Royal Brat

by Madison Faye

  “I’m a handful,” I whispered.

  “I have large hands.”

  “I’ve been told I’m a bit of a brat.”

  “I’ve been told I can be stern.”

  I shivered.

  “You know you’re crazy for wanting to do this, right?”

  Sven grinned. “Guess we're a perfect pair then.” He turned to the priest, smiling calmly. “Father? Would you do the honors?”

  Prince Franklin sputtered, and he started to step forward when Sven just looked at him with this withering look that had him cowing back down and looking at the floor. Sven turned back to the priest, who smiled and raised his brows. “Well, let’s have a wedding, shall we Your Highness?”

  My father swore. “I do not consent to—”

  “But I do,” I said coolly. I turned towards my horrified parents, pulling my hands from Sven’s momentarily and taking theirs.

  “And I want you both to also. Dad, Mom? I’m happy, and this is what I want. He’s what I want.”

  My father fumed, but slowly, I watched my mother’s brows unknit. She sighed, shaking her head as she reached out and put a hand on my father’s shoulder.

  “Dear,” she said quietly. “My parents did want me to marry the Earl of Laghfran.”

  “Not if I had anything to say about—” His mouth snapped shut just as mine dropped.

  “Wait, what the painter? I thought your parents wanted you to marry Dad—”

  “I haven’t painted in years,” my dad said quietly. My eyes went wide as I whirled to my mother.

  “I just wanted what’s best for you, dear.”

  I nodded, feeling my heart race as I took her hands.

  “Mom, he is what’s best for me. Trust me.”

  My father muttered, turning to narrow his eyes at Sven.

  “I have only the best intentions for your daughter, sir,” the man I loved said quietly.

  “You’re a king.”

  “Indeed I am.”

  “I’m a duke, Highness,” my father said dryly. “You do not have to call me sir—”

  “Yes I do.” Sven smiled warmly, his eyes locked on my father. “You’re going to be my father-in-law. And I want you to know I respect you, and I respect the hell out of your daughter. So, if it’s okay with you, I’ll stick with sir.”

  My father nodded slowly. “Treat her right.”

  “Always.”

  Sven turned back to me, his eyes twinkling like I’d never seen them. “Shall we?”

  I nodded eagerly, my heart racing as he took my hands.

  “Let’s get hitched.”

  “Would now be a good time to mention to your father that he owes me a paint job on a 1945 Rolls Royce?”

  I laughed, throwing my arms around him and kissing him deeply.

  “Shut up and marry me.”

  “Brat.”

  “Brute.”

  “Marry me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Epilogue

  Sven

  Sometimes, even if you never think you’re going to find it, and even if it takes so long you’re sure it doesn’t exist, you do still find your happy ever after.

  …I sure did.

  Riley and I were married right there in that room in Milton’s castle, her parents bearing witness as the priest walked us through the vows. Prince Franklin was not in attendance, as I’d kicked his ass out of the room before we started and told him to go find someone who wanted to marry his dumb ass.

  We said the vows, we said I do, we kissed, and then it was time to escape. You see, when one of your best friends steals the bride of the very wedding you’re visiting to attend, it’s best to make a fast exit. Hayden had his helicopter at the ready, and Hayden with his stolen bride and me with mine were joined by Cole and Xavier, and their—

  …Well, I’ve never been much of a storyteller, and theirs are ones for another time.

  I can’t speak for the rest of them, but I’d gone to that wedding that day without an agenda. I’d found trouble, and I’d held on tight. I’d found the firecracker that lit up my dark world, and even though I’d chanced getting burned by it, it’d been worth it.

  She was worth it and every risk.

  Riley became Queen of Northlund. Yes, she calmed down a little, but she kept that sass. And I was a better man for it. Hell, my whole kingdom was a better country for it too. She’s fierce, and she’s actually taken on a role within our parliament. I rarely visit as king, but I hear my queen is quite a formidable voice and champion of the people on the parliamentary floor.

  She doesn’t key up my fucking cars anymore, but she does act a brat. But these days, it’s only when I know what she wants. And me and my flat palm, strong grip, maybe the odd plug or vibrator or blindfolds know exactly how to deal with little brats.

  Over my knee.

  Hard.

  Until she’s begging for more.

  We’re actually testing out a new remote control toy this evening, at the wedding of— well, our friends. But again, that’s their story to tell.

  Me? I already found my story, and my happy ending that keeps on going. I found the woman of my dreams, the brat that gets my fire going. I found the queen to my crown, the star that guides me home.

  And I’m never letting her go.

  The End.

  Goodies

  Hey there, smut-fan!

  Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! Reviews from fans always mean the world to me, so if you felt like leaving a little love on Amazon, I’d love ya for it!

  As I tend to do with new releases, as a special thank you for picking up the new release edition of this book, I’ve included three other books of mine here for your reading enjoyment.

  If you’re done reading, or don’t want to dig into these freebies, that’s totally okay! You’re done! But, if you’d like to escape reality for just a little longer, scroll on for the dirty parts ;).

  On the following pages, you can find Double Daddies and Sugar & Spice - both books involving dominant older men and younger heroines. His Captive Mountain Bride is a little taste of my Blackthorn Mountain Men series of extra over-the-top growly alpha mountain men, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to love it.

