Royal Brat

by Madison Faye

  Suddenly, he’d yanked me up and pulled me to him, kissing me hard. He spun us around then, pushing me back against the edge of the sink counter with his body. He started shrugging off his jacket, letting it drop to the floor as he reached to pull his t-shirt off his toned body. I felt a rush of adrenaline as I began to pull my own shirt off, baring my full breasts and my erect nipples to this man's wolfish gaze.

  I bit my lip as I reached out to run my fingers up his hard, muscled torso, tracing my fingers over his skin before he growled and kissed me again. His fingers plunged back between my legs, pushing my panties to the side as he slid two of them right up into my soaking pussy. He pushed my skirt up around my hips, and I shrieked as he suddenly grabbed my thong in his powerful grip and tore it from my body. He reached for his jacket on the floor, pulling out a foil wrapper and tearing it apart before rolling the condom down over his massive length. I could feel his hot, throbbing cock head slip against my lips, and I found myself moaning and arching my back as I pushed against him, desperate to feel that huge cock fill me.

  I didn’t care that he was a stranger. I didn’t care that he was rough, and that this wasn’t some stupid corny romantic scene from a movie or a tv show, where there’s always stupid candles and soft music for a first time.

  No, I wanted it like this. I wanted it dirty, and hard, and anonymous.

  And I wanted it bad.

  I’d gasped as he’d slipped the head inside, panting for breath and feeling the new sensation of penetration. I’d looked up at him, into those fierce gray eyes, and he’d suddenly grabbed my jaw in his hand and kissed me hard. His cock pushed in another inch, and I cried out.

  “Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight,” he groaned, rocking his hips forward and burying another inch inside. God, he was so big, and it had hurt, but only for second.

  Because after that, it felt amazing.

  “Fuck me,” I’d gasped into his ear, and he’d done just that.

  I’d moaned, screamed, and clawed at his back as he buried his thick cock to the hilt in my tight, wet, virgin pussy for the first time, and just like that, it was done.

  Just like that, in that dimly lit bathroom, with this dark, dangerous-looking stranger, I left my virginity behind me.

  I’d moaned wildly as I felt him fill me so completely and so suddenly, pinning me to the wall behind me with the force of it. He’d eased out of me, until just the thick, pulsing head of his amazing cock was inside of me, before he thrust forward again and buried himself in me completely. With a snarl, he pulled back and then thrust forward again, making me whimper and moan as his thick cock plunged into me and stuffed me full. I let the forbidden pleasure wash over me then, as this beautiful stranger took every piece of me.

  And fuck me he did. With his strong hands grasping my hips and my tight little ass in his powerful grip, he started to pound me hard, slamming his big dick into my dripping wet pussy over and over again, making me moan in short, whimpering little gasps.

  His fingers dug into my skin hard enough to bruise, clutching me as he pulled my hair firmly with the other. I could feel his big cock getting harder and harder as he plunged into my soaking wet folds, and I clawed at his back, rocking my hips against his, knowing it wouldn't be long before I came.

  Suddenly, I heard him take a sharp breath of air, and then I could feel it. His thick cock pulsed inside of me, and that pushed me right over the edge. I came screaming, begging for him to keep fucking me as I went crashing over the edge into my orgasm. He had, too — his cock staying rock hard through both our orgasms as he’d fucked me hard and deep through two more small ones before I’d gone limp against him.

  I woke with a gasp, my skin hot and sweaty, my pulse racing at the dream.

  Well, the memory I guess. And it wasn’t the first time I’d replayed that night at the club in my dreams.

  I sat up in the huge bed in my guest room in Colin’s townhouse, light filtering in through the white curtains and sending a glow across the room.

  I was glowing after that dream, and after what had happened the day before.

  He’d spanked me.

  Thinking if made me blush. Thinking of his hands on me made me hot.

  And wet.

  But I quickly shook those thoughts away, because that couldn’t happen anymore. I understood a man like him was used to having his way, and I wanted him to have his way with me.

  But I couldn’t.

  This was my employer now, not the man from the club. Not the man I’d given it all to that night.

  The whole losing my virginity thing had started with teasing. My roommate, Becca, who I only peripherally got along with, had found out on day two of us being roommates that I’d never, well, you know.

  I’d never done it.

  I mean, I’d fooled around once or twice, but nothing ever got very far, let alone to sex. And I, for one, would have loved to know how anyone else in a school like Harvard had found the time to experiment with sex before coming to college. Between the advanced classes, the private tutors, the French immersion lessons, piano lessons, soccer practice, model U.N., student government, and volunteering at the nursing home, when on earth would I have had time for a boyfriend, or even sex?

  When she found out, Becca had started teasing me about it, of course. But then it’d just gotten worse, and more annoying, until it became this obnoxious game she played, or something she let slip at parties while drunk. All that would have been annoying, to be sure, but nothing I couldn’t brush off.

  That was before I found out about the bet.

