The Wild Heir(83)

As she comes, her rocking slows, and I hold on just long enough to flip her back over onto her stomach, pulling out as I do so. I straddle the back of her thighs, grab my cock and give it a few pumps before the orgasm is rolling through me and my world explodes.

“Ella,” I cry out. “Oh, fuck.”

My words are wrenched out of me.

I manage to watch as I come, shooting all over her back, all over her round ass, my heart a drumbeat in my ears. I keep my wrist going until every last drop is milked out of me, then I collapse on the bed beside her.

“Helvete,” I manage to say after a few minutes. It feels like a dump truck ran over me.

“You could say that again,” she says. “What’s the Norwegian word for thoroughly fucked?”



Even though I know it must be the middle of the night, and my body is physically spent from the orgasms, I can’t sleep. Whatever focus and peace I found while I was deep inside Ella has scattered and my mind won’t stop tripping. When it gets like this, it’s like I have a race car brain with bicycle brakes. Nothing can slow it down.

It doesn’t help that Ella is asleep beside me, her back turned to me. Even though I’ve been wanting to sleep in the same bed as her for a long time now, for some reason I feel cold and alone.

I hate this feeling. If I was a real shitbag I would wake up Ella just to talk to her, just to get some distraction from this feeling, but I’m not about to do that. We’re both so exhausted, not only from the gala but from the last week, and she needs her sleep.

I slowly get out of bed and walk over to the window, pulling back the curtains and peering outside into the dark night. This is my old room, the one I had while growing up, and the view remains unchanged. From here I can see straight down the long palace square, the statue of King Charles John lit up in the middle by streetlamps. In the day, the square is crowded with tourists but for now I only see one homeless person slowly pushing a cart across.

The sight makes me feel even lonelier, and as usual, my head starts to spin from the feeling.

I shouldn’t feel this way.

What’s wrong with me?

I have a beautiful fiancé in that bed.

The person I’m to spend the rest of my life with.

Is that it? Is it the threat of a lifetime that kills me?

Is it being tied down?

Or is it that I’m feeling something for her that I’ve never felt for anyone?

I don’t know what to expect from it.

I don’t what to expect from her.

I don’t know how to handle anything.

How to be a good husband.

How to be a good king.

How to be a good person.

This is out of my hands.

This is out of control.

I have no control anymore.

I’m barely here.

I’m not here.

I just need to focus.

I can’t focus.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

Help.

“Magnus.”

I hear words, but they aren’t here, I’m not here, I’m just flipping through the channels of life at lightning speed and there is no past and no future and there’s barely a right now.

“Magnus.”

The voice is firmer now and there’s a hand on my shoulder and there’s familiar pressure and it’s bringing me back to reality.

I stop, just realizing now that I’ve been pacing back and forth in front of the window.

I’m staring right at Ella who is standing in front of me with a loosely tied robe, her eyes wide with fright with the dim light coming through the windows.

“Magnus,” she says again. “Are you okay? My god, you’re sweating.”

I look down at myself. Not only am I completely naked but I’m drenched with sweat. There are strands of hair in my hands, as if I’ve pulled them out while I’ve paced about like a madman.

Holy fuck.

I never wanted her to see me like this. I’ve been so fucking good until now.

“Come here,” she says, taking my arm and leading me over to a couch in the corner of the room. She sits me down, then goes into the bathroom and comes out with a robe and throws it at me. “Put that on.”

She then disappears into the bathroom again, and I hear the tap running. She brings out a glass of water and a damp cloth and sits down beside me on the couch, handing me the water and dabbing the cold cloth over my shoulders, my chest, my forehead.

“Drink it, you’re dehydrated,” she says softly, gesturing to the cup.

Now that my heart rate has slowed and my breathing is getting normal, I down the glass of water in one gulp.

Ella isn’t saying anything, just keeps running the cloth over me. I glance at her nervously, afraid to see her judgement.

But this Ella we’re talking about here. She’s never judged me. Unless I’ve said something terribly stupid. Which does happen a lot.

This is something else, though. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so exposed and vulnerable before. It’s like she’s finally seen the real me and…I’m ashamed.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” I ask her quietly.

She gives me a small smile. Her eyes are gentle. “Not at all.”

“Maybe I’m sick. I certainly feel like I’m running a fever.”