Princess and the Player (Strangers in Love)

I check my appearance in the mirror. My eye shadow is shades of gold, my lashes long and thick. I pivot for a side view—my tiny bump barely noticeable in a red miniskirt and a cropped pink sweater with a fuzzy red heart on the front. I smile, pushing down my anxieties.

It’s celebration tonight. For two things. One is Valentine’s Day, and the other is Darden, although he doesn’t know it. I step out of Tuck’s master bath and into his bedroom. He’s already gone out to the den, and I pick up the room, folding my clothes I washed earlier. We barely spend time apart. Either I’m here, or he’s at my place. Sometimes we go to the loft when we want time away from Jasper.

My gaze snags on the selfie I printed of us at the Bow Bridge, taken with his phone. Our faces are next to each other, and we’re laughing. We look like cheesy tourists, and it makes me smile—until my throat tightens. The night before at the loft, I planned to tell him about the baby—even attempted it twice but pulled back as I realized he needed to vent. He shared his insecurities, and I couldn’t pile more on top when he was being so vulnerable. Besides, I always had the next day. Only the next day was at Bow Bridge, and we were so happy I decided to wait until the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

I’ll tell him today, I said after my last doctor’s visit two weeks ago; only when I got back to his penthouse, he’d planned a carriage ride through the park at night for us.

We were a bubble of happiness, a magic spell, and why on earth would I break it?

The following night, I psyched myself up all day, going over the words and how to deliver them gently—only that night as we lay in bed watching TV, Cherry curled up next to me instead of him. She rested her head on my leg while Tuck pouted.

I have had a litany of excuses, but the crux of it is simple.

He is something I never imagined I needed.

And I don’t want to lose him.

He is air. Life. And his flawed edges? His chaos? I love them the most. The struggle on his face when Jasper talks about football, the torment in his voice when he speaks to Nella on the phone, the nights he kisses me, then goes to the third floor and works out for hours.

In the back of my mind, a part of me is praying he’ll fall so deep in love with me that the prospect of a baby wouldn’t be that bad. I just need a bit more time.

The clock is ticking, my head says as I walk down the hall. I pause when I hear Cece’s sugary voice. “The weak can never forgive. Forgiving is an attribute of the strong. You should remember that. It will keep your relationship with Francesca healthy.”

“Isn’t that a Gandhi quote?” Tuck asks.

“It’s a Cece quote. Who’s this Gandhi?”

He laughs, the dark rumble making goose bumps rise. “I never know if you’re serious.”

“Serious is for the dead. Now that is a Cece quote.”

“Hmm. Tell me how you met Francesca.”

I hear Cece exhale. “On the first day of class, she walked in in these outrageously stacked Converse. I giggled, and she gave me a dirty look. We ignored each other for weeks; then one night, I was out at this bar with a guy I was totally in love with. I know, me, right? Anyway, Francesca plopped down next to me on a barstool and said, ‘Your boyfriend is having sex in the bathroom with a girl. Let’s go kick his ass.’ No hi or anything.”

“Did you?”

Cece snorts. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I kicked down the stall, slapped him, then stalked away. Best night ever. Then, she and I got trashed, maybe high, and ended up at Coney Island on the Ferris wheel. No clue how we got there. We vowed our friendship was forever.”

“But you laughed at her shoes?”

“No—I mean, yeah, but it was more about hey, look at the balls on that chick. She’s got something about her that people love—even old Darden.” Her face turns serious. “He was her first friend, not me or Brogan. There’s a pecking order. It’s Darden, me, Brogan, then you.”

I can feel Tuck bristle from here. His voice is silky. “I’m fourth? Fuck that.”

“Whatever. I’m spilling no secrets tonight, but you know how she feels. Just don’t mess with her, ’kay?”

I roll my eyes, turn the corner, and drink them in, my girl bestie and the man who’s swept me off my feet.

The thought stalls as he turns and brings his whiskey to his lips as I walk. I take it slow, swinging my hips. Green eyes blaze with heat, and just like that, my insides quake. Happiness hits my brain, and my smile must be huge because Cece makes a gagging face behind Tuck’s back.

It’s going to end soon, a voice whispers.

He eyes me up and down. “You are fucking gorgeous.”

“She’s my boo,” Cece murmurs.

I inhale his spicy male scent, and my body hums at the memory of us this morning, his maddening tongue tracing circles on my nipples as he pumped inside of me in his shower.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks.

“Just club soda.”