  Randomly, one week, I found myself getting chatted up be all sorts of older guys on campus. Like, everywhere. In-between classes, at the library, waiting in line at the cafeteria, in my dormitory — suddenly I had twenty older guys very interested in taking me out sometime. I mean, men hit on me — that wasn’t something new to me or anything. But it’d never been this constant. And I’d been flattered, I guess, at first.

  Until I found out the real story.

  Because it seemed Becca had gotten wasted at some party and let it slip that her roommate was some big prude of a virgin. Drunk boys had started talking, and demanding to see Facebook pictures, and then started joking amongst themselves, I guess how drunk boys do.

  But then “the bet” had come up, and instead of laughing it off, they’d all kept at it until it became real — an actual bet, with real money, was set up to see who could “take my cherry.”

  Disgusting, right?

  I’d been furious about it when I’d found out, but that’s also when I made the decision.

  Because fuck that. Fuck being a bet for a bunch of asshole ivy-league douche-bags. If I was going to lose, it I was going to do it on my terms.

  So, I’d gone out that very night with one mission — to get laid.

  Because who cared? In my head, I’d just go out, get it over with, see what the fuss was about, and then just move on.

  The only problem?

  Well, I wasn’t expecting him.

  Or what happened.

  Or the fact that that single experience was the hottest thing that had ever happened to me. Or that I couldn’t stop think about it a week later.

  And now I was in his home. I was watching his kids.

  I glanced at the time and gasped.

  Shit.

  I showered quickly, slipping on clothes and heading downstairs. I nodded at Andrew, the butler who’d shown me in and shown me to my quarters the night before. I poured myself some coffee, and then waited at the breakfast table in the large kitchen.

  I only waited a few minutes before I heard the scamper of feet on the stairs, the giggle of two small voices, and then suddenly, there they were.

  Beckham and Lillian. Andrew had filled me in the night before on the way to my room. Beckham, the oldest, was six, and his little sister Lillian was four. The two of them were towheaded, blonde, like me — Beckham with his father’s sharp gray eyes, and her with light blue ones. They stopped short in t
he doorway to the kitchen, eyes wide as they stared at me.

  God, they were adorable.

  I smiled widely as I stood and moved towards them, watching them subtly shy away until I crouched down in front of them, more their size. “Well hello there!”

  “Hello,” Beckham spoke first, eyeing me boldly.

  “Hello,” his sister said a little more shyly, hiding behind her brother.

  “You must be Beckham and Lillian!”

  Beckham grinned shyly. Lillian slowly did the same, coming out from behind her brother.

  “Hey, do you guys like treasure hunts?”

  Two sets of eyes lit up, and I grinned to myself. Yeah, I’d babysat before, and this one was sure-fire hit when meeting new kids. The best part? At this age, I could get them hunting for the first clue while I made up the second — hunting for the second while I thought up the third, and so on. The kids always loved it and I always had a blast doing it and getting to know them through it.

  Beckham nodded eagerly. “A real treasure hunt?”

  “Yep,” I nodded matter-of-factly. “In this very house.”

  Lillian gasped in this adorable way as she slowly came out from behind her brother.

  “So, the first clue is, it’s some place cold, and you might find food in it.”

  Beckham’s hand shot up. “Is it the refrigerator?”

  I stroked my chin thoughtfully as I nodded slowly. “You know, it might be. Lillian, can you show me where your refrigerator is?”

  She beamed at me as she walked right up and took my hand. “Okay!”

  “You’ve met.”

  We turned to see Colin standing in the doorway of the kitchen, immaculately dressed as always, crisp white linen shirt and all. He smiled warmly at us, his eyes moving between me and his children.

  “We have,” I said, still holding Lillian’s hand as she tried to drag me towards the fridge.

  “Hey, guys?” Colin cleared his throat and his kids both stopped to listen. “Guys, this is Isabella, she’s going to be your new nanny for a while.”

  Lillian did her little gasp again as she looked up at me in awe. “Are you coming to France with us?”

  “I am!” I smiled at her.

  She beamed. “Oh, good.”

  “Dad,” Beckham sighed. “We’re on a treasure hunt.”

  “Oh, right,” Colin nodded. “Carry on then,” he added with a wink at me.

  Chapter 7

  Isabella

  “Settling in I take it?”

  I looked up from my book to see Colin standing in the doorway of my room.

  God, those eyes — that look in them.

  I could feel myself flush crimson, as if I’d just been reading a steamy romance novel and not next semester’s economics textbook.

  “Yes.” I nodded, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, his eyes dropping to the book. “Bakerman’s Laws of Merger, hmm?”

  “You know it?”

  “I know him.”

  My brows raised in surprise. “You know Maxwell Bakerman?”

  “We’re acquainted. I was at a dinner with him in Prague a month ago, actually.”

  Of course, he did. Of course, he was acquainted to the former assistant to the treasury secretary, current board-member at three different banks, and consultant to the Federal Reserve.

  Of course.

  I did my best to hide the impressed smile. “Wow, that’s—”

  “Boastful.”

  I grinned, looking up to see him doing the same.

  “It’s not the most interesting of crowds, I can promise you.”

