Royally Claimed

chapter 7

THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED bright and sunny. Julia yawned and stretched in their nest of blankets. Frank was nowhere to be seen, but she figured he was probably outside checking any storm damage. He was such a creature of the outdoors, unhappy if cooped up for too long inside. Unless, of course, he was distracted by something more interesting.

She sat up and giggled, giddy as a teenager with her first crush, but satisfied as only an adult woman could be. She rolled her neck and tentatively touched her hair, amazed to find that although messy, it wasn’t wildly frizzy. Good grief, what did those women put in it? She didn’t know whether to be pleased or worry that she would need the hair equivalent of paint stripper to wash the product out.

Ah, well, too nice a day to worry about hair gel. She needed to find something to wear so she could cook up a big breakfast for Frank. He’d be hungry.

She found her top but not her bra, her pants but not her underwear. A theme. She wrapped up in a sheet and headed for the bathroom with her available clothing. If Frank was serious about having her stay, she’d need to make a trip back to her parents’ apartment for more things. And she’d need to call them so they wouldn’t worry about her disappearing for several days.

Julia grimaced. It had been a long time since she’d needed to check in with her parents, but they deserved the courtesy of knowing where she was. They worried a bit more than they used to. She’d make it sound as if there were a bunch of people working at the villa and she was doing it to keep from dying of boredom rather than dying of lust.

She hopped in the upstairs shower for a quick wash but was in the kitchen a few minutes later chopping up Portuguese sausage, onions, chives, peppers and tomatoes. She heated some olive oil in a skillet and tossed the mix in to start cooking down. The day-old crusty bread was perfect for French toast, so she beat a bunch of eggs, added cinnamon and a spoonful of sugar so the bread would brown nicely.

She soaked the bread in the egg mix and began frying the slices. The vegetable mix went into a yellow ceramic bowl. She wanted to wait for Frank to cook the omelets, since reheated eggs were terrible.

Almost forgot the coffee. It was perking along nicely when Frank came in a couple minutes later. He sniffed the air appreciatively. “What is that amazing smell?” He was amazing himself in a plain black T-shirt, khaki work pants and heavy workboots, which he toed off and left at the doormat. The T-shirt outlined all his chest muscles and he looked like a sexy, brawny construction worker.

“Coffee, French toast and I’ll make you an omelet if you’d like.” It was so cozy and domestic that she couldn’t stop grinning.

“Julia, you are a wonder.” He caught her around the waist and kissed her. “Good morning, my darling.”

She felt herself blush. “Good morning, honey.” She hadn’t used an endearment with anyone in years and it sounded stilted on her tongue, but he didn’t notice and beamed at her.

“Oh, the French toast!” She rescued it just in time to flip and he poured them both a cup of coffee. “How did the island do with the storm?”

“Eh, we didn’t do too badly.” She thought it was cute how he referred to himself and the island as a pair. “Some branches down, a door blown off a garden shed, but I got the electricity going again.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

He shrugged. “I’ve done it many times. No big deal.”

He’d think it was a big deal if he got shocked, but try telling him that now. She shook her head and pulled the French toast off, popping it into the oven to keep warm. “Ready for an omelet?”

“Always.” He grinned at her and raised his cup of coffee in a toast.

A couple minutes later, they were sitting at the center island eating breakfast together. Maple syrup wasn’t a staple in Portuguese houses, so they used local honey and jam for the French toast instead. “I really like pineapple jam on this,” she told him, cutting a bite.

He grabbed her wrist and ate the bread off her fork. “I agree.”

She shook her head in amusement and cut another piece. “Eat your own food. Didn’t I make enough?”

“It tastes better coming from you.” His big brown eyes melted her heart.

She sliced a bit of omelet and offered it to him. “Delicious,” he said, after chewing and swallowing. “Here.” He gave her some French toast with orange marmalade and honey. The tartness and sweetness mixed perfectly.

They fed each other the rest of breakfast. Julia dabbed at the corner of his mouth with her napkin. “You have honey here.”

“So do you.”

“I do?” She touched her mouth.

“Pure honey. But not from the jar.” He moved her hand away and kissed her.

He cleared the dishes into the sink with a rattle and set her on the wood table. “All throughout breakfast, I’ve been watching your breasts sway, your dark nipples hardening against the fabric when you fed me.” He slid his hand up her blouse and smiled when he found her bare breast. “Naughty Julia, where is your bra?”

She gestured helplessly at the tumbled blankets on the floor. “I couldn’t find it.”

“I’m not complaining.” He unbuttoned her blouse and pushed it off her shoulders.