“It’s Darden’s birthday, and we’re probably going to give him a heart attack when he walks in. You might need alcohol.”

“I’m good.”

“I’ll grab you a water.” He kisses my cheek, then whispers in my ear. “You’re mine later.”

He strides off, and I let out a shaky breath, then turn to Cece, who’s eyeing me.

“What?”

“You’re in a bad spot, honey. You’ve caught feelings.”

“I’ve got this,” I lie as I head to the den.

Fifteen minutes later, Jasper, Cece, Brogan, Herman, and I wait in the dark for Darden. Tuck’s mission was to ask him up to discuss a business venture. We hear the doorbell ping, Tuck’s signal that he’s got him. I wanted a party for Darden but knew he’d know if I planned it at my place; then Tuck offered to do it here.

“The package is arriving,” Jasper whispers over by the light switch. “Remember he’s eighty. So no shouting.”

The door opens in the foyer, and Darden grumbles, “I don’t understand why we couldn’t talk at my place.”

“I thought you might like to see the view from here and try a glass of this new Scotch I got.”

“I only drink peppermint tea these days,” he grouses. “Why is it so dark in here, Avery? It’s a cave.”

Jasper flips the lights on and cranks up “In da Club,” and Cece releases a banner from a string that Brogan rigged up that says GO FOR 100 DARDEN on it. Herman and I call out, “Happy birthday!” Then someone starts the song.

Darden stands there stoically, glaring at all of us. “Who’s to blame for this atrocity?”

I raise my hand, and he glowers. “Miss Lane. You should be out celebrating a holiday invented for flower shops and card companies. Can I go now?”

I smile. “There’s birthday cake and ice cream.”

“And applesauce if you don’t have your teeth in,” Brogan says.

Darden scowls. “Full of jokes, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be a grouch, Darden. We’ve got Hula-Hoops, am I right?” Jasper says, busting out the circular toys and passing them around.

“Is this a kindergarten party?” Darden asks.

I smirk. “We tried to come up with a theme. Cece wanted a 1940s thing, Brogan wanted to do all black, and I suggested we just have fun. You can laugh at us, yeah?”

His eyebrows bristle as he watches Herman slip a Hula-Hoop over his doorman suit, then swivel his hips. A small twitch lifts his lips when the hoop falls and Herman’s face reddens.

Cece puts a birthday sash on him, and he grunts. “Bring me some cake. No ice cream. It makes me gassy.”

“Sure,” I say.

“Hey, man, would you like a margarita?” Jasper asks as he whips off his shirt, slips a Hula-Hoop over his head, and circles his hips. “I’d bet anyone in this room that I could make one and Hula-Hoop at the same time.”

“I’m in,” Tuck says and slaps down a dollar on the coffee table.

“Same!” Cece calls.

“Me! Don’t forget me,” Herman says and puts down a dollar.

Darden waves his hands at Jasper. “Can someone turn off that awful music and put on the nature channel?”

“It is your birthday, sir.” Tuck kills the music, finds the channel, and gives Darden the remote.

Jasper fails at making margaritas while Hula-Hooping. He can’t get close enough to the bar to hit the button as he swivels his hips, and we dissolve into laughter.

Cece and Jasper get into a Hula-Hoop contest, and Darden is the rule decider. Herman has a Slinky, and Brogan gleefully decorates Tuck’s fireplace mantel with Silly String. I’m laughing as I look around, then miss Tuck. Easing away, I find him in the hallway, standing in front of the Pollock.

He wraps an arm around my waist when I appear. “I like your family,” he murmurs.

“Thank you. Why are you over here? Come join us?”

He slides his hand under my hair and cups the back of my head, massaging. “Sorry. Sometimes I can’t help but get pulled into this painting.”

I exhale. “You could donate it to a museum?”

“Maybe.” His fingers dance along my back and outline my tattoo by memory. “I have a gift for you.”

“I have one for you.” A sketch I did of him.

He laces our fingers together and tugs me to his room.

“Tuck, we can’t—”

“It won’t take long; I promise.”

We end up at his dresser. He pulls out a drawer and opens a velvet case, and I gasp.

He holds up a glittering diamond necklace, and the center is huge, at least five carats—

“Tuck! This is too much.” The diamonds’ facets shine under the light.

“Shh.” He turns me to face the mirror as he puts the necklace around my throat.

