Love in Fantasy (Skeleton Key) (18 page)

Tears start to course down her cheeks and she leans her forehead on the door, staring at the ground. It’s then that she notices the glow coming from her purse and squats down to investigate. The skeleton key is sitting atop everything else in her bag, putting off a dim blue light and, when she picks it up, she realizes it’s subtly humming with energy. Out of nowhere, the thought to try this key in her door fills her mind. She snorts and shakes her head at the crazy notion, but it’s annoyingly persistent.

She shrugs and figures, why the hell not? The key slides easily into the lock and when it unexpectedly clicks, she pushes forward and the door opens. Rushing inside to get out of the rain, she grabs the key and shuts the door before she stops just inside, shaking the water off of her and wringing out her hair. After a moment, she looks around in confusion and wonders why her mind is playing such tricks on her. She’s in a beautifully decorated foyer, cream wallpaper with gold swirls, a travertine floor, and two huge golden double doors across from her.

The key picks up with its activity again; it’s warm in her palm and, as though by a magnetic force, her hand extends to a lock on one of the doors with an etching depicting the item in her hand. It unlocks the door, and she pulls hard until it opens enough for her to slip through the crack. Only to find herself, once again, being bombarded by rain, drenching her from head to toe, her dress becoming plastered to her skin as wind whips around her. Looking back, she wants to punch something because the damn doors are no longer there. With a defeated droop in her shoulders, she trudges forward, up to yet another set of doors. Only . . . this time, they are eerily familiar. These are—she’s at the front entrance of Dylan’s palace. She closes her eyes and drops her head back, ready for a freak out to hit her at any minute. But, it never comes. Instead she simply wants to get out of the storm, get dry, and rest. Lifting her head back up, this is when she realizes she no longer has the key, but it really doesn’t matter, no way would she walk right into Dylan’s house. Even on the off chance that it would transport her to yet another random place. She takes hold of the ginormous door knocker and bangs it three times. To her relief, it doesn’t take long for someone to answer.

Henry, the castle butler, sees her and gasps, immediately taking her arm and gently drawing her into the entryway. “Princess Odette! What are you doing out in this deluge?” he asks with compassion in his tone. It warms her and she finds she doesn’t feel quite so cold and desolate.

“I—” She pauses, not sure how to explain without earning herself a trip the attic to hang with Mr. Rochester’s crazy-eyed wife. “It’s a long story,” she says, following Henry into the kitchen where he indicates she should stay and then hurries out of the room. He quickly returns with a stack of fluffy, blue towels and puts one around her shoulders, handing her a second to soak up some of the water in her hair.

“You shouldn’t be out in this weather, Princess.” He admonishes without real censure. “I’ll make you a warm cup of tea. Is Dylan aware you were coming?” He busies himself puttering around, making her hot drink and making a plate of mouthwatering snacks.

“I don’t think so.” At least, since she hadn’t planned to be here herself, she assumed he hadn’t, either. Henry nods and shuffles over to a panel on the wall between two tall pantries. He presses a button and waits until a tinny voice comes through the speaker.

“What’s up, Henry?” Odette’s heart begins to pitter patter at the sound of Dylan’s low timbre. His voice never fails to get her hot and bothered and this instance is no different. She squeezes her thighs together and feels her cheeks heat, hoping Henry doesn’t notice her aroused state. She’s also a little surprised to hear Dylan answer, he still doesn’t live at the castle, so it was unlikely he would be here.

“Princess Odette is here. She was soaked through from the rain, so I brought her to the kitchen to dry off and have a hot drink,” Henry informs him matter-of-factly.

“What the fuck?” Dylan growls. “Why was she out in this shit storm?”—there’s a beat of silence—“never mind. I’ll be right down.” Henry nods, clearly satisfied with Dylan’s response and finishes up the tea, bringing it to a small wooden table situated by a large fireplace.

“Have a seat, Princess,” he instructs and Odette obeys without question, gratefully accepting the mug of steaming liquid. Her teeth had just begun to chatter. She sighs as she sips it and it heats her from the inside out.