She automatically covered herself, not being used to daytime nudity. He made a chiding sound and pulled her arms away. “You’re equally beautiful in the sun as the firelight.” He rested his cheek against her heart. His hair was warm and silky on her skin. Her arms came around him and she twined a black wave around her finger. He smelled of wind and water and his own unmistakable spicy scent.

“Oh, Julia.” He turned his face and kissed her breast. “Let me please you.”

“You already do,” she murmured. She felt him smile against her skin.

“A few years ago, I found several personal diaries of the previous Dukes of Santas Aguas. They discovered rather interesting ways to pass the time when they visited this island.”

“They took up tennis?” she quipped.

He laughed. “More of an indoor activity. They would sail to São Miguel and find the prettiest young women on the island, then bring them back to Belas Aguas.”

“To cook and clean?”

“To do whatever the Duke wanted.”

He wasn’t joking—she could tell this was a true story. “And they went along with this?”

Frank grinned. “It was considered an honor to have the attention of the Duke and he would send them back with a hefty dowry. The happier the girls made him, the bigger the dowry.” He winked.

“What if the Duke didn’t make them happy?”

“Oh, that was never an issue.” He kissed her soft belly. “The young ladies were always very pleased with the Duke’s particular skills.” He circled his tongue around her belly button.

“But they couldn’t go home.” Her heart was pounding like crazy as he unbuttoned her denim pants.

He raised both eyebrows. “Did they want to? Back to washing and cooking and cleaning when they could be doing this?”

Julia automatically lifted her hips as he slid the capris off. The wood was surprisingly warm against her bare bottom.

He stroked a finger around her *. “Do you want to go home? Shall I take you back?”

“No.” She affected a disappointed sigh despite how his finger was driving her crazy. “Since you can’t offer me a dowry, I suppose I can accept other means of exchange.”

“I am grateful for your understanding. Perhaps I can make it up to you.”

He stopped for a second and she opened her eyes in dismay. Her stare widened as he lifted the pot of honey. “Frank, what are you doing?”

“I am going to eat you up.” He lifted the wooden spoon from the pot and drizzled the sticky liquid over her breasts. It was cool at first but quickly warmed and spread.

“Ooh, messy!”

He laughed. “By the time I’m done, you won’t care.” He dipped the spoon again and drew honey lines across her belly.

She lifted her head. “Is that an F?”

“F for Frank, of course.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “What did you think? F for something else? Something you want me to do to you?”

He hadn’t touched her directly but she was starting to shake with anticipation. She pressed her legs together to try to ease the ache between them, but he nudged them apart and dripped honey down her *.

“Not because you’re not sweet enough,” he explained leisurely, as if he were working on a renovation project. “But because your hot little p-ssy will melt the honey and make you even slicker when I come to eat you up.”

“Is this one of the secrets of the Dukes of Santas Aguas?” she asked.

“The mental aphrodisiac of a powerful nobleman kneeling to pleasure a woman. You always found it extremely sexy, if I remember correctly.”

“I did,” she groaned, remembering how he had introduced her to the pleasures of oral sex, giving and receiving. She had been a virgin and he had been inexperienced as well, so they had learned together. Almost too well.

“Next time we’ll lie down together. I’ll lick your little honeypot and you can suck on me.”

She shuddered in anticipation as more memories flooded to the surface. No wonder the Dukes of Santas Aguas had no problems attracting women to be their island sex slaves. She was no exception.

He replaced his finger with his mouth and she arched off the table. “Frank!”

He gave an amused hum and continued swirling his tongue around her *, flicking and caressing it. She sobbed and clutched the edge of the table.

He slipped his finger inside her and she shuddered around him, slick and gripping. She moaned again and reached down to touch his hair. Tendrils of lust twined between her thighs, up her belly to her breasts. She fitfully brushed her nipple, hard and tight.

Frank lifted his head. “Cup your breasts, Julia. I want you to offer them up to me.”

In a daze, she did as he asked. He rewarded her obedience, just as the previous Dukes of Santas Aguas rewarded their lovers—with pleasure, unbearable pleasure. He dipped his finger into the pot of honey and painted each nipple with a thick, sticky coating, his fingers playing and pinching each peak until they looked like glazed chocolate drops, shiny-brown and pointed.

“Sweet as candy, just for me.”

“Touch me, Frank.” She was sobbing by then at the empty ache between her thighs.

He shook his head and she brushed between her legs in desperation. “I said no.” He caught her wrists in one big hand and held her arms over her head.

Her eyes widened, her hands trapped. “You’re pinning me down.” She meant it as a complaint, but her voice sounded more breathy and turned-on than anxious.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice dark with need.