Our eyes hold in the mirror; then he dips his face to my neck. “Francesca, I’m not a man with pretty words, but . . . you’ve given me something. Hope, maybe? Trust? I want to give you the prettiest jewels, the best of everything. Just let me, okay?”

I melt against his frame as he kisses my neck. Lust rides me as his hands skim my waist. I reach behind me to his groin and unzip his pants.

“We have guests,” he drags out in a rough voice.

“Don’t care. Let’s be quick. I’m already wet for you.”

“Let me see, hmm?” He lifts the skirt of my dress in the front and palms my lace panties. He moves aside the elastic and rubs a slow circle, edging closer and closer until he groans, then sinks a finger inside. My hips move with him, my head thrown back in the crook of his shoulder. His cashmere sweater rubs my face, the softness of the fabric erotic against my cheek.

He lifts my sweater, exposing my bra. He pinches my nipple, and my pussy throbs as I moan.

“Shh, I’m not going to let you come. Later.”

I whimper, and he kisses the shell of my ear as his fingers slip out of my panties. He tugs down my sweater and arranges the jewels around my throat. My face is flushed as he brushes his fingers over my mouth. “Rosebud lips. Such a beauty, Francesca.”

He leaves the room as I try to catch my breath.

Fifteen minutes later he tugs me into the guest bathroom, sets me on the counter, spreads my legs, and tongues my core through the lace. With my knees bent up to my breasts, I try to slide my underwear aside, but he stops me. “Wait a little longer,” he purrs as he fixes my hair, pure male satisfaction on his face as he walks out the door.

Later, I tug him into the kitchen pantry, unzip his pants, and suck him hard and fast, my tongue flicking his head. When his hands fist in my hair and he pushes me down to where my throat tightens around him, I ease back, then walk out.

It takes a full five minutes before he leaves the pantry.

When Herman says he needs to head home, we walk him out. After the elevator closes, Tuck picks me up in his arms and presses me against the wall. He shoves my skirt up and grinds his pelvis against my center. His zipper rubs against my clit, and I tug on his hair, tilting his head to kiss him deeply.

Darden leaves after Herman, and we repeat it, only going further, me pumping his dick as he fingers me.

When Cece and Brogan leave, he adds two fingers and whispers all the dirty things he wants to do with me.

We walk back in the penthouse, and Jasper is cleaning up. He takes in my tousled hair and the tent in Tuck’s slacks and announces he’s going to Courtney’s.

The door shuts, and I’m unzipping my skirt in the den. I unhook my bra, and my breasts swing free. I cup them, brushing them against the diamonds. “Take off your clothes,” I demand, an edge to my voice. If I don’t get him inside me soon . . .

He takes it slow, first easing off his sweater and undershirt, then slowly unzipping his pants and shoving them down. His underwear is next, and his length springs free.

He prowls to me, a fierce look in his eyes. He stares down at me, searching my face. “Want to come, Princess?”

I turn around, brace my arms on the back of his couch, and wiggle my ass. “Yes.”

He palms my breasts, then slides his hand down my back as fire licks where he touches. He rips my panties in pieces, and when I tell him how much they cost, he says he’ll buy me more. I hear the crinkle of a condom; then he lines up behind me, his arms alongside mine, the tingle from his skin giving me goose bumps. He teases me with small strokes, then gives me more, then more.

I turn my head and hold his gaze. It’s our thing. Intimate. He needs it. To be seen. I gasp and arch my back while he strums my clit like an instrument.

“I want to see your face,” he says in a guttural voice from deep inside his chest.

We end up on the fur rug in front of the fireplace. He covers me, hooking my knees under his hands as he slides in.

The diamonds jiggle around my breasts as we fuck.

And fuck.

And fuck.

The feel of him; the protective, possessive gleam in his eyes; the excitement of the edging—I’m coming undone.

I combust around him, calling his name as my hands dig into his skin. My pussy clenches and vibrates as he pauses and rotates his hips, digging into me, groaning at the feel of me tightening.

His hand cups my face as our breaths mingle. He stares at me, holding me captive as he reaches closer to the top. There’s a question in his gaze, a need for something. His lush lips part. “Jesus. Baby. Sweetheart. You. You. I lo—”

He stops and breaks apart in ecstasy, his head dipping to take possession of my lips in a savage, open-mouthed kiss. I ride the wave with him, my hands stroking his shoulders frantically, rubbing his face, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

“Mine,” he murmurs as he rolls me on top of him.

The fire crackles as I rest my face on his chest, listening to the thump of his heart.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

I’ll tell him.