  All of this and every book I write is for readers like you, and so I just want to say that your continued support means the world to me!

  Happy reading!

  <3,

  Madison

  Double Daddies

  Double Daddies

  Two older men who want to share,

  To punish, and train, and make me theirs.

  Four firm hands to spank and tease,

  Two big daddies are what some brats need…

  She’s off limits in too many ways to count.

  Too young. Too untouched. Too much my deadbeat sister’s step-kid.

  Five-foot nine and one-hundred and eleven pounds of pure. Fucking. Temptation.

  She’s got no business living in this big old house with me and my best friend – two rough, hardened ex-marines more than twice her age. But she’s here, under my roof and under my rules.

  …and she’s breaking every one of them.

  Staying out late, flirting with boys, acting out, and being a royal brat every chance she gets. She’s been pushing her luck and getting away with murder the last month but that all stops now.

  Because in this house, we have rules, and it’s time Kenzie Gates learned what happens to bad girl who break the rules.

  This brat might need more than just a firm hand of discipline.

  Good thing there’s two of us…

  Buckle up and hold on tight, because we’re about to get filthy. This is quite possibly one of if not the dirtiest little book I’ve ever written. In fact, it’s the kind of book where you’d be mortified if your friends found out you were reading it. Trust me, I’m not gonna judge, but I thought you should be warned ;).

  Alpha as fuck, completely over-the-top, and sweet enough to make you melt. This mfm r
omance is all about her - no m/m. Safe, no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.

  Chapter 1

  Wilder

  The growl caught low in my throat — a deep, primal, animalistic sound that rumbled through my broad, muscled chest.

  She was late. And we’d been over this. In this house, there were rules, and when rules were broken, there would be punishment.

  So far, I’d — we’d — been lax on that front, and that was what the root of this problem was. We’d allowed her insubordination and rebelliousness to grow, unchecked and unpunished.

  Not anymore.

  But then, this wasn’t just about “punishing” her, or keeping her in line, and I fucking knew it. Lincoln and I both knew it, even if at that point, we hadn’t spoken it out loud, even to each other.

  This was about lust. This was about wanting her willing obedience and her sweet submission. This was about wanting to claim and dominate every single square inch of her sweet young body. I’d been hiding it away since the day she’d fucking arrived, but no longer.

  I couldn’t take anymore. I doubted any other red-blooded man could’ve taken what I’d held strong against for an entire month. No way. No man could resist temptation like that.

  Not with Mackenzie.

  Kenzie had arrived at my house a month before that day, dropped off by the Child Protective Services from two states over, even thought she’d already turned eighteen. Just. She had a full ride to the state school here — paid for in advance by a rich aunt or grandmother or, fuck, I don’t even know who, before they’d passed. And after CPS had taken her away from my deadbeat sister and Kenzie’s deadbeat father, they’d decided it was in her best interest to remain with family until she started school.

  That’d be me.

  You could call her my niece, but she wasn’t — not really at least. I wasn’t really “family” to her — not in the blood relations way, thank fucking God. Kenzie was my sister’s dipshit boyfriend’s kid. Her dad and my sister were never married, and she was his kid from some other chick anyways, before he and my dumbass sister had gotten together like a match made in hell. Those two were like Syd and fucking Nancy, without the rock music or the fame. They were junkies, and when they’d been busted a week before Kenzie’s eighteenth birthday trying to rob a pharmacy for Oxy, that’s when CPS had stepped in.

  The dickbag boyfriend had no family, and the only family my sister had left was me. Since I also happened to be, for one, not a fucking junkie, and two, very very wealthy, I guess the state just made the decision that family or not, I was a far better choice than “the system” for Kenzie.

  I’d said yes over the phone, glancing at the picture they’d emailed over of the gawky little ten year old I’d seen maybe twice, and probably not since the picture was taken.

  Big. Fucking. Mistake.

  Because if they’d sent a picture of her the way she was now? Yeah, hell no. I’d have taken one look at eighteen year old Kenzie Gates and seen how monumentally stupid it would be to invite a girl like that to live with a guy like me.

  Because Kenzie Gates had grown the fuck up.

  Hard.

  Because the girl who’d been standing on my front porch next to the social worker when I’d opened the door was five-foot nine inches and one-hundred and eleven pounds of pure. Fucking. Temptation.

  Long, auburn hair, pouty, coy pink lips, and big, sultry blue eyes that screamed “bait.” All legs, small, perky tits, and a tight little ass that was begging for someone to take a bite out of it. Curvy hips, and a flat, supple little tummy that’d been peeking out from under a belly-shirt that first day and hadn’t actually stopped ever since.

  She’d been here for one month, four days, and eleven hours. And I’d been hard as steel for her for one month, four days, ten hours and fifty-nine and a half minutes.

  Constantly.

  I gritted my teeth and glanced at the Cartier watch on my wrist.

  Late. I growled again, feeling the blood roaring like fire inside of me. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I couldn’t deny myself any longer. That night, I wouldn’t be denying myself any more.

