by Mia Madison
“Reformed playboy prince since I got engaged to the most perfect girl in the world.”
My heart skips a painful beat. I can’t be wishing that were true.
Can I?
No.
He’s too old, he’s too arrogant and he’s royalty.
“Isn’t that going to be boring for you playing this game?” I ask. “You’ll miss your exciting prince life.”
“Trust me there is nothing more boring on this planet than being a Royal.”
We arrive at a restaurant perched high on a cliff. The view across the water to the mainland is amazing and in the other direction a perfect sunset.
“Cliché?” he asks
“It’s lovely,” I whisper.
People are looking and whispering and the less cool ones are surreptitiously lifting their phones in our direction until suited men tell them not to.
It’s slightly disconcerting and I wish I had way better clothes on. I’m even wearing a knock off pair of Louboutins that will be ripped apart if our picture makes it into any of the New York fashion blogs.
Waiters unfurl huge white napkins and pour champagne and Prince Lucien orders for us both in French.
“So this must be very square and boring evening for you,” I say. “I can’t believe your royal life is more boring than a dinner date.”
It’s anything but for me. I’m really enjoying myself in a way I never have.
“Nothing to do all day but shake hands and observe protocol,” he says.
“Hanging out with adoring women,” I continue.
“Having ugly princesses thrown at you by diplomats as marriage material. I wouldn’t even be able to get it up for most of those uptight women, and I can always get it up on command. And perhaps the worst – living at home and being ordered around by Daddy at nearly forty years old.”
Chapter Ten
Lucien
When we leave the restaurant, the usual crowd of paparazzi have gathered after being tipped off. Kennedy startles as we walk through the door held open by the manager and an array of light bulbs pop in her eyes. She stumbles a little bit and falls against my chest. Her small hand coming up to steady herself on my lapel.
I catch her and pull her into the crook of my arm. Again a bolt hits me at how much I love having her leaning into me.
“That’s gorgeous. Over here,” various rough male voices shout in French, English, even some German.
“Are you okay?” I murmur, looking down at her perfect face and dying to kiss her lips.
When I took her hand across the table in the restaurant she didn’t resist. It’s all part of the game after all. So there was no sensation on her side I guess. Whereas for me, just that small connection of skin was like electrical shocks running through me.
“Kiss her,” the paparazzi are screaming like a herd of cattle heading for the slaughterhouse.
That’s their money shot. No one has ever gotten a photo of me kissing a woman. Or a man either – there were some column inches devoted to the conjecture that I must be gay and the royal line would die out after me.
Even that wasn't enough to manipulate me into kissing a girl in public although my father ordered me to prove the rumor mill wrong. He threatened to cut off my royal purse, then even the royal scepter. Nothing worked.
“Fuck them,” I told him. “I won’t be bullied and used.”
Tonight is different.
Suddenly I want the entire world to see me with Kennedy and know that a virginal young princess now belongs to me.
Supported in the solid curve of my arm, Kennedy leans against me and smiles for the cameras. I can tell instantly that they love her. Those rough bearded guys that spend their lives stalking celebrities and hiding behind garbage cans. I on the other hand don’t have a good relationship with them since they ran a royal friend of mine off the road in Paris. That was twenty years ago now, when Kennedy was too young to be affected.
I let her take the limelight as the flashes continue to blind us. She looks up at me laughing and lifts one foot off the ground behind her like something out of an old movie.
“Kiss her,” the roar goes up again.
I hate them so much I will never give them what they want.
I’ve had enough. I scoop her into my arm and lead her to the waiting car. I almost snarl at the photographers that they had better not chase us down the winding hill road. The passenger door is opened for Kennedy to climb in and I take hold of it, planning on being the one to close her safely inside.
She looks up at me again, smiling happily with a sparkling smile. My hands on the other side of the door, holding the handle she reaches up to cup my now stubbled chin in her little hands. Before I think of it, or plan, or obsess, I simply tip my head down and kiss her.
Her lips crush hungrily into mine and the flash bulbs go wild. I shut my eyes against them and let go. Scooping her up hard into me, her bare breasts under that virginal white shift crush into the curve of my hard pec.
I release her. I have to release her before I ravage her.
“That’s enough exhibitionism for one evening,” I whisper against her ear, that gathers another round of a thousand shots fired.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says as I close her in. “The night is young.”
Then I’m inside the vehicle and we’re pulling away. I drive fast. I always do especially when I’m riled. I can’t work out what’s aggravating me more, those bastards back there or the little Princess beside me. I’d do anything to be a normal man for just one day and be able to pull over to the side of the road and pull her over on top of me.
She says nothing about my driving. I’m a fucking good driver but then what man doesn’t think that about his prowess at the wheel? Or anywhere? She reaches over and her fingertips curl lightly around my thigh. The rest of it has all been for the cameras but we’re alone now. What is she doing other than trying to keep me calm?
Which only happens once the high gates close behind us.