“Hey, sweet pea,” Dylan says as he strolls into the room. Despite the endearment and soft tone, his lips are turned down into a frown. He stops in front of her and squats down to look in her eyes. “Look at you. You’re going to catch pneumonia.” Taking a fresh towel from the stack, he helps to squeeze the moisture from her hair, concern in his beautiful blue eyes, currently the color of a stormy ocean, indicating his displeasure. “Why were you out in this weather, sweet pea?”

“I—um. . .” She gulps, trying to come up with a viable reason. “I needed to see you.”

Concern darkens his eyes further. “Is everything ok?”

She nods quickly. “Nothing is wrong. I just—I needed to see you, feel you hold me.”

His expression softens, and he leans forward to kiss her lips. “You know I always want to see you, Odette, but you couldn’t wait until the weather cleared?”

She opens her mouth to respond but is cut off by a haughty, extremely unwelcome presence. “Odette,” the queen sneers, managing to do so with a fake smile. “What has you traipsing about in weather no lady should be out in?”

“Hello,” Odette grits in acknowledgment, but she keeps her eyes on Dylan. “Can I shower and change into something dry?”

He cups one side of her face in a big palm and kisses the tip of her nose. “Of course, sweet pea. Since I’m staying here for a couple of weeks while my place is under construction, I brought some of our clean clothes over.” Standing, he extends a hand and she grasps it, allowing him to pull her up, then he unceremoniously sweeps her up into his arms

“I’m getting you all wet,” she admonishes even as her arms circle his neck and she rests her head on his shoulder. He brushes his lips sweetly across her forehead.

Quietly, only loud enough for Odette to hear, he whispers, “I guess, I’ll have to shower with you. But, I’d prepare yourself to get even wetter.” She shivers at the promise in his velvety voice. Then, to his mother, he says at regular volume, “Goodnight, Mother.”

They are almost out the door when she calls out and Odette hides her grimace by burying her face in Dylan’s neck. “I’ll have Bernadette make up the guest room.”

He stops and the muscles of his neck tense against her face as he twists his head to look at his mother over his other shoulder. “No need. Odette will be in my suite.” There is a subtle bite to his tone.

“When you are king, you may sleep with whomever you like, Dylan,” she states in a frosty tone. “Until then, your . . . friend . . . sleeps in a guest room.” Her deliberate exclusion of “girl” before friend doesn’t go unnoticed. The hardening of Dylan’s jaw has Odette doing a mental fist bump. Because mentally giving her the bird isn’t very princessy and she was determined to prove the old bat wrong, even if it was only in her head.

“Fine,” he says tightly and Odette’s head whips up, almost busting his chin. But, when she looks up, he winks at her. “I’ll put her in the rose guestroom.”

“Well, I was going to prepare the yel—” She starts to argue with him but he quickly shuts her down.

“—My room or the rose room, Mother.”

She sniffs haughtily and Odette rolls her eyes. “The rose room is reserved for princesses, Dylan.”

Odette’s jaw drops. King father, queen mother, eleven princess sisters . . .
pretty sure it qualifies me as a princess, you old biddy.

“Another reason to put Odette in there, Mother,” Dylan tosses out flippantly as he strides from the kitchen.

Odette lays her head back down, muttering, “
Does she think I was spawned by the milkman
?” He laughs as he treks through the castle until they reach his suite of rooms, but stops at the door in the hall right before the entrance to his bedroom. Letting her legs go, he gently helps her to stand steadily on her feet. Keeping his hands on her waist, he turns her around to face the room, then shuffles her inside. It’s gorgeous, decorated in varying shades of rose and grey.

Dylan dips his head to the side of hers and points to a door, he murmurs, “See the door there?” She nods. “As it happens, it opens up to my bedroom.” His next words are practically purred. “Now, don’t go getting any lascivious ideas, sweet pea.” He nibbles on her ear and the pitter patter of her heart returns. “Let me show you the bathroom.”

Stepping away, he takes her hand and she trails behind him when he leaves the room and enters the next door down. This room is clearly masculine, done in creams, chocolate brown, and a hint of light grey. He continues across the room and enters a gorgeous bathroom with a shower big enough to fit at least six people. It sits in the center of the room, all for walls made of glass, the erotic images suddenly filling her head heat her up more than the tea had.