  I knew it was wrong — so very wrong — but I didn’t give a shit. Not anymore. Not after swallowing back the lust, and need, and the raw desire to make her mine for so long. Her tight, hot little body made me crave her, and the teasing, flippant, bratty way she sashayed her way around this house had had me living on edge for a month.

  And she fucking knew it. This wasn’t some innocent girl who didn’t yet understand the effect she had on men. Nope. Kenzie was a grade-A, flirty, bratty, barely-legal little cock-tease, and she fucking knew it.

  And on top of all of this, it wasn't just me she was teasing…

  Lincoln was my best friend in the world — a man closer to me than a brother. We’d served together way back. We’d started Hammer and Spark together afterwards, and when we’d sold the mercenary contractor outfit we’d built with our bare hands to another, bigger, company and cashed out, we’d both gotten filthy rich together.

  I’d bought my enormous house immediately, but Linc was in the middle of custom building his dream home. And since it was close to mine, and since my place was almost literally a castle, he’d spent the last few months living with me.

  …Including when Kenzie had shown up.

  So, yeah, the whole thing would’ve been bad enough if it was just me that she was fucking with, and flashing her tight little body to while wearing next to nothing all the fucking time. But it was Lincoln too.

  And like I said, the little cock-tease knew exactly what she was doing, to both of us. She was pushing her fucking luck because she knew I was hesitant to act because of how hard she made me. And she knew it was the same damn thing with Lincoln. Staying out late, missing curfew, fucking off on all the summer workload she had before she went off to college in the fall — she’d gotten away with murder the last month.

  But the buck was going to stop that night.

  No more of me being a pussy pushover, and no more of her getting away with it. The little brat had pushed me too far. And that night, I was going to take matters into my own hands.

  There was the rattle of keys in the front door, and I glanced at Lincoln across the kitchen island, seeing the hard, heated look on his face, which mirrored mine.

  “Easy, Wild,” he growled, his jaw tight.

  I shook my head, hearing the front door kick open.

  “No.” I tensed, my muscles bunching, my hands clenching to fists, and my cock throbbing rock fucking hard between my thighs.

  “No more easy with her. Tonight, we’re doing it the hard way.”

  Chapter 2

  Mackenzie

  I knew I was in trouble the second I got home.

  Good.

  My pulse hummed in my ears, my skin prickling with the unknown of what might happen there that night. My core tightened as I jammed the key in the lock, ignoring Justin’s honk in the long driveway behind me and the squeal of his tires as he drove off frustrated, pouting like the little boy he was, and probably nursing a serious case of blue balls.

  Also good.

  I wasn’t going to put out for a whiny jerk like Justin Carson. I never was going to, even if I’d let him take me out that night. But going out with the rude, douchey quarterback from the local college that night hadn’t been because I wanted to go out with him, it’d been because I’d pretty much exhausted every single other idea I’d had.

  …It was because I’d already done everything else to try and push the man — or, really, if I was even ready to admit to myself yet, the men — I’d been lusting over for over a month into doing something.

  Anything.

  I’d never been like that before he’d opened the front door that day a month before. I’d never lusted over a guy before. Actually, I’d barely ever been interested in any guys before. Because guys my age were dicks. Or nervous, stammering wimps. Or petulant, immature, handsy, clumsy assholes.

  Or all of the above,
mostly.

  I knew there’d been times when I could have just “gotten it over with.” I’d considered it — just going to one of the asshole jocks in school, or even one of the fumbling awkward guys and just getting it out of the way so it wouldn’t be hanging over me like this big neon “virgin” sign. But I never did. I’d made out with two guys — horrible experiences both of them. One of them had tried to get a hand up my skirt, but that’d stopped pretty quickly once I’d decked him in the face.

  I’d spent most of high school fending for myself anyways — finding my own food, and clothes, and money any way I could, since Dad and Stephanie were basically MIA most of the time. I hadn’t had time to get all goo-goo over boys like other girls might’ve, because I was too busy making a counterfeit cafeteria card to get a second lunch to sneak home for dinner, or too busy stealing tampons from the drug store. Or, somehow, studying and working my ass off so that I could actually get in to the college that Nana had apparently set up a trust for me to attend.

  But, all that had changed when my father and Stephanie decided to up the ante and go full Bonny and Clyde. I’d just graduated, and I was just about to turn eighteen when CPS had showed up with the cops and taken me away. I wasn’t sad to leave — I’d already done that part, over and over and over again, over the years of my dad basically pretending I didn’t exist.

  The CPS lady had told me to pack a bag, and then we’d jumped in a car and driven eight hours straight, to here. Stephanie had a brother, apparently, and he was apparently rich. The CPS lady hadn’t said much, aside from that he’d been in the military and that he’d owned some sort of company that worked with the Government.

  Wilder Banks.

  I’d rolled my eyes — he sounded so boring, and I imagined some weird, nerdy-looking accountant type shut away in some big house like a weirdo. And the place we’d finally pulled up to eight hours later hadn’t helped my impression very much. I mean, it was beautiful — this castle-like stone mansion surrounded by gardens and a forest. But still, all I imagined was the weirdo cooped up inside I was about to live with until college started.