by Anna Martin
Anna Martin's British Boys Box Set
My Prince - The Impossible Boy - Cricket
Anna Martin
Copyright © 2020 Anna Martin
My Prince by Anna Martin
www.annamartin-fiction.com
© 2019 Anna Martin
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
First edition October 2015 (Dreamspinner Press)
Second (revised) edition November 2019
Characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any person depicted on the cover of this book is a model and is not affiliated with, nor do they endorse, this story.
The Impossible Boy by Anna Martin
www.annamartin-fiction.com
© 2020 Anna Martin
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
First edition January 2017 (Dreamspinner Press)
Second (revised) edition January 2020
Cover art by Garrett Leigh www.blackjazzdesign.com
Characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any person depicted on the cover of this book is a model and is not affiliated with, nor do they endorse, this story.
Cricket by Anna Martin
www.annamartin-fiction.com
© 2019 Anna Martin
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
First edition July 2013 (Dreamspinner Press)
Second (revised) edition November 2019
Cover art by Cate Ashwood www.cateashwooddesigns.com
Characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any person depicted on the cover of this book is a model and is not affiliated with, nor do they endorse, this story.
My Prince
by Anna Martin
Chapter One
The club was nothing special.
In any major city around the world, there would be gay clubs like this: lights flashing, people dancing, men doing tequila shots—wearing eyeshadow, wearing leather, wearing… very little, George thought, as a kid walked past in a jockstrap and nothing else.
He shook his head, knocked back the Jack and Coke, and edged onto the dance floor to dance some more.
It wasn’t a bad club, not really. Just nothing special.
George had started going to the clubs back home in Manchester when he was fifteen, back in the day when bouncers didn’t check IDs at the door, and bar staff didn’t check them either. So if you knew someone who was legitimately old enough to buy your drinks, then you could get away with having “forgotten” your driver’s license and still have a good night out.
Those day were long over; now twenty-eight, he swore he got asked for ID more these days than he ever did at fifteen. He only came out to these types of clubs for one reason. And that reason was eluding him tonight.
While he danced, grinding up on a different guy every other song, his eyes roamed the club, looking for a hookup. He hadn’t had sex in about six weeks, not that he was keeping count, but that was a long time for him, and he was ready to get laid. Some kids stood over by the bar—well, he called them kids, but they were likely the same age as him—drinking champagne from the bottle, looking… rich. George purposefully looked away.
Fuck that.
He found some tall, slim guy with dark, dark hair to dance with, and the guy was hot. George snogged him for a while, until it became painfully clear this kid had no idea what he was doing when it came to kissing. George wasn’t about to let a mouth like that anywhere near his cock.
He moved away, giving the kid a wink to let him down gently, and went back to the bar.
The music was loud, and he was sweaty, slightly sticky, and feeling like he should maybe go back to the other club where his friends were and give up on the idea of getting his dick sucked tonight. Maybe next weekend.
And wasn’t that always the way? As soon as you give up on the idea of dick sucking, the opportunity presents itself.
“Hey,” the guy said.
George looked closer. It was one of the kids who had been drinking Moët from the bottle earlier.
“Buy you a drink?” he offered.
George gave him an even look. “Sure.”
“What’s your name?”
Because he could, and because he knew what happened when he did, George paused before answering and tucked his tongue in his cheek, shooting the guy a cocky look.
“George. You?”
“Alex. Nice to meet you, George.”
George wasn’t sure what sort of signal Alex had given to the bartender, but now another bottle of expensive champagne appeared on the shiny black bar, along with two slim glasses.
“I’m more of a beer kinda guy…,” he said slowly, and Alex grinned.
“Live a little.”
The cork had been freshly popped, and fizzy smoke drifted from the top of the perfectly chilled bottle. Alex abandoned the glasses, grabbed the neck of the bottle, and wrapped his fingers around George’s wrist to lead him back onto the dance floor. Alex tipped the bottle up and drank straight from it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the champagne over to George, who copied his movement.
“That’s not a Scottish accent,” Alex said, tapping George lightly on the nose. He took back the bottle, wrapped one arm around George’s waist, and started to rock their bodies together.
“Neither is yours,” George said. When no more information came from Alex, he said, “Manchester,” and left it at that.
Alex cocked his head to one side. “By way of London.”
“What does that mean?”
“Doesn’t matter. You wanna get out of here?”
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” George paused again. “Sure.”