Dylan shuts the door and walks over to the shower, turning it on before returning to where she is standing aimlessly. Without a word, he begins to undress her, his fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. If she wasn’t already drenched from head to toe, she might have been a little embarrassed by how wet she is between her legs. He kneels down to help her out of her pants, kissing his way back up, pausing to lick through her slick folds. “Hmm, seems you aren’t soaked solely from the rain, sweet pea.” Odette moans, incapable of speech, shivering for an entirely different reason. “I’m not happy you were out in this dangerous weather, especially making the six-hour drive from Rêves, however”—he reached her breasts and stops to lick each hardened nipple—“I’m very happy you are here.” He stands, and she gets to watch him discard his own clothes, showing off his spectacular physique. Picking her up again, he takes them both to the glass enclosure, now fogged up with steam. He steps inside and under the spray of four different shower heads, then lets her wet body slide slowly down, letting her feel everything, all of him. His eyes are deep grey-blue now, filled with flames of desire, and a sexy smile on his face. She grabs him by the back of his neck and tugs him down to kiss him, moaning when he eagerly participates. He nips at her, sweeps his tongue inside, and sucks her bottom lip into his mouth. She flinches when she suddenly finds her herself backed up to the cold glass, and she bites Dylan’s lip when he chuckles.

“Ouch, sweet pea,” he pouts, running his tongue over the abused spot. “Be nice, or you’re going to get yourself in trouble.”

She perks up curiously. “What kind of trouble?”

He narrows his eyes, his hands roaming up to cup her breasts before pinching her nipples hard enough to make her yelp. “The kind where you get a spanking and get fucked hard and rough up against the wall of my shower.”

Odette’s heart is pounding and her pussy clenches, suddenly gushing with arousal. She gets close to him again in a half a second and bites his lip hard enough to draw a little blood. Dylan growls and pulls her away from the wall before his hand lands on her ass with a ringing slap. She gasps as the sting of pain and the accompanying streak of pleasure. He gives her other cheek the same treatment. Alternating so each gets three hard smacks.

She whimpers and before she knows it, Dylan has the glass supporting her back as he puts her legs around his waist and drives his cock into her pussy, fully seating himself in one thrust. “Oh fuck!” he shouts in ecstasy and freezes, every muscle tight, his face contorted as he tries to regain control of himself. The walls of her pussy clench around his big, long cock, earning her another spanking. “Behave,” he growls, starting to slowly move in and out.

“Make me,” she pants sassily as she bears down once more.

“Odette!” he yells, but it ends on a deep groan and his hips pick up triple the speed, going so deep he bumps her womb every time.

“Yes, Dylan! Harder!” she screams, close, so close to coming.

“I should go slow and torture you,” he scolds tightly, his jaw flexed from clenching his teeth. “Lucky for you, I haven’t fucked you in two months and I need you fast and hard.”

He pounds into her, her screams making him more and more frantic with his thrusts, plunging deep inside without rhythm, lost to his senses. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Damn, sweet pea, I need you to come. Your pussy is milking me, and I’m not going to last much longer,” he grinds out. “Come now, Odette.” He lifts her under the ass and bends his knees slightly so she is falling down on his cock and after two drops, she flies apart, creaming on his cock, making her pussy so slick he slides easily in and out, despite the grip of her walls.

He lifts and drops her on his cock one, two, three more times, then he shoves her back against the wall and shouts the walls down, burying himself so deep she feels his hot come explode, coating her womb. Over and over, jets of semen burst from him, and each time, it sets her off on another mini-orgasm. His bruising grip on her ass and the pressure with which he’s got her hacked into the glass, keep their groins plastered together so nothing can escape.

Later, they are completely lethargic from rounds two and three before they finally washed and finished their shower. He tells her to stay put while he gets her something to wear, so she waits by the half-open door of the bathroom.

There is a knock on his door and he makes a low noise of frustration as he throws on a pair of pajama pants and strides over to open it. He crosses his arms across his defined chest and leans casually against the door frame, keeping the door mostly closed behind him.

“Mother. What do you need?”

“She’s in there with you.” His mother’s accusatory voice carries clearly to where Odette is waiting.

“There is no need to point out something I already know. Get to the point, mother,” he says with a sigh.

“You can’t marry her, Dylan. She’s not a real princess.”

“For the love of . . . what the hell are you talking about?”