Affairs of State(36)
She followed him upstairs, and she felt a flush of relief when he turned into his own bedroom.
Condoms! Was now the right moment to mention the need for contraception? Or was that presumptuous? She took one look at the large bed. “Um, I have some condoms in my luggage.”
He turned around with a smile. “Hmm. Maybe you weren’t lying about being a slightly reformed nymphomaniac.”
“Or is it just that I’m annoyingly prepared for everything?”
“I suspect the latter. And don’t worry, I have some specially purchased for the occasion.”
“How does a prince buy condoms? I mean, you can’t wander into Boots the Chemist on your local high street and slam them down on the counter with a smile.”
“Why not?” He pulled a packet of Trojans from an elegant mahogany chest.
“Um, because everyone would know what you’re up to.”
“And they’d be jealous.” He stepped toward her and stole her breath with a hot, urgent kiss. “But don’t worry. My secretary purchases them in a cunningly anonymous fashion.”
His fingers worked their way around the zipper on the side of her dress. Then he seemed stymied. Her breasts tingled at the thought of him touching them. “I have to lift it over my head,” she rasped.
“No.” He looked thoughtfully at the garment. “I have to lift it over your head.” He lifted the hem and she held her breath and raised her arms as he pulled the dress up and off. With her dress crumpled like a tissue in his broad hands, he surveyed her—wordless—for a moment. She should feel self-conscious standing there in her bra and panties, but she didn’t. Simon’s desire was every bit as naked as her body.
She kicked off her shoes and tackled the buttons on his shirt, while he undid his belt and stepped out of his pants. Good grief. His chest was thick muscle, highlighted by a line of sun-bleached golden hair that pointed to the fierce erection seeking freedom from his conservative boxer shorts.
“Let me help you with that,” she murmured, tugging the cotton down over his thighs. She realized too late that she was licking her lips. It had been a long time since she’d had sex and her entire body sizzled with anticipation. His legs were sturdy as the oak trees on his estate, with knees scarred by countless adventures, and she enjoyed the movement of his muscles as he stepped out of his underwear.
He unsnapped her bra before she had even stood up again, and her breasts pointed at him in accusation of arousing her past the point of decency.
At long last.
Together they pulled off her panties, then their bodies met, his erection fitting neatly against her belly. They breathed heavily, skin heating as they managed a very tentative kiss: a wisp of tongue, a graze of teeth, the tiniest, smooth, teasing and taunting until they couldn’t stand it anymore. Then they fell onto the bed and Simon crawled over her, covering her with his body, with his kisses, tasting and testing her skin until she moaned with urgency.
He rolled on the condom and entered her carefully. Their eyes met for a moment, and the look of concern on his handsome face made her smile. She lifted her hips to welcome him and enjoyed his expression of rapture as his eyes slid closed and he sank deep inside her.
Pleasure coursed through her at the feel of his big, strong body wrapped around hers. She moved with him easily, enjoying sudden and intense relief from all the tension that had built between them in the short time they’d known each other.
“Ariella.” He rasped her name with a hint of surprise, as if discovering it for the first time. Somehow it jerked her back to the reality of who she was. Ariella Winthrop, whose life had been turned upside down by the scandalous circumstances of her birth and now by a shocking international romance. Even as she writhed in Simon’s arms she couldn’t help wondering if this was all a crazy mistake. Would she wake up soaked in regret at compounding the madness that was her life lately?
If the press found out she and Simon had slept together they’d have a field day. They’d be clamoring for snapshots of the “royal smooch” or any casual indiscretion.
She’d let this whole thing spiral out of control. In D.C., she could have easily kept Simon at arm’s length until he went back to Britain, instead of embarking on an ill-advised romance that would have people whispering and gossiping behind her back.
“Ariella.” He said it again.
“Yes?” Was he asking a question?
“I just like saying it. Celebrating it. That we’re here together at last.”