Royal Brit Bastard: a badboy stepbrother romance (11 page)

Marston Quinn had invited a principal from one of the major holdings to join us, and the business of our meeting was as straightforward as Marston had predicted. Still, he and I concocted an excuse for one more meeting before I returned to the States. Just for the look of the thing. Well, maybe not
only
that. We’d see.

As he showed me out, Mr Quinn was positively courtly. He told me, “I’m sure you know that we are ethically prohibited from having personal relationships with clients, Mrs Chatterton. For that reason alone, I heartily wish that your legal business were elsewhere.”

“But if it were, Marston,” I said, “then we wouldn’t have met, would we.”

His perfect teeth gleamed as he said, “Teasy, isn’t it.” And he made a courteous little bow, exactly as the elevator
ding’
ed its arrival. He had given me something to think about.

I spent the rest of the day shopping, and I finished up with afternoon tea and scones in a pretty little cafe on Piccadilly. In the evening, I was back at my hotel and relaxing at the bar.

Next to me sat a fine young specimen of an English gentleman. Strong and well-built, with deep sapphire blue eyes and impeccable manners. He wore a red tunic with gold buttons, just like the soldiers outside Buckingham and St James’ palaces.

I asked him, “Excuse me, but are you one of the palace guards?”

His eyes tilted up at me. He said, “I have that honor, Miss,” and his look set something inside me rolling like a bowling ball. “Lance Corporal Adrian Balcombe-Smythe, at your service,” and he made a little bow.

I love how they do that here. Then when I introduced myself, and corrected him about the ‘Miss,’
he
lifted my fingers to his lips. I was thinking about canceling my flight home.

I told myself,
These gorgeous men are thrillingly polite and courtly. Enjoy, but it’s no more than that.
Marston Quinn had been paying me compliments, but that was probably all.
Brits are just brought up polite.
I was sure that his was
 
only the young guardsman’s way of being civil. No doubt he was was
 
humoring me.
They aren’t going to be interested in a mature, experienced woman, they’re just like any men. All they want is tight, fuzzy young flesh. Like their own.

I asked him, “That uniform is bound to get you draped in girls. Are you in here hiding from the crowds?”

His eyes flickered down to his drink, “I do get the odd one or two, but I’m never sure what to say to them.”

“You’re probably nervous because you know what you
want
to say, but maybe you don’t know quite how to say it. Could it be something like that?”

“I know what you mean, Mrs Chatterton, but I really
don’t
know what I want to say.” The turmoil in his sad young eyes said that he meant what he was telling me. I rested my hand gently on his to reassure him.

As our skin made contact, a bolt like lightning shot through me. I saw Adrian’s eyes flash and I knew that he felt it, too.

He took a moment to form his thoughts into words, “You see, Mrs Chatterton, that was a real thrill. The young girls, you know they don’t make me feel like that, they just make me feel awkward and silly.”

My hand was still on his and I felt the pulse rise in my body. “You don’t seem awkward to me now, Adrian,” I looked into his eyes and the current in my body plunged through the bottom of my stomach.

His voice was low and husky, “Maybe that’s because I know that you wouldn’t be interested in a young man like me, Mrs Chatterton.” The heat in my panties was rising so much, I had to let my thighs part a little.

My breath caught in my throat and my own voice dropped an octave as I said, “Whatever makes you think that, Adrian?” As we looked into each other’s eyes, another young man in a red tunic appeared at Adrian’s side.
 

With a strong voice like warm, dark syrup, the soldier said, “Not wasting off-duty time, Lance Corporal Balcombe-Smythe. Glad to see,” then to me he said, “Young officer isn’t wasting
your
time I trust, Miss.”

More of that formal Brit courtesy. Was it just shallow formality? What did it matter, it certainly was pleasant.

I told him, “The Lance Corporal and I are having a very nice time getting to know each other.”

He introduced himself, “Permit me. Captain James Bruton, 3
^rd
Household Palace Cavalry.” I saw that Adrian was shy in making eye-contact with the captain. A look passed between the two men.

Adrian seemed awkward, in a way that reminded me of what he had said about being around young girls. James gave him what looked like a very engaging smile in return, and then my heart skipped when he flashed the smile to me.

“Lance Corporal offered to show you his lance yet?” Adrian blushed, but the captain went on, “Very proud of his lance. Polishes it for hours every night, isn’t that right Lance Corporal?”