  We stayed like that for a minute, him in the doorway, me sitting on the edge of my bed, just looking at each other, as if neither of us knew what to say next. It was funny to think of us in this scenario, in his luxurious, clean, elegant townhouse, compared to our first encounter.

  Dirty.

  Reckless.

  Wild, filthy, and hot.

  I finally looked away, blushing at the memory. “I— yes, I’m settling in. Your children are adorable, by the way.”

  He smiled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe. “They are, aren’t they?”

  I smiled.

  “They’re my everything, actually. All this?” he nodded at the house around us. “I’d trade it in a second for them. All of it in an instant. I mean that.”

  I had no doubt he did.

  “Well, I’m excited to be spending time with them. They’re really great kids.”

  “They’re excited about you coming to Paris with us.”

  “I’m excited to be coming.”

  “Excellent. Well, I’ll leave you to your reading.”

  He turned to go but stopped

  “Ms. Wilder—”

  “You can just call me Bella, you know.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Sir,” I added quietly.

  He grinned.

  “I just mean, everyone does.”

  “It’s a pretty name.”

  And there I went, blushing like a schoolgirl.

  “Thank you.”

  “Ms. Wilder,” he said, clearly making a statement of still using my last name. “We need to discuss what happened yesterday.”

  I felt my heart flip-flop.

  The spanking.

  The way his hand had stung my backside as he bent me over his knee, his cock throbbing against my belly.

  That was “what happened yesterday.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said quietly.

  “That can’t happen again.”

  I felt my stomach drop, even if I knew he was right. I nodded.

  “It simply can’t. We need this relationship to be professional, despite our…” He trailed off. “Despite recent history between us.”

  History between us.

  As in, him grabbing my ass, wrapping my legs around his waist, and fucking me hard against the tiled wall of the nightclub bathroom.

  That history.

  “You need to be aware that I hired you based on your qualifications and your recommendation from Dr. Rice, not because of…” He trailed off again, but I knew what he meant.

  Not because I’d sucked his cock.

  Not because I’d come for him when he demanded.

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Good.” He nodded silently from the doorway, the faint hint of a smile teasing his lips. “I’m glad you’re here, Bella,” he said quietly, before he turned and strode out the door, closing it behind him.

  Chapter 8

  Colin

  It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas around the house.

  Andrew and some of the other staff had been busy, putting up wreaths, holly, and a huge tree in the solarium that Beckham and Lillian couldn’t get enough of. We were leaving shortly for Paris, but it was still nice to have the house looking like this for the holidays. Those kids needed a little joy after the year they’d had.

  It’d been a week since Bella had come to live at the house. A week of forcing myself to keep my mind occupied, of making a conscious effort not to stare at her when she walked into a room.

  A week of my cock being hard enough to cut diamonds, knowing she was just down the hall, sleeping in that bed.

  I craved her.

  I wanted her in some sort of primal way, like I needed to claim her. I needed to bury my cock in that sweet pussy again, to take her like I had before.

  To make her come for me.

  It was a lesson in fucking zen meditation, trying to keep my mind focused on literally anything but her and my need to taste her sweet body again.

  A lesson I was still learning.

  The laughter and giggles of my children echoed down the hall as I made my way down the marbled staircase to the basement. The sound of splashing water made me smile as I stepped across the heated tile floor towards the pool room.

  I’d had this installed when I’d purchased the house — and it was a place I cherished
in this home. I’d spent a semester in Florence during my sophomore year of business school, working for an international art buying company, and it had left an impression on me. The pool area in the basement was my reminder of that time. I’d spared zero expense importing the Italian marble, the handmade custom hardware, or the artisan tile-work — all made to bring the baths of Florence to my basement.

  Worth every fucking penny.

  I smiled as I pulled open the frosted glass doors to the pool, seeing Lillian and Beckham splashing and giggling in the shallow end with Bella.

  God, they looked happy, and that alone was enough to make me smile. But then my eyes dropped to her — to Bella, and I suddenly had another reason entirely to smile.

  The soft curve of the bare skin of her back, the thin black line of her two-piece bathing suit top across it. The ripples of her spine, the smoothness of her shoulder. Her blond hair was piled atop her head, and as she turned, smiling at me, she pushed one errant lock behind her ear as her eyes sparkled.

  God what sight.

  God, was she perfect.

  I forced myself to look away, forced myself not to think of the things I’d like to do to her as I made my way to one of the lounge chairs, sinking into it and picking up my paper. I tried to concentrate on the day’s news — on stocks, or relevant recent mergers, or literally anything to get my mind off of the sweet young thing splashing her lithe, perfect body around my pool a few feet away.

  I couldn’t go there — not again. And I knew it.

  Eventually, I heard them stepping from the pool, and I glanced up.

  Fuck.

  Shouldn’t have done that.

  The black two-piece bathing suit was by no means sexy — it wasn’t some scandalous thong or bitsy bikini.

  But it was enough. It was enough to hug every curve and every line of that body. It was enough to get my blood roaring.

  She turned to me as she wrapped a towel around her waist, blushing at what I assumed was the hungry look on my face as I devoured her with my eyes.