockholm.
I would love to say the days have been bright and easy.
But that’s not quite the case.
The moment that I showed up in Tehachapi I knew there were two hurdles for me to jump. One was to convince Maggie to come back with me to Stockholm. This, I as-sumed, was the biggest hurdle of all.
But it didn’t take as much convincing as I thought. Probably because Maggie is somehow in love with a sorry sap like me, just as much as I am in love with her. When I finally convinced her, it felt like an anvil was lifted off my che-st and that the ha-rd est p@rt of our relationsh!p–(the will to continue it) –was over.
Then she got here. And alre-ady on her first day landing in Stockholm, she was alone. I had engagements and dinners I couldn’t get out of without a hvge guilt trip and though I’m not always susceptible to guilt trips, I also knew I had to pick my battles. There would be many battles on the horizon.
Even so, I didn’t get back home until she was here and delirious with jet lag.
Which of course, because she went to be-d earlier, meant she got up at two in the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. When I finally woke up at seven a.m., I found her wandering the halls of the estate. In the dim light after the snowstorm, she looked like a ghost, but she was more than content, just soaking in the history of the place and happy to be here.
It made me realize that she’s a lot more interested and excited about my new role, and all that comes with it, than I am.
But as the days went on, I bec@m£ busier and busier. I tried to shake most things but unfortunately, so many of them were p@rt of my job. Even just showing up counts. You make a speech, you cut a ribbon, you pose for pictures. If you aren’t there, the world will notice, and the world will talk, and they won’t be saying nice things.
Though Maggie was still coping with jet lag in a big way, she’s also very independent.
On the days I had engagements, I had Nick take care of her, driving her anywhere she wanted. He bec@m£ her companion in some ways. Not quite a b©dyguard but more like a tour guide. I know in the future that Maggie’s freedom here might be more constricted but for now, she could do what she wanted, go where she wanted. Even in -11C weather, even in the snow. She went out and br@ved it all.
I am feeling bad though.
I’m not connecting with her as much as I would like.
I want her to feel that I’m here with her, not just some tired thing that stumbles in late at night. Someone that’s too overworked and overwhelmed to even take full advantage of this beautiful woman in my be-d.
I swear it’s creating a bit more distance between us than before. We connect on so many levels, but we communicate best with our bodies. I nee-d to be inside her, nee-d to feel that contact, that love, that de-sire.
I nee-d her more than I can bear.
I’m in the car, halfway to a lunch I’m supposed to attend with a Croatian di-plomat, when my thoughts turn to the creaminess of her skin, the peach softness of herl-ips, the way she melts un-derneath my t©uçh.
I can’t stand it anymore.
She’s here to be with me.
And one day she will be gone.
If I don’t take advantage of that, I’ll hate myself forever.
I tell the driver to turn around and take me back, all while s£nding a text to Freddie and telling him I don’t feel well. Freddie knows, of course, all about Maggie, even though he hasn’t met her yet.
He also knows I’m full of $h!t.
I don’t care.
The nee-d to be with her is overpowering.
Within twenty minutes I’m dropped off back at the estate and storming throu-gh the halls looking for her.
“Where is Maggie?” I ask Bodi, who is dusting a painting.
“I believe she’s in the study, sir,” he says.
The study is on the main floor and actually just a living room, just on a cozier scale. There’s a desk and a couch, some arm chairs and a fireplace. A large bar cart. It’s a place to unwind with guests, so I can’t imagine why she’d be in there alone.
I walk inside and see her curled up on the couch with a book in her hand. She’s wearing fuzzy black leggings she’s calls her long un-derwear, as well as a soft gray sweater that falls off one shoulder, ex-posing her creamy skin. Her feet are encased in fluffy sli-ppers.
“Oh hey,” she says, putting the book down. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes, you,” I tell her. I stride over to the couch and glance down at the book. It’s an old worn clas-sic in English. “Watersh!pDown?”
She smiles sheepishly which makes her cheeks extra rosy. “I remembered you telling me about having rabbits as a child and naming them after the book. When I saw this at a used booksto-re the other day in English, I couldn’t help myself.”
“If you got it in Swedish maybe you could learn the language.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you would make a better teacher…”
She doesn’t have to finish the s£ntence.
I could teach her…if I were here.
She tilts her head and looks at me. “So, why are you here? Was it cancelled?”
I nod. “Yes. I cancelled it.”
“Because I’d rather be with my lover than with a stuffy di-plomat. That’s why.”
She stares at me for a moment and then takes the book, putting it gently on the coffee table beside the couch.
