Chapter 2: Salvation

Son, you were made to suffer

Oh, but the morning comes

But when the light is failing

Temptation takes you to salvation

"I thought there wouldn't be any blackmail sex tonight, bodyguard? You normally have Tuesday nights off, do you not?" Eleanor clipped from her spot in the middle of the bed. She was lying on her side, mindlessly scrolling through an app he couldn't see on her phone with her back to him, still fully clothed in the loose black dress she had worn to a charity tea earlier in the day. It was hiked high up on her torso, bunched around her waist, leaving her cheeky knickers and tight ass on full display. To tease him, no doubt.

And anyone else who may have come into her room that evening...

Jasper unconsciously locks her bedroom door at the thought of anyone else seeing her like this.

Eleanor's long stopped caring about modesty in his presence. Deep down, Jasper's not sure if he should be pleased, or disturbed.

She was high, he could tell by the slight slur in her voice. Judging by the small silver platter that was currently half hanging off of her desk, cocaine was her poison of choice this evening. She rarely did anything on the nights he stayed with her anymore. And if she did, she waited until she thought he was asleep. He would lie in her bed, his eyes tightly shut as the princess carefully- too carefully- snuck out of bed and snort or smoke something for about fifteen minutes, come back, and curl up on her side as far away from him as she possibly could.

The Princess wasn't a cuddler. She didn't like him touching her if it weren't sexual. She allowed him to touch her because she was scared. Of him. Of what he could do to her if she said no, or displeased him.

Jasper Frost would never lay a hand on her in that way. Or any woman, for that matter; that wasn't the kind of man that he was. No, he's got an emotional hold on the princess that's stronger than anything else he could do physically.

She knows it, and she's scared.

She always comes around, eventually. She'll curse him out, throw things at him, and berate him to no end, because she's a Princess and she's been taught that she's allowed to do that to the help.

But at night, she gives in. Every. Time.

It wasn't for a lack of trying to be friendly with her. He had tried to spoon her one night, and she went rigid. She moved away from him without a word.

He wasn't her boyfriend.

He was just her bodyguard.

Princesses didn't cuddle with their bodyguards.

There was no sex tape. She had been foolish enough to believe that it existed, without seeing any proof. He would be just as guilty as she, and the last thing he wanted was his dick on the Internet.

Her vagina was already there, so it would have been nothing new. Or so he thought.

Princess Eleanor was not who he thought she was. Not in the least bit.

And that scared him, too.

Seeing her, like this, made him feel bad for what he was doing to her. For what he was going to do to her, when this was all over.

Eleanor was particular about her jewellery. She didn't like wearing pieces from the crown jewel collection because she felt like she didn't deserve to wear it. She preferred to wear pieces that were sentimental. That other people- like her father, brothers, or grandmothers- had given to her as gifts. He saw the way her eyes would light up if someone recognized that she was wearing something that was given to her.

She liked being recognized for good deeds from other people. It was likely because he had seen her mother tear her down so much it was almost disturbing.

And that was a whole other level of trauma he hadn't expected to deal with when he had taken on this job. This con.

"Morris, asked for the night off because it's his anniversary," he explains tightly, stepping further into her darkened room. The lie falls easy from his lips. "I offered to pull a triple shift since you don't normally go out on Tuesday nights. I'd be sleeping in the staff quarters anyway. What's one more night away from home?"

"Lucky you," she deadpanned, and then she falls silent.

'LOOK AT ME!' He wanted to scream at her. To get her to do anything but lie there in a heap. But he didn't.

She was so, so broken. Samantha didn't get it, because she didn't know. He had tried to explain to her that it wasn't as simple waltzing into the Jewel House and unlocking the display case. There were cameras. Fingerprint scanners. Technical things that she didn't- wouldn't- understand.

And Eleanor.

The Koh-i-Noor was England's most prized jewel.

Now, he begged to differ.

Eleanor's soul outshone that diamond on the brightest of days. And he wished he could just tell her. That he could just show her, because he wanted so badly for her to believe in herself, even just for a moment.

He slowly removed his suit jacket, and draped it over the back of one of the chairs and began to untie his tie. She extended her legs, stretching, and her goddamn dress finally fell down far enough to cover her ass.

"My mother's annual charity masquerade is next Thursday night," she began quietly. He usually had Tuesday and Thursday nights off. And she knew it, too. His hands stilled on the buttons of his shirt, cautious of the direction this conversation was heading.

"Are you not going?"

"Oh, I'm required to go," she said darkly. "And so are you."

"You won't be leaving the palace, Your Highness. There will be plenty of other guards on duty, I'm sure," he replied, lowering his hand and rested it against the top of her sofa. His hand clenched into a fist.

This could damn well be his chance, if he played his cards right. He'd be back home, in Las Vegas, by next weekend.

The thought alone made his stomach churn.

"That may be true, but I'd prefer to have my personal detail guarding my body," she drawled, finally rolling onto her back. Her head lolled to the side so she could look at him through narrow, glassy eyes. "Tuxedo. Only."

"And what will you be wearing?" He asked, locking eyes with her.