I could see that the captain was just having fun, but Adrian was practically squirming. Captain Bronson wasn’t finished yet, “Polishes it again most mornings, don’t you, Lance Corporal?” The gleam in captain Bronson’s smile was distinctly friendly and playful, but Adrian didn’t see it as he couldn’t bring himself to look the captain in the eye.
 

James said, “Well. Shan’t interrupt your evening, but if you need anything, table by the window,” and he made an endearing little bow from the waist as he withdrew. He left Adrian with a friendly pat on the shoulder, but the poor boy was shrinking into his chest.

I thought a change of subject might help him out. I found myself saying, “The park is quite beautiful at this time of the evening, don’t you think?” and it sounded so silly, like an imitation of English polite conversation from a cheesy TV show or a movie, I couldn’t help laughing.

Adrian sniggered, too, and his shoulders shook as the snigger swelled into a laugh. His eyes were damp as he said, “Yes, the lake shimmers in a way that is quite lovely, don’t you find?”

We chinked glasses and, before I thought about it I had said, “The view is so much better from my suite, don’t you know.”

“Well,” Adrian was still laughing, “Actually, no, I don’t know. I haven’t seen it.”

“Come along then, dear boy. You simply
must
allow me to show it you.” And I stood. Adrian stood, too, taken up in the moment, but I saw him hesitate.

I kept up the part, “Do come along, my good fellow, before we lose the light.” And, like that, he did. He followed me to the elevator, where our eyes smirked and we sniggered at each other until we got to the top floor.

I stood close to him, my eyes were level with his collarbone. He was a fine young man. Inside the suite he said, “Oh,”

It was a lovely suite. Large, airy, all white and creams and fluffy soft rugs and pillows. I hadn’t lied about the view, either. The lake in the park shimmered and sparkled in the fading evening light, and on the skyline we could see Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament and the London Eye.

I could see that Adrian was taking more interest in my pink and grey silk dress than he was in the view outside. My breasts heaved as I settled him back into an armchair.

“I don’t feel so awkward with you, Mrs Chatterton,” he said, and looking down into his lap, I could see that behind his military twill pants, something was rising to demonstrate his point.

I was breathless but I managed to say, “No, Adrian, you don’t, do you.” He saw where my eyes had rested and his face colored.

“Oh, Mrs Chatterton, I’m
so
sorry.”

“No you’re not, Adrian. You’re not sorry, you’re just shy.”

“Well,” the poor boy’s voice was thickening in his throat, “I’m not experienced, Mrs Chatterton.”

“No, I can see that, Adrian. But you’re keen, and that can make up for it.” I stood close by his chair. My heat was rising and I could smell my juices. “Adrian, being close to you is making me excited,” the boys eyes widened, “and I’m getting kind of… hot. Do you know what I mean?”

He didn’t know what to say. I said, “I’m getting all hot and wet in my panties. Would you mind if I took them off?” His eyes were wide and slowly, his head shook, and I went on, “just like you’re getting kind of cramped in yours.” I looked down at the insistent bulge in his pants.

I could see that he was about to say,
I’m sorry
again, so I touched his lips. He kissed my fingertips. This time it didn’t seem formal at all. Perhaps that was because he used his tongue.

I said, “Let me get these off first,” I hitched my silk skirt slowly up over the tops of my stockings and I watched Adrian’s eyes roll and flutter as his tongue flicked across his lips.

My panties made a soft, whispering sound as I slid them slowly down over the sheer stockings. I let my skirt back down as I did, giving him just a brief glimpse. I wafted the sheer knickers past his nose as I hung them on the far side of his chair.

His eyes were transfixed on my skirt. He tried to speak, “Could I…”

“Yes, Adrian?” Oh, it was gorgeous to tease him, but I knew he couldn’t take much of it, so I said, “Yes, Adrian,” and I lifted my skirt a little to encourage him.

When Adrian laid his hands on my thighs, my heart thudded and I felt a spark through me. He slid his hands around and up my stockings and then stroked the soft, warm, quivering flesh above.

I parted my thighs and his lips came close. I ran my fingers over his lips and immediately he sucked on them, looking up at me like a puppy dog. All the while his hands were moving higher and round the insides of my thighs.

