It begins in the dining room, where Henry's having breakfast with all three of the remaining contestants--Penny, Laura, and Cordelia. Henry's in a rowdy good mood, smiling and laughing . . . and teasing with them all. And that's how it starts. There's a bitter taste in the back of my throat as I think, He should be joking with me, and only with me.
The rational part of my brain reminds me: we discussed this. He asked me if I believed him when he said he didn't want to continue filming and I said I did.
So why am I wondering now if perhaps he wasn't being entirely truthful? If maybe, just maybe, he likes having three beautiful women fawning over him during the day--the pig--and a different, starry-eyed woman in his bed at night.
He certainly seems to like it now.
Laura's eyes close in ecstasy as she eats the omelets prepared by the chef brought in by the show. And then she says, "Henry! You have to try this, it's unreal!"
It's fucking eggs.
But she scoops some omelet onto her fork . . . the same fork she just used . . . and offers it up to Henry.
And that's what pushes me over the edge. I have to walk away. I don't wait around to see if he eats off her fork. Christ, it's like a bad idiom.
Just before I turn around, with my fists clenched at my sides, Henry catches my eye, and whatever he sees on my face makes him stop mid-chew and drop the smile from his lips.
But he doesn't follow after me. He just keeps eating breakfast and filming.
Things continue downhill at lunchtime--like an avalanche. They're filming outside, around the perimeter of the castle. It's cool and windy, but the sun is warm. Henry's walking with Cordelia and her flatulent little dog, Walter. He grips Walter's leash and they chat as they stroll, grinning, making such a pretty picture together.
He doesn't hold her hand or put his arm around her. He keeps Walter firmly between them at all times, like a drooling little buffer, so even when Cordelia leans in for a kiss, he's able to lean back, turn his shoulder. and pick up a ball to play fetch.
I know all this--I see it.
But it doesn't help the absolute wretched feeling inside as I watch them together. It's a yearning, like my soul is trying to pull out of my body, and it's a crushing pain, like my heart and my lungs are being squeezed by an invisible vise.
After his walk with Cordelia, Henry comes straight for me in the courtyard, his brow weighted with worry. He puts his hand on my arm and as easy as that, my stomach flutters and swoons. She's a weak, spineless organ and it doesn't take much to please her.
"What's wrong with you?" Henry asks.
I open my mouth to answer, but he doesn't let me.
"And don't say 'nothing.' I know there's something. You're looking at me like you want to burst into tears and kick me in the balls and you can't make up your mind which to do first."
I chuckle, because it's like he's reading my mind.
"It's this, isn't it?" His eyes flick around us, at the cameras and crew. "That's what's bothering you."
And I haven't lied to him up until this point, so why start now?
"Yes."
Henry nods and his face tenses with consternation. But before he can say anything else, Penelope is there, wrapping her arms around Henry's, looking adorable in snug cut-off jeans and a casual maroon top, without a clue about the conversation she just walked in on.
"Come on, Henry! It's our turn in the kitchen. They're having us make chocolate lava cake! I love lava cake but I've never made it a day in my life . . . it's going to be an epic disaster!"
And then my little sister looks between us.
"What's going on? What's the matter?"
And it's my sister. Of all people, I should be able to stand watching Henry with my darling sister.
I shake my head and look into Henry's eyes. "I'm being silly. It's fine."
He hesitates.
"Truly, Henry, it's all right."
"What's all right?" Penny presses. "What the hell is going on with you two?"
And I see the moment when Henry decides to go forward. His face breaks into a smile and his voice changes--with obviously faked enthusiasm, but I'm the only one who recognizes it.
"Nothing's going on, Pen. Sarah wants to explore the tunnels below the castle--supposedly there's an old dungeon down there, maybe a tomb or two--but she's too scared to go alone."
Penny squeals. "Oooh, that's creepy! Well, Henry can take you after filming, but count me out! I won't be able to sleep another night in this old place again."
She tugs on Henry's arm.