I stop the car at the door and leave it for the valet. I lift her up from the low car and my hand goes on her back to guide her inside. There are servants everywhere, waiting to see if we need anything before we retire. Shit, if only we weren't surrounded, the things I could do to her sexy sweet body.
“So did you?” she asks when we get to the top of the stairs?
“Did I what?”
“Imagine my breasts naked all through dinner?’
My cock unfurls at that and her direct playfulness. She’s nowhere near as prudish as I first assumed. Her eyes are filled with a fucking ton of invitation. Which is all wrong. Because she’s nothing like the rest of her family. She’s young and good and I can’t use her so totally like that. But I can still be bad.
“Yes.” I tell her with a grin
“And how were they?” she whispers, looking back to see if anyone could be close enough to hear.
“Amazing,” I grit out.
My hand on her waist is powerful enough to yank her to me, to cover her mouth with a real kiss this time. Although the last one felt pretty real to me, it had to be my imagination running wild. My blue balls playing havoc with my brain matter. Because this girl cannot be for me.
“Amazing enough to want to see the rest?” she murmurs against my mouth.
“Baby,” I moan, wishing she’d stop teasing now.
It’s unbearable. It’s driving me insane.
We can’t.
“Don’t you want me?” she rasps low into my lips, sending my dick into a frenzy.
“Baby, you have no idea how much I want you.”
Suddenly we’re a tangle of hands and mouths. She claws at my shoulders, my biceps, like she’s frantically searching for something. I think I know what it is. My mouth drags hers deeper into me, wanting to suck her in as deep as I can take her. My tongue winds around hers in a battle of need that she cannot win but gives a good fight.
I pick her up, my hands cupping her ass that must still be stinging from this
afternoon and I carry her down the hallway to my suite. She climbs up my body, arching her back to sit upright on my palms as she wraps her legs around my waist. Her mouth takes mine, her tongue licking at me hungrily.
I cup her perfect mounds in my palms, savoring how the bare flesh compresses into my fingers. How her nipples stand up immediately, for me to roll them and pull them out in my fingers.
I kick open the door to my suite and then throw her down on the huge bed standing on its platform. Before I know what’s happened, it’s morning.
*
“Where’s my fucking espresso?” I grit out.
The clock reads after ten and the servants still haven’t come in to pull back the drapes and serve me coffee. I roll over and then sit bolt upright in deeply shocked horror. I’m not alone.
“Good morning,” Kennedy purrs up at me.
She looks so adorable all tousled and sleepy I yearn to make it one for both of us.
“This bed really is -” Her gaze slides down to the granite pole at my thighs standing up like a soldier on parade ground. “- king size.”
She strokes across the rumpled sheet with an inviting sensual touch that makes my skin heat up.
What is she still doing here?
Shit, I can’t have a woman in my bed. No wonder the servants haven't come in. They’re probably stampeding around outside the door wondering what protocol dictates they should do.
I’m not sure I know what protocol dictates. And right now I’m consumed by a dictator in my pants demanding relief.
Her eyes trawl across my bare chest, slowly enough to step down and along each ripple and ridge individually, like she’s drinking me up. Okay, I guess I deserve the reciprocal eyefuck treatment. Then she lands on the bulge pressing hungrily, ravenously, against the fabric of my pants.
Instead of looking away with a pink flush of shyness, the little vixen licks her lips. Slowly, but absent-minded, like she doesn't realize what she’s up to. When she knows exactly what she’s doing. Driving me fucking crazy.
Her hand strokes across the smooth sheet like it’s calling me back to bed. I’m three strides away and every pore in my body is taut. Screaming at me ‘what the fuck are you waiting for?’
“This bed is so big.”
She stretches her arms to the side and arches her back so her tits lift and press through the thin white cotton of her shift. Thank fuck she has her clothes on. All two items – I assume she’s still wearing panties.
Christ!
Chapter Eleven
Kennedy
“What did I do?” Lucien demands to know.
Ohmigod he’s hot in the morning. Especially walking around shirtless, his muscles twitching and flexing in physical fury.
And so cute when he’s all bewildered and stuttering and out of control.
I giggle inside as I watch him leap around. And during that I take in the hard chest, the curve of his pecs into the delts that makes such a perfect hollow for me to nestle into when he wraps one arm around me. He was like a shield wall last night, like he thought those photographers were pointing guns not cameras.
“Stop grinning like that and answer me,” he commands.
A royal command.
Should I tell him we had wild passionate sex with me tied to the royal bedchamber head-post? It would be so funny. But he looks so stressed I decide not to fib.
“Nothing. But believe me you need to get a bed that’s smaller than Kansas.”
“You’re sure?” he pants.
“Totally. Your wife will want to snuggle into that chest all night and not be relegated to the east coast.”
“I mean you’re sure nothing happened between us?”
I tip my head to one side and roll my eyes over his body, giving him another good eyefuck, same as he’s given me more than once. Problem is, my pussy starts throbbing so hard, I wish we had done something last night. Instead of him allowing me to get his shirt off, but when I went for the belt buckle, he leapt away like he’d caught fire.