I said, “Want to taste, Adrian?”

“God, yes,” he exclaimed. I slid my skirt up and his eager mouth fell into my mound and my tingling, swollen pussy. His lips and his tongue were all over my aching wet flower. I shook when he pressed his tongue hard on the base of my buzzing hot clit.

His hands flew to grasp my buttocks. He pulled me to his eager mouth. I put my knees on the arms of the chair and leaned into him. He sucked and pulled with his lips and plunged his tongue around, up and through my hot, swollen folds, over my over-sensitive bud
 
and up, deep inside me.

I had wanted to give Adrian an introduction to a womanly body, to guide him gently along the soft velvety paths of pleasure towards satisfaction, but having him gorge on my hot, wet lips and plunge his long, strong, mobile wet tongue deep and hard into me, I just jammed my slathering pussy into his urgent, eager mouth.

My hips bucked hard against his tongue. I had never had such a forceful and muscular tonguing before and my hands clawed at his head, pulling him harder into me. My breasts ached and my nipples stung inside my bra. My stomach rolled in waves of spasm.

His fingers skittered up and down the cleavage of my trembling buttocks. Then they pulled my thighs apart. Then they spread my lips. They lid along the swollen, weeping canyon and they plunged inside me.

My throat let out a guttural cry, “God, Adrian, please!” I looked down at him and squeezed his head between my shaking thighs. I reached a hand up to my breast, pulled at my nipple through the dress, through the bra. My head thrashed from side to side as my pelvis rocked and ground on his thick, hot, wet mouth.

I wanted his cock. I wanted to hold it and pummel it, to taste it and swallow it, to jam it hard up inside me, but I couldn’t reach his pants without pulling away from his mouth. More than anything I wanted his mouth to stay moving on me and in me.

“Adrian,” my voice was thick like an animal roar, “Don’t stop. PLEASE, don’t stop!” My juices ran thick and waves of sensation whipped and flowed and burst through my thighs, my body, my breast and my hungry, hungry sex.

My hands gripped on Adrian’s head and I sawed my crotch against him as his tongue flashed into me, reaming all around my weeping walls. My pussy clamped on him. Wild, electric sensations perched, zinging at the tipping point, teetered, rocked and then burst and overflowed through my whole body.

I reached down to spread my wings for him, to open myself up more to his mouth. My knees shuddered and weakened and almost gave way. He slid down in the chair and I sank, shaking and quivering to sit on his chest and shoulders.

The thought that he couldn’t take my weight that way was drowned and washed away by my body’s howling need. My back stretched, my thighs and my buttocks clenched and my toes curled as I quaked and moaned and whimpered.

The bursting, rolling waves of sensation spilled, splashed and surged through me. I cried out and moaned. My hips thrashed, my buttocks rocked, my thighs clamped on Adrian’s gorgeous blond head.

My head shook as my back flexed and arched and my desperate fingers clawed his head into my wide, wet, convulsing need. All of my muscles tightened and flexed in bursting, rhythmic force.

I crouched in a ball around the poor boy’s head. I didn’t know how he could breathe, but my pussy wouldn’t let him go. My hot, swollen wet lips pressed in and on his lips. His face was drenched and his breath was scorching hot. Still his tongue lapped at me, and I twitched at every touch.
 

Waves of aftershock sparked and splashed through me as I crouched and nuzzled Adrian with my legs and my puss. I stroked him tenderly. Eventually I peeled myself off him. I took his face in my hands and looked into his wondering, watery eyes.

I sighed and kissed him, long and soft and deep. The tang of my own hot juice, my sex in his mouth made me tremble. I told him, “You have no reason at all to be shy with the girls, Adrian. That was really,
really
wonderful.”

I crawled down to nuzzle into his lap. I slid farther down and pressed my breasts against the great bulge in his pants. I gasped to feel him throb between my breasts. I bit my lip as I stroked and pressed his straining pants. I blew on on him as I stroked, then I looked up and said, “About this lance, Lance Corporal.”

His eyes rolled as I slowly dragged his stiff, heavy zipper, tooth by tooth, down to free the dammed up pressure behind. The black, silky Calvins sprang out of the breech, and his slick purple head poked skyward.

I knelt between his knees and wrapped him in my fingers, then I pulled him down towards my face. “That’s a fine weapon, soldier,”