"Come on, they're waiting for us. And you have to wash up and change."
He lets her pull him along, glancing back over his shoulder once to look at me.
Turns out, watching Henry play house with my sister makes it worse, not better. When she flicks confectionery sugar at him flirtatiously, I want to vomit. And when he wipes a bit of batter off her cheek with a cloth--a strictly platonic move--I realize I'm done. Finished. I can't watch this anymore. I don't want to.
And more than that, I can't hide in my room knowing that scenes like this--and worse--are going on outside of it.
I feel his eyes follow me when I turn on my heel and stomp upstairs.
TWO HOURS LATER, I find her in our room, packing, with John Cale singing "Hallelujah" softly in the background from her mobile. Watching Sarah slowly gather her things, seeing her precious books packed in the satchel by the door, all ready to go, makes me fucking livid. Furious. Does she really think she can just walk away?
Does she actually believe I would let her?
I want to throw all her things out the window into the ocean and tie her to the bloody bed--and I know how unhinged that sounds, which is why I'm not saying it out loud.
I don't want to control her; I just want to keep her. Her gentle spirit, her kind loveliness has become the center of my world and I'm not sure I know how to function anymore without it. I take it back--I don't want to tie her to the bed, at least not right now.
Right now, I just want to tie Sarah to me.
I cross my arms, leaning against the closed door. She jumps when I speak, like she didn't know I was here.
"What are you doing?"
My voice is calm, but I know my eyes are bright and intense, and there's a visible frantic energy in my limbs, because we both know exactly what she's doing.
"I'm going to go home now."
I nod, watching her every move. The soft sway of her hips, that lovely tight bottom that was made for biting, the gentle slope of her jaw that's now tense with her frustration.
She lays a stack of sweaters in the suitcase and I move forward, quick and sharp. And a second later, her sweaters aren't in the suitcase anymore--they're strewn all over the room, because that's where I tossed them.
"Hey!"
Glaring at me, she picks one up, shakes it out, folds it, and places it in the suitcase--and then it's back out again, flying over my shoulder.
"Stop that!"
I move in closer, going nose to nose. "You stop it. You're not going anywhere."
She throws her arms up. "Why not? Penny's been on her best behavior--there's no reason for me to be here!"
"I'm the reason!" I shout back. "I need you here!"
Sarah looks away, off to the corner of the room. "I can't do it. I can't stand it. I thought I could but I can't. Watching you with them makes something ugly and painful spring up inside me. Maybe you could come to me when it's all over and then we can see if there's something between us . . ."
If there's something between us? Has she lost her fucking mind?
"I'll quit the show. Today."
That brings her up short--she genuinely wasn't expecting it. She actually thought I was going to just let her walk out the door. I can't decide if that's more funny or sad.
"I don't think you can do that."
"I can do anything I want . . . it comes with the title."
"Vanessa will be furious."
I shrug. "That's why we keep
lawyers on retainer."
Sarah moves closer, slowly, cautiously, looking up at me.
"You would do that? Quit, just because it makes me upset?"
I almost laugh. "Of course."
"Why?"
And then I'm the one peering down at her, with perplexed, puzzled eyes.
"Because I'm in love with you, sweet silly girl."
She goes still, just . . . looking at me. And wetness rises in her eyes.
I press my palm to her jaw.
"Didn't you know that? Can't you see it, Sarah? I'm absolutely gone for you."
Her breath shudders as she inhales. "I wasn't sure. I'd hoped, but . . ."
I slip her glasses off and set them on the bedside table so I can kiss her eyelids, tasting tears.
"I love you."
Then I kiss each cheek and her dainty little chin. "I love, love, love you."
I kiss the tip of her nose and her plush, perfect mouth.
And then we're falling, falling onto the bed. I push aside suitcases and clothing, making room, but my lips never leave hers. I slip both my hands beneath her head, holding her and lifting, our tongues stroking, swirling. And then I angle my mouth across Sarah's, and my hands skim over soft flesh and into her hair and back down again. She pulls at the hem of my shirt, raising it up my spine--I lift my arms, helping her.
