Page 58 of Broken Desires
The ceremony wraps up, and as everyone starts to shuffle out, prepping for the next phase of today’s grand celebration, my phone buzzes.
BB: Meet me in the throne room.
My heart races as I make my way there, the anticipation building with each step. The guards at the door nod, recognizing me, and as they open the door to let me in, I’m momentarily caught in a surreal moment. Then, they close it, clicking the lock into place, leaving me in a space that feels both grand and intimate because he’s there.
And there he is—Alexander, or Liam to me—seated majestically on his throne, the weight of the crown seemingly effortless atop his head.
The room, filled with the grandeur of history and power, suddenly feels intimate, charged with the electricity between us.
“I never took you for someone who’d send a royal summons,” I start, breaking the silence with a teasing tone, my nerves steadied by the sight of him.
He smirks. “Only for the most important matters. Besides, I had to see if you’d come running to your king.”
“Running? More like a dignified walk,” I reply, stepping closer, the space between us charged with an unspoken desire. “And I am American. You are not my king.”
“I’ve always been your king, wild rose.” The darkening of his eyes causes shivers down my spine.
I step even closer to him, stopping before the couple of stairs leading to the throne.
His gaze softens as I approach. “Did you mean it? What you signed during the ceremony?”
My breath hitches, remembering the moment. “You saw that, huh?”
“Always,” he affirms, his words a mix of tenderness and certainty. “My eyes were only on you. But what about you, Nessa? Do you… do you love me?”
The vulnerability in his question catches me off guard, stripping away any pretense of banter. “Yes,” I whisper, the word heavy with all the emotions I’ve tried to keep at bay. “I love you, Liam. Not the king, not the crown. You.”
“And I love you. Just you, Nessa. Always you.” The tenderness in his expression tugs at something deep within me, stirring longing and affection that’s been simmering beneath the surface.
Closing the gap between us, I find myself drawn closer until I’m standing right between his legs, the proximity sending a wave of anticipation through me. It’s been too long since I’ve been this close to him, too long since I’ve felt his touch, breathed in his scent. I’ve missed everything about him.
“Tell me, Your Majesty,” I tease, leaning in, the words barely a whisper but laden with intent. “Would you prefer me on my knees or on yours?”
The question takes him by surprise, his sharp intake of breath a clear indication he hadn’t anticipated such forwardness. Yet, there’s a spark in his eyes—surprise and desire—that tells me he’s every bit as affected by our closeness as I am.
He widens his legs, jerking his hips up in silent invitation. I keep my eyes on his as I reach under my dress and pull down my underwear.
“Would his Highness like a memento?” I tease, dangling my underwear on my finger.
He extends his hand silently and takes the black lace from me, putting it in his pocket.
I settle on his lap, the throne wide enough to accommodate us comfortably.
He rests his hands on my hips as I rock against his hardening cock.
“Fuck, I missed you.” He groans before starting to kiss my neck.
“I missed you too. So much.” I tilt my head back to give him better access as I grind myself harder against him, uncaring about the mess my wetness is causing on his black pants.
“I need you inside me,” I whisper as he trails his teeth along my jawline in a way that makes me completely lose my mind.
He grabs my jaw in the dominant way he sometimes has and makes me look down at him. “Take whatever you need—I’m here to serve.”
My heart skips a beat at the intensity of his words, and I let out a little moan as he raises his hips, pressing his hardness against my aching core.
I raise myself just enough to give access to his pants, but despite the complicated setting and knowing how much he wants me back, he doesn’t move—just rests his arms against the armrests and watches me struggle.
“A little help would be nice,” I tell him with a huff of frustration after taking way too long to just undo his weird-looking belt.