“Lover?” she questions. “Is that what I am today?”
But I don’t even have to answer her because she’s alre-ady taking off her sli-ppers, then her leggings. Briefly her eyes flit over to the study doors I’d alre-ady closed.
“No one will come in here,” I tell her, my voice alre-ady growing rou-gh with impatience. I have no doubt Bodi knows what’s happening behind those doors.
She reaches down and pu-lls her t©p off her head. I hadn’t even noticed that she wasn’t wearing a br@ until now.
“Helvete,” I mutter, taking my d!¢k out of my p@n-ts and giving it a long ha-rd stro-ke as I stare down at her. She stares up at me with those dark, wi-de, almost nervous eyes, herl-ips p@rted, her silky dark hair across her face. Her n!ppl!s are ha-rd pink peaks against her full brea-sts. Her stomach leads smoothly to her h!ps and th!ghs that just beg for my teeth to dig into them and make marks along her creamy flesh.
The sweet pink flash of her persika.
“I’ll do more than that,” she says, getting up on all fours and facing me. “I always remember what you said about my peachyl-ips that you like so much.”
A grin spre-ads across my face. “Which ones?”
I move closer to the couch while she reaches up for my d!¢k, slowly wra-pping her long f!ngersaround it. The pressure reverberates along every inch of me, and I let out a harsh gro-an , the de-sire slamming into me.
“li-ck me, sakta,” I tell her, my words coming out thick.
She flashes me a wicked smile. “Sakta? Is that Swedish for svçkit?”
“It’s Swedish for slowly,” I tell her. “As in, go slowly. plea-se.”
“It’s been too long, I guess,” she muses in a teasing voice, sticking out her ton-gue and l!çk!ng around the dark, swollen ti-p. My head goes back and my eyes close, giving into the feeling, even though I desperately want to maintain eye contact with her.
Her ton-gue slides down to the bo-ttomof my shaft and everything inside me tenses. I’ve never felt like this, this white-h0t blistering lvst that pene-trates every last nerve. This is what I get for waiting, slee-ping beside her for days on end and being too tired to do anything.
The tension inside me builds and builds into something more than primal, and when I finally open my eyes, practically p@n-ting, her sly eyes glance up at me with excitement. With her dark hair spilling around her milky shoulders, she looks like a fv¢king goddess that men would have died trying to paint.
But she’s nothing but real, nothing but here and now as she takes me into her mouth. Herl-ips are we-t and plush, like a ripe ju-icy peach.
I make a fist in her hair, tugging on it just enough for her eyes to wi-den, and she su-cks me ha-rder in response. It would be so fv¢king easy to just come ha-rd down the back of her throat and watch her swallow, watch her accept me.
But I’m not about to come now. I want to be inside her again, to feel every h0t squee-ze of her around me. I nee-d that connection again. I nee-d to remind her of why she’s here in Sweden, why she c@m£ to be with me.
She c@m£ here because I can’t be without her and I want to show her just how much I nee-d her.
“Hold on,” I p@n-t, pu-lling back. My c0ckpops out of her we-t, we-t mouth.
“Turn around,” I tell her, my voice shaking with nee-d.
She does as I ask, and I gr-ab her h!ps, tugging her back into me, teasing the crack of her bu-m with my glistening c0ck. Then I lean over and take a quic-k bite off her as-s cheek.
“Ow,” she says, shooting me a deliciously dirty glance over her shoulder.
“Jag är leds£n,” I mutter. Which means I’m sorry. And I’m not really sorry at all. She knows how rou-gh I can be.
Even so, I li-ck over the bite marks, ma-king her relax, soothing any surprise. I want to know how we-t and eager she is, so I p@rt her cheeks and stro-ke my f!ngerti-ps over her pvzzy, and I’m nearly salivating over how sli-ppery she is.
I push my f!nger in and bite my l!pat how she holds me. So ti-ght. Her breath hitches and she lets out a breathless m0@n that shakes me to my core.
‘You’re mine. And only mine’. I said in my head
You’re here with me.
That’s all that matters.
Suddenly the urge, the pure nee-d to be inside her is overpowering and I’m nearly trembling at the hunger pulsing throu-gh me. It’s this animalistic drive that sneaks up, like I’m being reduced to nothing but basic instinct around her. She’s not just Maggie, my Maggie, she’s this woman I nee-d to claim, to take rou-gh and ha-rd and fast until I can’t remember my name, until I can’t remember who I am and what I do.
Until I can’t remember the person I’m supposed to be.
But I nee-d to remember the person she thinks I am.
