“But it makes you so uncomfortable.”
“It did. You’ve given me a new perspective today, though. I can learn to like a tux and be nice to the mean girls.”
She giggles, and I breathe a little easier now that the storm has passed. “They won’t be invited to events anymore, by order of the queen.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. She wasn’t pleased when she heard how Gretchen and Vivienne behaved. They’ve been ostracized.”
“I can’t say that I’m sorry.”
“I’m definitely not sorry in the least.”
I take her lips, finally sinking in and kissing her the way I’ve longed to do. There’s no time to pick her up and head for the bedroom. Ellie tugs my shirt over my head and kisses my shoulder, starting a flood of uncontrollable lust.
“You haven’t touched me in days, Mr. Cunningham.”
I grin against her lips as I lift her and tear the yoga shorts off her body, delighted when I find that she’s not wearing underwear beneath them.
I unsheathe my cock from my pants and push up inside of her, making us both moan in pleasure. I want to take it slow, to savor every movement, but she’s riding me fast, rubbing her clit against the root of my dick with every downward motion.
My eyes want to cross and roll back in my head at the same time.
“If you don’t slow down, I won’t last.”
“Same, and it’s brilliant.” Her cheeks are red, her eyes glassy as she watches me, riding harder until, with my name on her lips, she succumbs to the orgasm she’s been chasing.
I fall over right behind her and tug her down so I can breathe her in as I try to catch my breath.
“I don’t know where you learned that one,” I say, panting hard, “but I like it.”
“I just made it up.” Pride is thick in her voice. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“I loved it.” I kiss her chin. “Eleanor.”
“Yes?”
“Marry me.”
Her bright eyes whip to mine, hope shining through them.
“Today?”
I chuckle, wrapping my arms around her waist. “Any day you want, sweetheart. But I think you’ll want to check with your father on dates. If that’s a yes.”
“Yes.” She hugs me close and then kisses me hard. “A thousand times yes. It’s a bloody good thing I like paperwork and can organize like nobody’s business. And that you’re worth it, of course.”
I press my forehead to hers. “Yes, it’s a bloody good thing.”
Epilogue
~Aspen~
What in the hell am I doing in London? Not just that, but at the freaking palace, as a guest of the royal family?
Whose life is this, anyway?
Ellie invited me to her wedding months ago, but I sort of tucked it into one of the little boxes in my head and ignored it for as long as possible—like I do with a lot of things.
I’ve learned that life doesn’t hurt so badly if you compartmentalize.
Before I knew it, it was time to come to London to celebrate the wedding of Princess Eleanor and Liam Cunningham.
“I’m happy for them,” Natasha says. She’s sitting next to me, watching the newly married couple dance their first song. “The wedding was absolutely gorgeous.”
“And insane,” Monica says and nods. “I mean, eight hundred guests?”
“Just at the wedding ceremony,” I remind her, watching as Liam sweeps Ellie across the floor. “There are only about a hundred people here at the reception.”
“I didn’t think she could top the Versace gown she wore for the ceremony,” Nat says with a happy sigh. “But look at that little number.”
Ellie changed into a shimmery white ballgown, perfect for a princess. Her hair is pulled back in a loose braid, and she looks so damn happy as she gazes up at her new husband, it’s almost enough to make the likes of me shed a tear.
And I’m not a crier. I’m also not a romantic, so there’s that.
“Aspen,” Monica says in a loud whisper. “Ten o’clock.”
I frown but see him out of the corner of my eye. Callum walks toward me, his blue eyes pinned to mine. They’re hypnotic. I can’t look away.
I hate him. Hate. He forgot me. I’d been naked, writhing beneath him, and he fucking forgot.
But I have to admit, he’s a fine specimen of a man. I can hate him and still find him hot as hell.
“Do me the honor of a dance?”
“N—”
“Yes,” Natasha says, pushing me into his arms. “Dance.”
I don’t have a choice. The next thing I know, Callum has a grip on me and is whirling me around the dance floor.
“I’m not really much of a dancer.”
“You’re doing brilliantly,” he says and touches his cheek to my temple. Holy Moses, he’s too close. I remember every touch, every sigh from that night almost two years ago. The hand holding mine was in places no one had ventured in years—or since.
His body fit mine as if he were made just for me.
And he forgot.
I pull back and shake my head. “I’m not feeling well. I’d better go lie down.”
“There’s no reason to leave.” His eyes have lost their welcome. He’s cold now. “You’ve made yourself clear, Aspen. I won’t bother you again.”
And with that, he walks away, leaving me alone on the dance floor at a royal wedding.