Page 45 of Defying the Crown
His smile—soft and slightly dazed—makes my chest tighten with emotion. This moment feels perfect in its imperfection: both of us disheveled, slightly sticky, and completely unconcerned with appearances. It's a freedom I haven't felt in a long time, if ever.
"So," Daniel says after a moment, his voice still hoarse from our passionate encounter. "I think we might need to... uh, clean up a bit before we get back to the hotel." He smirks at me as he adjusts his pants, which are visibly dampened in the crotch area.
I blush and follow suit, discreetly trying to hide the evidence of our tryst in my own pants. "You're right," I agree, running a hand through my hair self-consciously. "We don't want to cause any more of a stir than we already have."
Daniel chuckles and reaches for his jacket, draping it over my shoulders. "Here, use this as a shield," he says with a wink. "And for what it's worth? I think you look pretty damn hot with your hair all messy like that."
The taxi driver abruptly turns down the blaring music, clearing his throat loudly. "Peninsula Hotel," he announces, pointedly not looking in the rearview mirror. "We're here, gentlemen."
Daniel scrambles off my lap, a flush creeping up his neck as reality crashes back. I smooth my hair, acutely aware of how we must look—clothing rumpled, lips swollen, and the evidence of our passion still visible between our legs. Anyone who glances our way would know exactly what we've just done.
"Come on," I say, reaching for Daniel's hand and giving it a squeeze.
We exit the taxi with as much dignity as we can muster, which isn't much. I linger by the driver's window, pulling out my wallet and extracting another two hundred dollars. The exchange of money is something I understand—the universal language of discretion.
"For your trouble," I say, passing the bills through the window. "And your... understanding."
The driver takes the money, tucking it into his shirt pocket alongside the first payment. He gives me a knowing nod and wink.
"Enjoy the rest of your night," he says with a knowing grin before pulling away from the curb.
I turn to find Daniel watching me, his expression a mix of disbelief and admiration. The doorman of the Peninsula approaches, offering to assist us, but I wave him off with a polite smile.
"Do you always carry that much cash?" Daniel asks in a low voice as we head toward the entrance.
"Force of habit," I reply, guiding him through the revolving door with my hand at the small of his back. I don't mention that as Crown Prince, I've been trained to always have cash available for unexpected situations—though admittedly, this particular situation wasn't covered in my royal education.
The lobby of the Peninsula is every bit as opulent as I remember it—marble floors and crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the space. Daniel takes it all in with wide eyes, leaning closer to whisper, "Just how rich are you exactly?"
I step closer to Daniel, acutely aware of our disheveled state in this opulent lobby. His question hangs between us, genuine curiosity in his eyes.
"Honestly? I've never really... considered it," I admit, keeping my voice low. "Money is just there."
Daniel's expression shifts subtly—a flash of something that looks like envy crosses his face before he can mask it. It's a familiar look I've seen countless times before, the moment when someone realizes the vast gulf between their financial reality and mine.
"Must be nice," he says, his tone light but with an undercurrent I can't miss.
I reach for his hand, threading our fingers together. "It's not perfect, you know," I say gently. "Even with all the money." The words sound cliche, even to my own ears—the wealthy man claiming wealth doesn't bring happiness. But it's true in ways Daniel can't possibly understand yet.
"The money comes with... expectations. Responsibilities. Limitations." I think of my father, of the crown, of the future that's been mapped out for me since birth. "I can't just do what I want or be who I want to be." Daniel's eyes soften as he studies my face. "That sounds lonely." "It was," I say, squeezing his hand tightly. "But it's a lot better now that you're in my life."
The simple truth of this statement catches me off guard. I've known this man such a short time, yet he's already changed something fundamental in my existence. With Daniel, I've felt more like myself than I have in years—perhaps more than I ever have.
Daniel's answering smile is tentative but genuine, the earlier flash of envy completely gone now.
"I make your rich boy life better, huh?" he teases, lightening the moment.
"Much better, especially in taxi rides" I confirm, tugging him toward the elevators. "Though right now, I think we both need to clean up before we scandalize the entire hotel staff."
I hear Daniel's laugh—a sound that's already becoming addictive to me—as we wait for the elevator.
"Yes, we absolutely should clean up," he agrees, stepping closer until his lips brush against my ear. "Though I was thinking... maybe we could clean up together? In your shower?"
My jaw drops slightly at his boldness. The mental image his words conjure—Daniel's naked body glistening with water, his hands sliding over my skin—sends a jolt of renewed desire straight through me. Despite what just happened in the taxi, I feel my pants growing tight again with embarrassing speed.
"I... um..." My usual eloquence abandons me completely. The Crown Prince of Denmark, trained in five languages and diplomatic speech, reduced to stammering by one suggestive comment.
Daniel notices my reaction immediately, his eyes darkening as they flick down to the front of my trousers. "Is that a yes?" he asks, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The elevator arrives with a soft chime, doors sliding open to reveal an empty car. Daniel steps in first, turning to face me with an expectant look. The space suddenly feels charged with possibility. I follow him inside, reaching past him to press the button for my floor—the penthouse suite, of course. As the doors close, sealing us into this private space, I find my voice again."That's definitely a yes," I manage, my accent thickening as desire overrides my careful English pronunciation. "Though I can't promise how much actual cleaning will happen."