"I don't know," she rolled her eyes, clearly disinterested. "I'll have some pieces delivered the day of, and choose then."

"And your effects? Perhaps something from the royal collection to mark the occasion?"

She snorted then, and rolled her eyes. "It's a masquerade, Jasper, not a bloody state dinner. The tiaras are dreadfully out of date and extremely uncomfortable."

"The necklaces seem lovely. That big diamond would look nice-"

"-that doesn't belong to us," she interjected as she sat up, and crossed her legs as she situated herself in the middle of the bed. "That belongs to the people. We don't wear it out of respect for them. Besides, it would be uncomfortable and heavy, don't you think?"

He blinked. He hadn't expected her to reply with something so good natured. And kind.

"Whatever you choose will look fine," he said easily, and then resumed unbuttoning his shirt. "How much coke have you done?"

Her eyes rolled again. "What are you, the narcotics police tonight, too?"

"Just making sure that I'm not going to be fucking a dead fish in about five minutes."

And there it was. He immediately regretted saying it. He shouldn't have said it. But it was out of his mouth before he could even register that the thought had even crossed his mind. If he had any shred of human decency, he'd apologize to her, right this second.

Eleanor's jaw tightened, and her eyes fluttered shut.

He'd hurt her with his words.

A pained look crossed her face, so briefly he barely saw it. It was almost as if he had physically struck her.

The guilt was overwhelming in that moment. He wanted to apologize. Tell her he didn't mean it. That he didn't mean any of it. That there was no sex tape. That he loved her, and that he was sorry.

He loved her?

He loved her.

He hadn't loved a single person in his life, ever. His parents, once, maybe. But that had soured when he told them he was getting out. They had berated the shit out of him for it. Told him to go, if he thought he was so much better than them. Than the lifestyle that they had raised him in.

He didn't love Samantha. He couldn't. She was so heartless and cold. All she cared about was the money. The next job. This was nothing but a game to her.

Just like her father.

Just like his father.

Sure, the sex was great- but nothing compared to what he was getting now. Eleanor wasn't afraid to fight him back. She met him easily thrust for thrust. And goddamn if she didn't fit perfectly-

"Are we going to have sex, or not? I have a schedule tomorrow, and I'd like to be somewhat coherent," she snapped, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Well get over here and take off my pants, then," he fired back without hesitating.

Her eyes narrowed, but she complied. She slowly slinked toward him, cat like, almost- and rested a delicate hand on his belt buckle.

He had to kiss her.

Eleanor stumbled slightly from his force, and he poured his apology into it. He couldn't say it. He couldn't tell her why he was there. Not yet. He just hoped she got the message.

I'm sorry.

I love you.

I'm sorry.

I love you.

Her hands were fluid, and she roughly pushed his trousers down his hips. She reached into his boxers and grasped him tightly, and expertly began stroking his hard length with nimble fingers.

"Take off your dress," he murmured in her ear.

She pumped him a few more times, and withdrew her hand from his boxer briefs. She stepped back, and grabbed two fistfuls of fabric and pulled it over her head and sent it flying across the room, making sure to hit him in the shoulder with it first.

She smirked at him as his shoulder moved back slightly from the impact. She was over it. She'd heard worse from other people. People more significant in her life than him.

He reached for her then, and wrapped his hands around her waist and roughly grabbed at her behind as she threw her arms around his neck, pressing her bare breasts against his chest.

Fuck, she had such a great ass. He wouldn't expect anything less from royalty.

"You make me so hard, Eleanor. So fucking hard," he breathed in her ear. He could hear her breathing hitch. She loved it when he talked dirty. Always did, right from the minute he told her he was going to fuck her cunt so hard she wouldn't be able to walk the next morning on their first night together.

"Fuck me, then," she taunted, pulling back slightly as she framed his face in her hands. "I'm so horny, Jasper."

"You're always so wet for me," he replied, not breaking her gaze as he slipped his hand down the front of her underwear, and pressed his fingers against her clit, and then continued on down to her soft mound.

Sure enough. "Always, Princess."

She involuntarily drew her bottom lip between her teeth as he sunk two fingers deep inside of her, and swirled them around as his thumb pressed hard against her clit.

He teased her for a bit longer, until his own needs became too much.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

Jasper slowly withdrew his fingers from her, and wiped them on the side of her knickers before he roughly ripped them from her body, and sent them soaring to the floor. She frowned slightly, but leaned forward to kiss him.

She tasted so goddamn good. Something that was so purely Eleanor; and she was more addicting than any drug she could ingest.

I love you.

He blindly pushed down his boxer briefs, and pushed her back towards her bed until she fell backwards, and sprawled on top of her blankets, naked as the day she was born. He drunk in the sight of her as she leaned back on her elbows in the centre of her bed, and slowly spread her legs for him.

He smiled then. A slow, genuine smile, reserved only for the Princess as he climbed on the bed, settled himself between her thighs, easily covering her long, thin body with his own. Jasper shifted his hips, and slowly eased himself inside of her as she moved to to lie flat. Her arms curled around his shoulders, with one hand burying itself in his hair, and pulled lightly so she could kiss him.

