But even though everyone went straight to the sitting room to carry out this tradition as we normally do, Ella and I were excused.

Thank god.

Fucking her in the museum was long overdue but instead of relief at having finally been inside of her, now I only want more. For the rest of the night, I couldn’t stop touching her, thinking about her, smelling her on my fingers.

And even though there was nothing hotter than screwing her standing up in that art wing, with her legs wrapped around me, the adrenaline flowing through me over the fact that at any moment someone could have walked in on us, it’s not enough.

I want her in my bed.

I want to strip her naked and go over every inch of her body with my tongue.

I want to slowly sink into her and watch the expression in her eyes change as she takes me in.

That was fast and rough. Now I want it sweet and slow.

Okay, maybe still a little rough.

My family gives me sly little waves and smiles as Ella and I depart the scene, hand in hand. This is all sorts of fucked up but I’ll take it.

We walk through the palace and take the elevator to the third floor and I’m so tempted to grab her and press her against the walls but I manage to refrain.

“We’re not really going to bed, are we?” she asks as we pass the blue room which she normally stays in when she’s here.

I give her a wry smile, squeezing her hand tighter as I lead her to my old bedroom. “I love it when you play naïve.”

Her eyes dance. “I thought you loved it when I played nasty?”

I think I love every part you play.

Shit.

Glad I kept that one inside.

I pull her into the bedroom and like I hadn’t just ravaged her earlier in the museum, I’m pulling her dress off over her head while tearing off my own clothes.

I attack her, tongue, lips, mouth, teeth, my hands roaming all over her bare body for the first time, hungry and greedy and just a bit desperate.

“Lie down,” I tell her, and I manage to pull myself away. “Get on the bed and let me look at all of you.”

She no longer looks embarrassed at this type of request. She goes to the bed and I watch her, drinking her all in. I watch as she lies down on the mattress, everything from the perfect pink of her cunt to the sharp peaks of her nipples and perky breasts is on display for me.

I can’t believe my luck.

I can’t believe I get to marry this woman.

Whatever I had once said to my father about having sex with one woman for the rest of my life, well I obviously had no idea it would be this woman.

This woman is my fucking queen and I will never ever lose sight of that.

“If only you knew how beautiful you look to me,” I murmur to her as I step over to the bed and gaze down at her. “I could tell you but I don’t think it would be enough. The only thing I think might work is if I show you.” I pause. “Do you want me to show you?”

She doesn’t answer. She gives me a wicked smile and opens her thighs.

Helvete.

I move between her spread legs. It’s almost painful, this desire, this need to make her see what she does to me, how she makes me feel. Seeing my bare cock hard and ready, her cunt open, pink and soft—I feel like I’m going mad with desire.

Slowly, so slowly, I ease myself into her as she raises her hips, pushing toward me herself, wanting that deeper purchase. Her mouth opens wider the further I get, her skin sliding against my skin like endless silk.

This feels too fucking good.

Too perfect.

I kiss her, melting my mouth into hers, wanting to be as close as possible.

“What about the condom?” she whispers.

“I’ll pull out.”

“Come all over me again?” She raises a brow.

Fuck, that couldn’t sound sexier.

Our faces are just inches apart as I slowly pull out and ease myself back into her. Our gaze never breaks. Hers is full of lust and wonder, as if she’s seeing me for the first time. In the museum it was dark and rushed, but now we are intimate, now we can really take each other in. I can only hope she likes what she sees, that I’m enough for her.

I’ll do anything to be her king.

When our hips meet, it makes me still, and I have to suck in my breath to regain control. There’s something about her that makes me want to completely lose it and, honestly, I think I’ve been losing it since the moment I first saw her.

She wraps her legs around my waist and rocks her hips, each movement pulling me further and further into her. Her hands are at my back and pushing into my muscles. Our skin moves against each other like we are one.

“Fuck, Ella,” I croak out, sucking along her neck, to her breasts. My tongue teases around the hardened peak of her nipple and I pull it into my mouth with one long, hard draw. Her moan is so loud, so uninhibited that I feel like the king I want to be, and for once we don’t have to hold anything back. I groan loudly, falling into that intoxicating warmth of being really, truly inside of her, of feeling her in every way I can.

“Harder,” she says, arching her back. “Please.”

Please? Lord, she is so fucking cute.

“Your wish is my command,” I tell her, my voice straining. “Though I should be addressed as Your Highness.”

“Please, Your Highness. Fuck me harder.”

God damn.

I piston my hips to drive into her deeper, pumping harder and harder. Her perfect tits bounce with each thrust, and suddenly there are no thoughts. Nothing but feeling. That feeling of falling, of realizing how good it can fucking be when you actually care about someone.

I’ve never had sex with a woman that I had feelings for.

And this is so much more than just feelings, so much more than that.

“Magnus,” she whispers to me. “More.”

I give her a look of surprise.

She wants more?

I’ll give her fucking more.

I grab her by the waist and flip over so that she’s riding on top of me now. My grip tightens as she sinks onto my cock and I’m grunting hard from having to hold back.

“God, you’re so fucking amazing.” She starts rocking back and forth on me, finding her rhythm. “Ride me harder, Princess. I want to see those tits bounce.”

She bites her lip as she gazes down at me, leaning forward on my chest for a moment before she starts putting her back into it, her hips bucking back and forth against mine.

“God yes, look at your cunt juicing all over my cock,” I moan, my eyes glued to where my wet shaft sinks into her. “Fuck, keep going, don’t stop.”

A flush starts on her face that spreads to her chest, and her legs quiver around my waist. Her back is arched, nipples pointed at the ceiling, her head back as she gives into me.

I go to slip my hand over her clit, to give her the push, but she’s already there. She cries out loudly, hips jerking upward, body shaking like an earthquake. She’s so unbelievable when she’s coming, this pulsing, writhing, sexual being and I’m the cause of all of it. I’m the one who brings this Princess to the edge.

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.