Senior Year Box Set

I did as she said and wormed another third in before Erika reached back and stopped me.

“I have an idea. Roll over, and that way, I can see your face so I’ll know if I’m hurting you,” I suggested.

I pulled out, and she rolled over. Then I pushed her legs wide apart, and she wrapped them around my waist. I drove back in halfway.

“How long has it been?” I asked.

“Probably five years,” she admitted.

That explained a lot. I took my time and slowly worked my way in. Once Erika became used to it, she shuddered again, and I swear she climaxed. From that point it was game on. I loved how her breasts jiggled as we rocked into each other. It was like inserting Mr. Happy into a hot, wet vise. It was almost too much.

When Erika finally got me off, she was energized and eager to go for more. I didn’t have any more condoms, but she convinced me she was protected, so we tried almost everything. It seemed I’d created a monster. I doubted she would wait another five years before doing this again.

◊◊◊

Erika had nodded off and was out cold next to me. I’d just fallen asleep when my phone rang. I grabbed it quickly so as not to disturb her. Frank, my publicist, barked at me when I answered.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been flooded with requests for comment from the British press.”

“Frank, it’s like three in the morning here. You need to talk slowly and get to the point,” I said.

“They’re calling you a home-wrecker. They want to know why you would go after Lord Smyth’s fiancée.”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” I complained.

“Did you spend the day with Princess Erika?”

Frick! My mom was going to kill me.

◊◊◊

Chapter 6 – Complicated Sunday March 26

I’d gotten almost no sleep last night. I debated whether to just bail or to stay and talk with Erika in the morning. In the end, I decided to wait. The tipping point had been when I remembered what a reeking heap of excrement her supposed fiancé was.

Harry had admitted he would never stop cheating on his future wife. He and his mates had been caught in the act at the fundraiser. How much of an ass did you have to be to destroy one of your best friends’ engagement? And to flaunt your plans in front of your betrothed?

I mean, I sort of got the whole gentry mindset of an heir and a spare. Lands and titles had to be handed down in a certain way. I even understood arranged marriage between the aristocrats. I’d watched enough Downton Abbey and other period pieces to get how it worked. Someone like Lord Smyth couldn’t just marry anyone he wanted. But I honestly thought that had changed. After all, Prince Harry married a ‘commoner.’

I wanted to know whether Erika had used me to get back at Harry or had decided their engagement was off and needed a distraction. Either way, I felt used.

The only reasonable explanation I could come up with was that Erika had been raised with the understanding that you saved yourself for your wedding night. Aristocrats had a double standard for men and women, with the expectation that someone like Erika would be ‘pure’ when they went to their wedding bed. When she found out what Harry was up to, the idea of being ‘pure’ flew out the window.

But my theory didn’t stand up to the facts: Erika gave oral like she knew what she was doing, and she’d admitted to having sex five years ago. Perhaps the oral was her alternative to having full-on sex. The admission of five years ago would have made Erika fifteen or sixteen. Maybe she let it go too far and regretted it afterward. At this point, everything was speculation.

As Erika slept, I got onto the Internet and did a quick search. They had pictures of the two of us, starting from when we left the fundraiser together and when she’d kissed me at the hotel. The one that surprised me was the two of us in the boat as we returned to the harbor.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, given how Monaco was laid out. From one of the buildings on the hill overlooking the harbor, someone had used a high-power lens to capture a picture of us. They’d caught us with my arms wrapped around her as she piloted the boat. It looked like we were in love. It would be an excellent shot for a magazine photo ad for some product.

Next, there was a series of ‘sightings’ as we went to the restaurant, the opera, and clubbing. The final nail in my coffin was the money shot of us entering the hotel. Anyone with half a brain would figure that one out.

One of the UK gossip rags had chronicled our ‘Whirlwind Torrid Affair,’ as the headline screamed. I was the American rogue actor with no thought for anyone but myself. I’d used my charm and good looks to turn poor Princess Erika’s head.

They debated whether Lord Harry would take her back or the engagement was off. I couldn’t help but notice how they made him the victim in all this. They chronicled past Americans who sought to ‘better’ themselves by worming their way into the good favor of poor, unsuspecting people of high station.