And then her hands delve into my hair, stroking and gripping. Her lips are at my collarbone, across my chest, up my neck and my jaw.
I pull her shirt up and off, and flick the clasp at her bra so it falls away, and we're skin to heated skin.
And there are no words. We don't need them. Our hands speak for us--desperate and holding. Our tongues show our wet worship and our eyes speak our confession--our adoration for each other.
When we're completely bare, I slide down Sarah's body, sucking at her peaked, pink nipples. Her back arches and her legs spread and I slide lower, kissing and licking her pussy until she's whimpering and writhing on the bed and tugging at my hair. Then I slip back up to her, face to face. Her fingers spread across my cheek, holding me close as she kisses me with all she is and gives me all she has.
I dip my hand between her legs and I moan into her mouth when I feel how wet she is, so tight and sweet. And then it's not my fingers tracing her lower lips, opening her--it's the hard, full head of my cock. I use it to spread her wetness, to rub her clit, and when I know she can't stand a moment more, when she needs to feel me every bit as desperately as I ache for her, I take myself in hand and press inside her.
I groan at the sensation of her impossible snugness. At the sucking, greedy clamping of her pussy clenching at the head of my cock. Breathing raggedly, I withdraw. I glance up at Sarah's face. Her eyes are lowered, watching with panting breaths as I push into her again, further this time. And she moans, longingly, deeply, hungrily.
I feel her nails dig into my arms and her hips rise, needing more. Needing everything.
I press my cock into her tightness again, this time not stopping. Smoothly, gently, I push forward, sliding in.
I don't ask if she's all right; I watch her beautiful face, her closed eyes, smooth and unflinching as she absorbs every sensation.
And fuck, the sensations are overwhelming. She closes in around me, muscles wet and gripping, cradling me inside her.
With my elbows on the bed, I hover above her, nose to nose, breath to breath. And then I pull back my hips, and thrust hard and quick--so I'm fully, gloriously buried.
Sarah's mouth opens on a short cry, her neck arching. I slant my mouth across hers, swallowing her moans, licking her lips and sucking her tongue. And then Sarah opens her eyes and they shine with joy and heat and aching desire.
She licks her lips and runs her fingers through my hair.
"You're inside me," she whispers against my mouth, and it's almost too much. "You're inside me, Henry."
I nod helplessly. Then I twine our fingers together and raise our hands over her head. And then, pressing my mouth to Sarah's, kissing her like it's the end of the world, I move.
Steady and gentle, I roll my hips around and around, rubbing her clit with my lower pelvis near the base of my cock. She moves with me, her hips rising and circling.
And it's so fucking beautiful. So fucking right.
Anything that came before is nothing. This is all that matters. This brave, stunning girl in my arms is all I will ever need.
My mind goes weightless and my body takes over. Circles turn to thrusts, harder than before, her slick pussy and keening moans make me crazed. Sarah clenches at my arse, pushing me deeper.
"Henry," she gasps, her fingers sliding up and grasping onto my shoulder blades with a fraught urgency. "Henry."
I wrap my arms under and around her, pulling her closer, letting her know I've got her.
"That's it, love. That's it," I croon. "You're going to come, you're going to come right around my cock. That's my love."
My hips don't stop moving, rubbing against her, thrusting deep inside her.
And when that perfect, sobbing, blissful cry erupts from her lips moments later, when she presses her temple against my cheek and goes taut and stiff because the pleasure is wracking her body and it's too intense to move . . .
That's when I let myself go. I bury my face in Sarah's neck and pump hard and quick--and then I'm filling her, coming in powerful pulses that reduce my voice to grunts and groans, and my heart to a pounding wreck that belongs to this girl alone.
After, I lift my head and feel the caress of her hand against my ribs. I kiss her lips and her nose and wipe the tears that leak from the corners of her eyes.
And Sarah looks into my eyes and whispers, "I love you, Henry."
And it's the most perfect moment of my life.