The person she fell in love with.
I nee-d her to fuse to me, bend to me, I nee-d to take her so ha-rd that she knows exactly why she’s here.
I nee-d her to know that this place, with me, inside her, is her home.
Without realizing it, I’ve pushed another f!nger inside her, ru-bbing eagerly against the right sp©t, feeling her swell around me.
“Viktor,” she g@sps, her head down, her hair over her face as she breathes heavily, her b©dy pressing back into me, wanting more. “God, you’re so good. So, so good. Never st©p, never st©p.”
Her words are so desperate and urgent.
They’re everything I nee-ded to hear.
I have to get inside her now.
I quic-kly withdraw my f!ngers, ru-bbing them along myl-ips briefly, savoring her sweet and salty taste, and then I hold my shaft, rigid and heavy in my hand and angle it into her. I try to go slow, ru-bbing my head around her soft opening, getting my ti-p we-t before pushing in just a few inches.
But just a few inches are enough to make my jaw clench, trying so ha-rd to keep myself in control.
It’s been too long.
And she’s so h0t and sli-ppery and ti-ght as a fv¢king fist that I want to slam myself inside of her, bury myself de-ep. It takes all of me to try and keep breathing, my f!ngersdigging into her sides that I’ve bruised many times before.
“You’re perfect,” I tell her, my voice guttural as I push in dee-per, watching as my c0ckdisappears into her, her resistance deliciously ti-ght. “So fv¢king perfect, Maggie.”
I pu-ll out in a slow slide and she shudders beneath me before I push back into her, staying cautious. “I want all of you forever. I want every day to be like this. I don’t want the distance anymore, not when we’re both here.”
My words are coming out rou-gh and jagged and I know I should probably st©p talking but she makes me want to talk. She makes me want to tell her everything.
She arches her back into me and I sl!pmyself dee-per inside her, almost to the hilt. She stretches around me with a loud g@sp, her cunt so snug and we-t as I roll my h!ps against her bu-m. I’m lightheaded, breathless, and the fire inside me builds, l!çk!ng me until I’m lost in this haze. The world has been reduced down to nothing but plea-sure.
Nothing but us.
“fv¢k,” she cries out. “God, Viktor, fv¢k me. ha-rder. fv¢king ha-rder.”
A growl escapes myl-ips at her dirty commands and I slam myself into her until she’s hvgging every throbbing inch. She’s yelling my name and I hear nothing but my blood rushing throu-gh my head as I bury myself de-ep inside her. My h!ps thrû-st into her, hammering in this driving rhythm and I reach beneath her h!ps, trying to stro-ke her cl!t.
It’s we-t, messy, and I can ba-rely t©uçh her where I nee-d to but it’s enough for her to take over just as the couch starts to inch along the ha-rd wood floors.
She br@ces herself on one arm and reaches back, and I straighten up, my hands spla-yed wi-de around her w@!st, gripping her ha-rder and ha-rder as I pound into her with reckless abandon.
Then Maggie is m0@n ing, then screaming my name and swearing, and I don’t hold back. With a guttural gro-an , I come, the plea-sure ripping throu-gh me, turning me inside out. I swear and cry out, coming into her as I go into some mindless, hypers-en-sitive state. In this moment, I’m without thought or self-awareness. I’m just here.
I come back down to earth slowly, trying not to coll@pse onto her delicate b©dy. I place my hands on the pink cheeks of her bu-m, leaning on them to keep myself up as I try to catch my breath. My skin is damp with sweat and burning h0t, and I feel absolutely liquid inside.
Maggie is breathing ha-rd too, her back rising and falling, having coll@psed into the couch with her sweet bu-m in the air. She turns her head to the side, her face red and beaded with sweat, her eyes heavy-lidded and completely sated.
There are no words to say to each other.
We just know.
We know that’s what we both nee-ded to reconnect.
We know that’s what we nee-ded to feel whole.
We know that on this earth, no matter the time zone, all we nee-d is each other.
She knows my heart and I know hers.
Sometimes it takes time to find it again.
* * *
* * *
The next day, our plans change.
They change because Magnus, dear crazy Magnus, somehow deduced that Maggie was at Haga Palace and then insisted on visiting.
I insisted on him not visiting.
But he’s a relentless and charming bastard.
“It’s just for a day,” he says over the phone. “You know I nee-d to meet her. You know you nee-d my approval.”
I don’t nee-d his approval but there’s no point arguing with him at all. Magnus does what he wants.
“Fine,” I tell him. “But just so this gets in your head, we aren’t going out. She is a secret, you un-derstand? I will protect her and guard this secret with my life.”
