CHAPTER 97: SEXUALLY AND PHYSICALLY

CHAPTER 97: SEXUALLY AND PHYSICALLY
ELISE

A shirtless Oskar is standing by my door, and I’m too busy loving the view to wonder how or why.

“Prinsessa.” His voice makes my heart race at like a thousand beats per second. 

“O-Oskar. What are you doing here?”

Instead of answering, he walks to my bed and pulls me up. Then he kisses me like I’m the air he needs to breathe.

The second his lips touch mine, fire ignites in my lower belly, spreading through my body with a ferocity that makes me dizzy.

His hands are a blur on my body. He lifts my hands, slips my nightgown over my head. His hands find my hips, slip my lace panties down my thighs.

He pushes me back on the bed, naked and bare before him, and aligns his body over mine. My eyes widen and my back arches as his fingers slip between us, between my legs and find the sensitive bundle of nerves.

I moan, closing my eyes as pleasure erupts inside me. “Oskar,” I moan, reaching down between us.

I find his bulge and rub it through his jeans.

I can’t quite wrap my head around what is happening, but it really doesn’t matter. I want this. 

I unbutton his jeans and slide the zipper down with shaking fingers. He buries his head in my neck and groans when my fingers slip inside his black briefs and wrap around his engorged cock.

“Elise,” he moans against my skin, and I shiver.

“I want you,” I gasp, squeezing his cock. “Now, Oskar.”

He lifts his head and his gaze finds mine, eyes dark with hunger.

“You have me,” he whispers.

My eyes snap open.

I exhale hard, sitting up sharply as I stare at my empty room, my gaze falling on the ornate clock inching towards 6.am.

Swearing softly, I press the heel of my palm against my forehead. “Get a fucking grip, Elise,” I mutter.

It’s the third time this week. The dreams. The touches that feel too real. The ache that doesn’t dissipate when I wake.

Yes, I’m ovulating right now. But if I’m being honest with myself, there’s more to these dreams than just my hormones.

Much, much more.

I sit up, tangled in silk sheets, and try to reason with myself. He said we were friends. Friends.

And yet, every time I see him…

I shower quickly, ignoring the sting behind my ribs. When I slip on my dress—cream linen with lace cuffs—and clip my hair up into a twist, I try to pretend I’m putting on armor.

But the moment I open the door, Oskar is there, dressed in his plain black uniform, broad-shouldered, lean, and steady. He’s like fucking gravity—I keep getting pulled into his center.

His eyes meet mine—blue, calm, unreadable.

“Prinsessa,” he greets, nodding.

I offer him a tight smile, ignoring my thundering heart and the memories of the dream struggling to break into the forefront of my mind. “Morning, Oskar. You look well-rested,” I note bitterly as I walk past.

Evidently, his dreams are not being interrupted.

He falls into step beside me, and I fight the urge to lean in when his arm brushes mine.

The palace is quieter than usual as we move through the halls, but my calendar is full. My mother has tasked me with preparing tomorrow’s speech for the press summit—something about cultural investment initiatives across Scandinavia and Southern Europe.

At the communications room, I’m handed a printed draft and a red pen. “Your Highness, the foreign ministry added a few lines at the end,” the advisor tells me.

I skim the paper, circling phrases. “No,” I say, “this section undermines our own education policy. Rewrite it. And move the closing note about unity to the opening.” My voice is sharper than usual. I’m very frustrated. Sexually and physically. “We’re not here to babysit ministers who can’t coordinate.”

He murmurs in agreement, taking notes. Oskar is silent behind me, watching everything as usual.

“No. I don’t like this. No jokes,” I continue. “We’re not doing diplomacy with a smile and a punchline. Be direct. Be clear. And for gud’s sake, no more idioms in translation.”

He chuckles, but nods. I don’t crack a smile.

The truth is, it’s easier this way—being sharp, efficient, pretending I’m not burning up from the inside out. Pretending I don’t feel his gaze like physical touch.

Oskar follows at a respectful distance the whole day. He doesn’t speak unless absolutely necessary. But I feel him.

By the time evening falls, I’m exhausted but wired. I have one more meeting—the PR team has requested an emergency session. Oskar walks me to the door, then glances down at his phone.

“I’ll be stepping out, Prinsessa,” he says. “I’ve handed duty over to Sergeant Blom.”

I nod too quickly as my heart falls. They started bodyguard rotation a few days ago. So it’s not just Oskar watching me now. Out of all the palace regulations, this is the one I hate the most. 

“Of course,” I reply flatly. “Thank you.”

He nods and starts to walk away. I turn away and head to the briefing room, forcing myself not to watch him leave.

I frown as soon as I walk in, sensing the palpable tension in the air.

I sit down at the head of the table as one of the senior analysts stands.

“Your Highness, we’ve noticed an unusually consistent stream of negative press—far more coordinated than standard opposition work.”

My eyes narrow. “Coordinated how?”

“They’re using embedded bots, micro-influencers, and a few untraceable leaks. But it’s not just online. Some of it came from internal sources.”

Someone across the table adds, “We’re looking into a mole. There’s a high chance it’s one of ours. From now on, we’ll recommend immediate dismissal for any staff violation, regardless of its severity. Every staff member and their activities will be monitored for anything remotely suspicious. Not just suspicious, anything unbefitting of the Royal family.”

I swallow, my throat dry, as I think of my one hundred and one actions unbefitting of the Royal family. And Oskar… God, I’ve practically made him an accomplice.

“You’re saying we need to assume everyone is a suspect?”

“For now,” the analyst says. “Yes.”

They keep talking, but there’s only so much focus I can muster, and I find myself zoning out.

Panicking. Panicking is the right word.

Sneaking me out to the club in Södermalm, the drive through the city in disguise, the coffee shop with Johan, the restaurant with Johan. Oskar has broken so many rules, and if he’s found out and punished, it’ll be all my fault.

I excuse myself and step into the hallway, chest tight. 

I need to talk to him before he leaves the palace. He just handed over, so I’m hoping he’s not gone yet.

I head toward the security wing. No plan. Just a need to see him.

I’m halfway down the hall of the security wing, about to pass the control room to the staff quarters, when I halt in my steps.

Someone slides out of the door, dressed in black, crouching like they’re trying to make themselves small. Invisible.

It takes me a second to realize that it’s Oskar. He turns at that moment, and our eyes lock.

He freezes. “Elise.”

I frown, stepping closer. “What were you doing in there?”