history, huh?

The ball started the same as all the others. All the women from the kingdom donned in their finest dresses, their mothers in even finer gowns, flittering around Prince Frank. He smiled dutifully as they spoke with him, politely asking the women to dance, while trying to ignore the thousands of eyes watching him. 

It was exhausting. 

They were hours into the ball when she appeared at the top of the stairs. No fanfare, no announcement, no escort.

Big hazel eyes taking in the ballroom, hands twisting together in front of her gown, and a curious smile on her face. She clearly wasn’t royalty—but there was something special about her. 

“May I have this dance?”

The woman startled. The moment she realized who he was, a blush spread furiously across her cheeks. She dropped into a clumsy curtsey. 

Her voice was lower than he expected, “I’m sure there are others who’ve been waiting to dance with you.”

“Perhaps,” Prince Frank’s lips quirked up. “But I want to dance with you.”

And they danced. One song into the next and the next. Prince Frank was taken by the naked joy on her face, how every emotion played across her face, and the way her hair shimmered in the candlelight. In between spins and dips, she gently asked questions about himself. 

But, as soon as he asked for her name, the mood shifted. She paled, hands dropping from his shoulders. With a stammered apology, she excused herself, hurrying towards the entrance and back into the night. 

Something shimmered on the staircase, pulling Prince Frank from his thoughts. 

The stranger (“Frank,” he had murmured in her ear earlier, boxing her in at the bar in a way that made her toes curl) made her laugh during his (truly terrible) rendition of I Won’t Back Down. Somehow, over the din of the crowd and the music, he caught her laugh. His grin had widened, bright blue eyes crinkling as he pointed at her while singing “hey baby.”

And when Samira convinced Mel to sing Dancing Queen, the man’s eyes were glued to her, giving her an eager thumbs up when she met his gaze. 

One thing led to another and normally—truly, normally—Mel would never have let him lead her to his room, a light hand on her lower back. But, she was in the middle of an ocean with her best friend after surviving a truly hellish year, and Becca was safe back at Middle Hill. Samira also was more than encouraging, saying goodnight with a wink. 

A sharp nip to her inner thigh brought her back to the present, back to Frank’s hands trailing up her hips, his breath ghosting right there. 

“Please,” She whined, barely recognizing her voice. 

Frank looked up and her cunt throbbed. His pupils were blown out, hair disheveled, and a smirk on his lips. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” 

He dropped his head to lick a slow, firm line through her folds. Mel keened, fingers twisting in the sheets. His hands settled heavy on her hips, pushing down with just the right pressure to match the pressure of his tongue. He worked his way to her clit, tracing it before sucking it fully into his mouth. 

With his chin pressed against her cunt, his mouth on her, hands still pressing her into the bed, Frank’s masculine scent clinging to the sheets, Mel was overwhelmed. It wasn’t often she let herself relinquish control to someone else, to trust them to take care of her, to see what she needed and give it to her.