He rarely took her like this. It was too intimate for him. For her, too. But right now, it was the only thing he wanted. He wanted to see her face while he made love to her, whether she believed that's what it was or not.

Eleanor Henstridge would never forgive him for what he was going to do to her. It'd been six months of this. With her.

It's been years of planning, though. He had to go through with it. There was so much riding on this con. His whole future was in his hands, and he couldn't give up now. He was in too deep. He had to follow through. Had to.

She'd get over it, eventually. She'd never trust a damn soul again, but she'd get over it.

He had to tell himself that.

Jasper knew damn well she'd never recover. But he had to convince himself that she would.

He'd break her.

He'd never be able to see her, ever again.

The thought alone made his heart skip a beat.

He couldn't do it.

Not to her.

Not to Liam.

Not to her father.

Hell, not even to her witch of a mother.

"Jaspuuuur," she moaned, gripping his neck tightly and nipped at his chin as he moved within her with skilled ease. He pressed a rough kiss to the side of her mouth as one of his hands trialed down her body, and hitched her leg over his hip, allowing him to go deeper. Harder. Faster.

"God, Eleanor, you feel so good around me. You have no fucking clue," he grunted against her, burying his face in her shoulder. He was so close. So. Fucking. Close. "So goddamn tight…"

I love you.

"So … close…" she whimpered softly, throwing her head back. Her free hand involuntarily flew over her head and gripped the sheets as he picks up his pace. He's not going to let go until she does. He owed her that much.

She rarely lets her guard down with him around. His hand snakes up to tangle his fingers with hers. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to feel all of her in that moment. If he's going to lose her- he might as well make the most of it now.

And then she comes, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He can't shut his eyes as her back arches, and her toned thighs grip his hips as she rides out the waves of her orgasm. She's panting and gripping his fingers so tightly with her own he can't help but squeeze back as his own release quickly builds up. It's as if his own body somehow knows that it's go time for him, too.

Jasper abruptly releases her hand, and moves to cup her face in both of his, and roughly presses his lips against hers, breathing in her breath as he releases himself deep inside of her, moaning. Her tongue darts out, gently touching his lips, purposefully teasing him. He lightly nipped her bottom lip before forcing his own into her mouth, kissing her deeply.

I love you.

Finally, he pulls back, his breathing unsteady as he rests his forehead against her shoulder. Her legs slowly drop from his sides, and he gets the hint. She wants him off of her so she can go get cleaned up and go to bed.

Sex aside, it is late. She's got a full schedule tomorrow, and he needs to accompany her on her travels. If she needs to be coherent, he needs to be in top form.

Sighing, he slips out of her, and rolls onto his back. Jasper drapes his arm across his face, shielding his eyes as the bed shifts as she quickly gets out, and darts through the darkness to her fake armoire to get to her bathroom. He hears the door slam shut inside seconds later.

Only then he exhales. He forces himself to get up and finds his discarded boxer briefs and slides them back up his legs. There's a discarded bottle of water that he had earlier on the table, and he unscrews the cap and drains the bottle as she reemerges, dressed in a tiny pair of shorts and a soft fabric bra.

She eyed him cautiously as he took her in. All of her. Her hair is still mussed from his hands, and her eyes aren't as glossy as they were earlier. She's more sober now.

It's always awkward after because neither of them want to give anything up. They're not a couple. They don't get the luxury of post-coital bliss.

He's the first to look away as he carefully sets the bottle down on her coffee table, and heads into the bathroom to clean himself up.

Ten minutes later, he reemerges into her dark bedroom, and he briefly contemplates leaving for the night. He could, technically. She wouldn't say anything. She wouldn't say anything if he stayed, either.

But there's something about seeing the Princess curled up on the side of of her king-sized bed, alone, that makes him feel guilty. Again.

Samantha always did say that his humility was his biggest downfall. That he was too sweet. That someday, it was all going to come back and bite him in the ass if he didn't pull it together.

Eleanor didn't recognise that because she didn't know that side of him.

Sighing, he closed the door and set the alarm on his phone to wake him up before her. He's going to have to go back down to his room and shower and change because he can't go to work smelling like sex and her.

But he needs her to know that he's sorry, for all of it. Jasper slides into bed, on the left side, as always. She doesn't stir, but he knows she's still awake. He moves closer to the centre of the bed, and reaches for her. Again, she tenses as his arm wrapped around her waist, and pulled her flush against his chest. Her chest rises and falls, and her jaw is set, but still, she doesn't say anything.

He brushed her hair off of her ear, and rested his chin on her shoulder and took a deep breath.

"What I said- I didn't mean it. I'm sorry," he breathes into her ear, just loud enough for her to hear. "I'm so goddamn sorry."

Her head nods slightly, indicating that she's heard his apology.

"We're going to have a good day tomorrow," he continued. "Goodnight, Princess."

She's silent against him, but her shoulders finally fucking relax for the first time in five and a half months, and she doesn't move away.

She's still in his arms when he wakes up in the morning.