"We didn't use anything."
Probably not the most romantic post-coital thing I've ever said. But condoms are the golden rule of royal intercourse, and this is the first time I've broken it.
Sarah nods against my chest, where she rests her head.
"I know."
"It's my fault. I should've thought of it."
"I could've thought of it too. I was a virgin, not an idiot."
"I've been tested; you don't have to worry."
"I'm not worried."
I turn on my side so I can see her eyes. "What are you thinking right now?"
"It's the wrong time of my cycle for a baby. But, I read once that there's a word for people who only use the rhythm method for birth control."
"What's the word?'
"Parents." Sarah grins.
I chuckle, then blow out a breath and look back at the ceiling. "I would be okay if you were pregnant. I mean . . . it wouldn't be ideal in the grand scheme of things, my grandmother would shit a brick and it would make the ridiculousness that can be my life even more chaotic. But I would take care of you. And I would be all right with it . . . happy, excited even. Is that insane?"
She takes her time thinking about it. "If it is, then we're both certifiable, because that about sums up my thoughts too."
Sarah snuggles in closer, drawing pictures on my chest with her fingertip, and I like how she feels right up against me. "I think this is how it is when you're in love. And nothing seems too big or too scary, because you know whatever happens, you won't be facing it alone."
A few moments later, I leave the bed and run a cloth under the warm water at the bathroom sink. Then I come back and gently wipe the pink-tinged fluid from between Sarah's legs. A muted blush rises on her cheeks as I tend to her, but she doesn't object. After doing the same to myself, I slip back under the covers and wrap my arm around her.
I kiss the top of her head and comb my fingers through her hair as she drifts off, her breath coming in steady, tickling brushes against my neck. But I don't fall asleep. I stay up, watching her--because she's so beautiful, and good. My darling girl.
I've never had someone who was just mine, body and soul--mine to protect and hold and love. And that's what Sarah is
. . . she belongs to me now. We belong to each other.
I dress early the next morning so I can speak to Vanessa, and tell her that I'm out. It takes me a bit of time to actually go, because Sarah's lips are terribly distracting. I can't seem to stop kissing them.
But, eventually, I force my feet to walk out the door.
And less than five minutes later I march back through it--unbuttoning my trousers and taking my clothes off as I go. It's important to be efficient.
"What's happening?" Sarah asks.
"Get naked, right now. It's food poisoning."
"What?"
"They all have it--something from the food service table last night. Everyone who ate there has it."
And everyone ate there--the producers, the crew, Penny, Laura, and Cordelia . . . everyone except Sarah and I.
I slip out of my shoes, and my trousers and pants hit the floor. My cock juts out, firm and ready and swaying a bit as I move, like it's saying hello.
"Why do you still have clothes on?" I move up to her. "Here, I'll help you." Then I'm undressing and kissing her. "We have hours, probably days." I lean over her and kiss her longer, deeper, thrusting into her pretty mouth the way I'm going to be thrusting into her very soon.
"We can do this for days, Sarah."
I unbutton my shirt quickly, but when I try to tug my arms out of the sleeves, my hands get stuck in the cuffs. So I yank harder, sending the buttons flying. Sarah laughs at me, at my eagerness. But I'm more than eager--I'm borderline desperate, with this insatiable craving to touch her, to fuck her, to hold her, to be near her. It's out of control in the best way, like she's the fabled good drug--a positive addiction--and I'll do anything for a fix.
Shirtless and smiling, I lift her up and set her on the dresser gently, feeling like I want to be anything but. She's probably tender from yesterday and God, I'm like an animal, wanting to rub and rut with her, even if we both starve to death.
"Tell me to slow down." I step between her legs and hold her face in my hands. I lean down and kiss her in quick, needy brushes--sipping at her lips. "Tell me to stop, Sarah."
Her brows come together and her head shakes, like the words make no sense. "No, please." She reaches around my waist and locks her legs about my hips, drawing me close and hot against her. "Don't ever stop, Henry."