I instantly regret everything.
Magnus shows up like he always does. Well, I guess this time he doesn’t have a bottle of half-drun!kbooze in his hands, but he does show up loud and boisterous and re-ady to p@rty.
For a moment there I forget who Maggie is, forget that she’s not some upti-ght, stuffy, boring noble woman that my parents have set me up with in the past. I forget that in many ways, Maggie is a lot like Magnus.
Hell, they even have r0ûghly the same name.
“Mags,” I say to her as she comes down the stairs. I point to him. “This is Mags.”
“Hello,” Maggie says, immediately charmed just by looking at him. “So nice to—“
And then she’s swept off her feet in a second.
Magnus literally picks her up and twirls her around and she’s both screaming and laughing and I’m laughing too, trying to ignore the h0t coal of jealousy inside me. I know I can be a possessive man, so Magnus isn’t helping.
“That was quite the, uh, greeting,” Maggie says as she’s placed back on the ground. “Is that how all Norwegians say hello?”
“I hope not,” Magnus says, raising his dark brows. “And here I was thinking I was original.”
I look down at Magnus’s bag, now a Formula One race car duffel. “What happened to the Louis Vuitton?”
He shrugs and gives me a devilish grin. “The girl wasn’t worth it.” He looks at Maggie. “Are you re-ady to p@rty?”
I had warned her about Magnus but perhaps she thought I was exaggerating.
“Yes, p@rty,” he says, cl@pping his hands together. “You know. I’m saying the word right, yes?” He pretends to boogie down like a lunatic, then mimes drinking and, well, mimes snorting something up his nose.
“There’s still the whole issue with us not being seen together in public,” I remind him before he gets out of hand.
A look of horror comes across his face. “You mean you’re ashamed of me?” He clutches his che-st.
“I mean me and Maggie,” I say with a sigh. “This is still a secret that I’d like to keep and even if we used a back door,” he giggles at that, exchanges a look with Maggie, “people would still see us and speculate.”
“Relax,” he says to me, cl@pping a hand on my shoulder. “I have thought this throu-gh.”
He leans down and Zi-ps open his duffel bag and pu-lls out a mask, the type you’d see during the carnivale in Venice. “Here you go Viktor,” he says, waving a gold one at me until I take it from him. He then pu-lls out a silver one with teal feathers and hands it to Maggie. “And here you go, Mags.” Finally, he pu-lls out a black velvet one for himself.
Maggie turns the mask over in her hands. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” I muse, looking at mine. “But I think this will only draw more attention to ourselves if we go to a club with these on our faces.”
“Silly, silly Swede,” Magnus says. “You think I haven’t thought of everything? Not only are we going to a S-xy little masquerade p@rty tonight, but I’ve also got five other masks in there for the b©dyguards who will no doubt be following us. I alre-ady gave mine his and I think he was overjoyed by all the sequins and sparkles.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say.
“Viktor,” Maggie says as if she’s scolding me. “This is the best idea I’ve ever heard.”
Magnus beams at me and gestures to her. “You see this girl here? She’s all right. In fact, I think I like her better than you.”
“I think you like most people better than me. I have no idea why you come by here.”
“Because you never come to Norway!” He looks at Maggie, shaking his head. “There I am in Oslo all alone.”
“Yeah right.” I laugh.
“All alone,” he repeats, “and he never comes to visit me.”
“You know I’m too busy. I’m not used to this stuff like you are,” I tell him. “All the engagements and formalities and officials and charities and…”
“I’m not necessarily used to it,” Magnus says, straightening up. “I just don’t let it dictate my life. I might be a prince but I have my own boundaries. This job does not define me.”
Meanwhile as we’re talking, Maggie’s eyes are volleying back and forth between us. I suppose it is kind of odd to hear two princes arguing about their jobs.
“Sorry Maggie,” I tell her. “Sometimes we forget how good we have it.”
She snorts as she tries to sl!pthe mask on. “Are you kidding me? You couldn’t pay me to be a princess. Who wants that job?”
She slides the mask on just in time, as if she didn’t want me to see her expression as she said that.
I can feel Magnus staring at me. Of course the truth is that I’ve thought about her becoming a princess. If we ended up together and I didn’t end up abdicating that’s what she would be. Princess Margaret…Mayhem. And now she’s saying I couldn’t pay her to do it. I’m sure she meant it in a glib way but I have to admit, that remark bothers me.
🌸T. B. C🌸
🌹🌹The Swedish Prince 🌹🌹