We’re loaded into the car, and I fix my lipstick again, applying the pretty rose color to offset the stark black and white of my outfit.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Rhys growls from the seat beside mine.
“And why is that?”
“Because I’m just going to kiss it off of you again, or worse, picture it smeared around my cock.” He says it bluntly, making me blush. “Aye, but I love that blush on you.”
I don’t say anything else, but I do sit quietly for the rest of the ride to the opera house, worried that I might do something to prod this bull into action. The last thing I need is to show up on a red carpet looking like my husband just fucked me in the backseat of a car. A fancy car, but still…
I breathe a sigh of relief, making him chuckle, when we pull up to the ornate building and I’m unscathed.
He climbs from the car when the door is opened for him and walks around to my side as he adjusts his coat and cuffs as camera flashes go off all around him.When my door is pulled open, he is there with his hand held out for me to take, and I do. I climb from the car and let my wrap and tulle skirt fall around me and trail behind as he leads me down the red carpet, expertly turning me this way and that so that our photograph can be taken over and over and over again.
By the time we make it through the door and are escorted to the royal box, I feel safe. But that, like my dress, is nothing more than an illusion. With Rhys, I might be physically safe, but it’s just another pretense in regard to everything else.
“You’re not out of the woods yet, hen,” he rumbles in my ear, for only me to hear. Something about that emboldens me, heating me up from the inside out.
“Hmm…”
We’re shut in the box with a heavy curtain behind us, separating us from the door and the security officer behind it. There’s an additional protection agent in the corner, watching as bodies fill the theater with the house lights illuminating everything. We take off our overcoats and hand them off as we take our seats. Rhys plays with my hand and the wedding rings on my finger.
When the lights flicker prompting the audience to take their seats, I watch from above as everyone files in. And then a woman in an elaborate costume and makeup steps onto the stage to announce us.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she says to the crowd. “We’re honored to welcome the King andhis Queen to our performance tonight. Please join me in giving them our profound welcome.”
We stand and wave as people clap and cheer. Rhys is, and always has been, so loved. When we sit down the spotlight slides back to the woman on stage and she says, “Without further ado, please enjoy the show.”
The lights dim casting everything into shadow. Even from our box, I can see only the stage and what’s going on there. It’s almost like we’re in our own little bubble and it’s intoxicating.
“It’s so dark,” I whisper as Rhys traces a fingertip up my bare arm and then back down again, over and over.
“Aye,” he says. “I bet I could touch you in here and no one would notice. I bet I could make you come and no one would hear a thing.”
My heart beats faster and my skin heats as I think about all of the possibilities. “And what about me?”
“What about you, hen?” he asks. “I just said I’d make you come.”
“What about me?” I repeat softly, my voice barely over a whisper. “Do you think anyone would notice if I sank to my knees and made an earlier request come true? Do you think anyone would notice if I made you come here?”
“Hen, I have to warn you that seeing you in that dress is already doing my head in. But the thought of you in it here, sucking me off, is enough to make me come in my pants like a lad.”
“That’s not an answer to my question, husband. I asked if you thought I could get away with it.”
He doesn’t answer me, instead he grabs the velvet pillow from the empty seat beside him and drops it to the floor between his spread feet.
Challenge accepted.
I let my gaze sweep the room, looking for anyone who might be watching us, but everyone is focused on the scene on stage. I have no idea what’s going on. Between Rhys’s flirtatious advances and the Italian language, I’m lost. I might as well make good use of my time.
I slide to the floor, the velvet pillow cushioning my knees, and spread my skirt out around me so I don’t get tangled up in it. I place my hands on his thighs and look up at him. Rhys graces my cheek and chin with a soft sweep of his touch.
“Do you know how beautiful you look on your knees for me like this?” he asks.
“No,” I reply. “Tell me.”
“I’d rather show you.”
“Then show me.” I watch as he unfastens his tuxedo pants and lets the material part to pull out his thick cock. Precum glistens at the tip as he grips himself in his fist and strokes.