“I think I’d remember a tool like that,” I murmur, staring at that massive bulge and silently begging for it to be pressed inside me.
“Wow, you’re cheeky in the morning.”
“I’m cheeky all day,” I say.
“That right?”
He takes a step and my insides squirm with pleasure, sure he’s coming back into bed. And this time we’ll do more than talk, like last night when he had me spread on the bed and then left me there, dangling. But damn, if a timid knocking on the door doesn’t halt him this time.
He pulls that stunning chest up tall and announces “Come,” with regal command.
Fuck, I wish I had.
A veritable platoon of servants marches into the room in a perfectly straight line, each carrying a silver tray held aloft at the precise height.
They silently prepare everything, laying out silver cutlery, positioning the tie backs for the drapes exactly. They move like invisible ghosts, not hearing the real world. I take my chance.
“Did nothing happen because you’re afraid of Daddy?” I ask.
He releases a roar of laughter.
“I’m more afraid of my daddy than I am yours, Angel,” he says. “And mine’s over eighty years old.
A servant waits at the side of the bed holding up a golden robe and then I realize it’s for me to slip into. I slither out of bed feeling Lucien’s eyes lap me up hungrily. I turn and spread my arms like a hostess for a game show contestant before pushing my arms into the sleeves. When I reach down to tie the belt, amazed that the fabric appears to be actual spun gold, someone is already tying it for me. Perfectly of course.
All eyes in the room are averted from me, except for the Prince’s. He continues gazing at me with such – I don’t know – is it fascination? Interest? Like he thinks I’m related to a baboon? I don’t know. He waves away the person holding out his robe.
He’s going to eat breakfast bare-chested. Is it my birthday? Because that is some gift.
The servants form a line to leave the room and the last one to leave, in livery so he must be the head boss or whatever, says; “Your father will see you at eleven.”
He pulls the door quickly closed to evade the roar of irritation Lucien belts out at it.
I go to the table and pour us coffee from the silver pot. Lucien looks down at me as he takes the cup, surprised that I brought it. His eyes soften over me.
“Drink up,” I tell him. “You’re a bear in the morning.”
“Not every morning.”
“You aren’t used to company I take it?”
“I’m not used to being denied.”
“Me either,” I say. Which of course isn’t strictly true.
He puts a hand in the small of my back to lead me across to the small table in the window. Can’t he feel how that makes me tremble all the way thorough my core? Doesn't he know I don’t care what my father thinks about us being together? I want him. I want to feel that older man slide inside me.
The feel of his skin when I woke in the night and slithered across the sheets to be closer was amazing. So thick but smooth, like fine leather worn-in instead of pleather I’m used to with guys my age.
“I’ve never slept with a woman.” he says as he seats me at the table in front of the window where breakfast is laid.
His hands cup around my shoulders and I’m sure that now he’s going to lean in and kiss my neck. But he thinks better of it.
“You’re a virgin?” I laugh up at him as he heads around to his side.
He tips down to plant a quick kiss on my lips and I almost slide off my seat in a swoon. I want more of that for breakfast. I want more of that always.
“I mean I’ve never had a woman in my bed. Or in my palace.”
He swallows down his coffee and goes to push the newspapers away, so he has enough space to lean forward and focus his gaze entirely on me, sitting across from him.
“Jesus fucking -” he yells.
“What is it?�
��
But I don’t have to ask.
I can see from here that I’m front page news.
PRINCE and his SWEETHEART one headline howls in huge black letters.
I can’t deny that I do look exceptionally young in not enough camera make-up and the purposely innocent girlish white dress. I’m way too virginal beside the playboy prince in his demonic all-black outfit and dark stubbled beard.
“I look like I’m about to be sacrificed,” I joke.
Lucien scans across the article, swears and tosses it aside.
PRINCE and the SHOWGIRL is the headline on the next paper.
“Oh my god,” I squeak.
Now I’m the antithesis of purity. Somehow, the flashing bulbs maybe, my dress is rendered almost transparent and the circle of my nipples is clearly visible.
“You got me topless after all,” I joke again, gulping down my fresh OJ trying to swallow the humiliation.
“The whole world got you topless,” he grits out through a clenched jaw.
I search his face for clues as to why he gives a shit. He got what he wanted, the girl on his arm, without a bra, news articles about his fiancee. Why is he so annoyed?
“Go to your room,” he orders me imperiously.
“Excuse me?” I snap back.
Not even a Crown Prince gets to speak to me like I’m a child. Especially when I haven't done a thing wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he says, soft, his pained eyes looking up at me. “I’m sorry. Go back to your own room please.”
A rush of disappointment sinks like a stone in my stomach. He’s dismissing me. My princess act lasted less than twenty four hours. It was only ever meant to be nothing more than a fairy tale but it hurts that it’s already over.
I get up to leave and Lucien immediately rises to guide me to the door. His hand goes onto my low back for the last time. I almost feel like crying that I didn't get as close to him as I yearn to be, last night in his bed when I had the chance.
“Get ready and I’ll come to you at noon,” he says as he opens the door.