She shook her head.

His gaze started at her flushed face and moved leisurely down to her honey-drenched breasts, down to her passion-drenched thighs. His cock pulsed against her hip. “Well, you’re hurting me,” he growled. “You?”

“I hurt for you. My body is on fire and you are the only one who can save me.” He fastened his mouth on her breast and she cried out again, the sweet, wet suction driving her mad. He licked the honey off her, nipping at the tip until she bucked under him. All he did was switch to the other breast, cleaning it with as much diligent attention as the first.

All the while he had her arms over her head, her breasts thrust upward for his greedy touch. She was at his mercy—but she loved it. Except she’d love it much better if he moved back down her body.

“Touch me, Frank,” she begged.

“Where? Here?” He bent again, one hand on her breast and the other sliding down her body.

She tried to point but he shook his head. “Keep your arms above your head or I’ll wrap my belt around your wrists and tie you to the table.”

She shuddered in pleasure and did as he asked. Imagining being tied up was an unexpected turn-on.

He reached her hot wet center and pushed a finger inside her. She arched off the table and he added another finger to thrust in and out, leisurely mimicking how he’d pleasured her last night. It was just as devastating, especially when he bent his head and sucked on her swollen little nub.

Dizzy heat burned through her and she thought she’d faint. His mouth teased and played with her, long licking strokes around mixed with sharp suction. Oh, yes, Frank was a master, and he was mastering her.

She reached down to touch his silky hair and he raised his head. “Ah, so you want me to tie you down?” His fingers continued their lazy strokes. “That big four-poster bed upstairs has seen more that its share of naughty women over the centuries. Imagine being tied up for unrelenting hours of passion as the Duke licked her, thrust into her, teased her. And only if she were very good, would he let her come.” Frank pinched her nipple and Julia screamed his name, tension shattering inside of her as she climaxed.

He was between her thighs in an instant. She heard a packet crinkle and then he was spreading her wide open and sliding inside her. Her eyes flew open at his welcome invasion.

“Oh, yesss,” he groaned. “Sticky, sweet and wet.” He braced his hands on either side of her head. “Touch yourself, make yourself come again.”

She reached between them, crying out as she found her hot, swollen *. She touched him too, brushing them both as she frantically rubbed herself.

“Yeah, I can feel you squeezing me.” He sucked a honeyed nipple into his mouth and Julia screamed, coming again.

Frank moaned against her breast and exploded inside her, rocking the table with his frenzied thrusts. She clung to him, eagerly milking his cock for every last bit of pleasure. Both of their climaxes seemed to last for an eternity, but she finally opened her eyes. He gingerly raised himself up and pushed back to stand on the kitchen floor, quickly disposing of the protection.

Julia knew she was a mess and tried to cover herself with her hands, but he caught her wrists. “You are beautiful, but let’s find a shower.”

“And then what?” She sat up with his help and hopped off the table.

“My four-poster bed.” He laughed at her look of alarm. “Yes, those stories about the bed are true. And yes, I think you want to try it, don’t you?”

An involuntary shiver ran through her and he laughed again, cupping her elbow. “Come upstairs, meu bem, and you can see for yourself.”

“Just a second. I didn’t get to ask you last night, but where did you get the protection? Do you keep some here?” She fought to keep the jealousy out of her voice.

“These came from the safe upstairs.”

She started to laugh and he gave her a mock-wounded look. “Do you think I want my family to have access to everything I own? They’re nosy enough as it is.” He struck a pose. “The Duke of Santas Aguas demands his privacy. Not that I get much,” he admitted.

“As long as they haven’t expired.” But who else came here to meet Frank?

He read her mind. “I brought them over last year when it seemed like I would bring a guest to visit. But it didn’t work out and she never was invited.” He shrugged. “Our island is a very special place and she wasn’t the right one.”

Did he mean “our island” as in his family’s island or as in Julia and Frank’s island? She didn’t have the nerve to ask.

“But you are the right one. The only one I have brought here.”

“Really?”

“I swear. You fit here perfectly and you fit me perfectly, dripping with honey and your own juices…” His voice trailed off and she noted in surprise that his cock was stiffening again. He’d always been extremely eager before, but she assumed it was because he’d been barely twenty. How nice that hadn’t changed.

“Take me upstairs, Franco. I’m feeling very naughty.” Her voice was unusually husky and seductive. “Show me how the Duke of Santas Aguas disciplines a naughty woman.”

He swept her up into his arms before her next breath. “How naughty have you been?”

“Very,” she assured him.

“Good.” He headed for the stairs and she couldn’t stop giggling. Naughty didn’t even begin to cover what she had in mind.