“We can’t go back to my place. I have family staying.”
“I have eleven housemates.”
“Seriously?”
“No, but it feels like it sometimes.”
“Okay, hang on. Take this.” Alex thrust the bottle into George’s hand. “Stay here. Or, even better, meet me at the door in ten minutes.”
George laughed, once, hard, not quite believing this guy. They hadn’t even kissed. That was a strange thought. They hadn’t even kissed.
Alex slinked off into the mess of people, his phone already to his ear. George took another swig of the champagne, passed it to one of the fit young things in a jockstrap, squeezed his bare ass for good measure, then headed to the men’s to take a leak.
Even in the entrance hall of the club, the biting Edinburgh wind swept in, and George shivered. Alex was there, waiting like he said he’d be, with George’s coat over his arm.
“How did you—” George started, but Alex cut him off with a shake of his head.
“Come on.”
A black cab was waiting, and Alex held the door, letting George slide in first. He’d apparently told the driver where to go, because the cab immediately pulled away from the side of the road and made its way from Canongate onto North Bridge.
“Where are we going?” George a
sked.
Alex squeezed his knee.
Maybe three minutes later, the cab stopped.
“Here all right?” the driver asked, his voice a thick Scottish drawl.
“Fine, thanks,” Alex called and slipped a twenty through the gap.
For a six pound fare.
“Come on,” Alex said again and took hold of George’s hand. They were right on North Bridge now, the wind whipping in off the North Sea, and George hadn’t even had time to put on his coat.
“The Scotsman?” he asked as Alex tugged him up the steps of the famous hotel. “I was expecting the Premier Inn down the road, mate.”
Alex flashed a row of straight, white, perfect teeth, and it was this, more than anything else, that sucker punched George right in the gut.
This guy was rich. Really rich.
Despite the late hour, there was a doorman waiting to usher them inside the cosy reception area. The receptionist, in her pristine black-and-gold shirt, came out from behind the desk and handed Alex a key.
“Enjoy your stay, sir,” she said, and Alex nodded his thanks.
Instead of taking the lift, Alex led George up the wide staircase, then another, then stopped outside one of the doors on the second floor and let them inside.
The suite was elegant, sprawling—wood panelling on the walls, thick red carpet, a small area to one side with delicately upholstered armchairs and a table with a vase of wide white roses.
“Who are you?” George asked.
Alex smiled. “You wanna fuck me or not?”
George laughed. “I wanna fuck you,” he confirmed, dumping his coat over the back of one of the armchairs and undoing the top button of his shirt. He could put aside his prejudices toward the social elite for one night, especially when the social elite looked so fucking hot.
“Good.”
Alex stepped up close into George’s personal space and laid his hands on his firm, muscled chest. George was his type of guy—everything from his strong chest, thick arms, toned back; his “fuck you” attitude; the way his hair was buzzed almost completely off, just a light fuzz over his scalp that was shorter even than the stubble on his jaw. The Timberland boots, scruffy jeans, the nice shirt that his mum had probably bought for him.
Oh, yeah.
Alex was going to have fun with this one.
George was maybe an inch or two shorter than Alex, meaning he had to angle his jaw just so for the first, almost aggressive bump of lips on lips. It wasn’t a kiss. Nor was the next, definitely aggressive nip to the bottom lip that Alex received, just to remind him, if he needed reminding, who was in control.
It wasn’t him.
He was fine with that.
George pressed his hands to Alex’s chest and walked him slowly back until his thighs bumped against the edge of the bed.
Then they kissed, and oh boy, it was worth waiting for.
George wrapped his hand around the back of Alex’s neck and he brought their heads together, bumping noses (was that on purpose?), and his tongue was suddenly in Alex’s mouth, hot and slick and good; George was good at this, and Alex reached down to undo the buckle on George’s jeans.
They edged back onto the bed together, laughing softly and trying to maintain that lip-to-lip contact. Mostly failing.
George had grey eyes.
The light in the room was dim and romantic, like he’d asked for. His family stayed at the Scotsman fairly regularly, so his call asking for a suite last-minute wasn’t all that unusual. He’d never used this place for a hookup before—he wasn’t usually afraid to take them back to his place—and it had taken some scrambling on someone’s part to get the room ready in less than twenty minutes.
Eh. He’d pay them well for it.
The low lighting was good on George, much better than the random, flashing coloured lights in the club, and he’d looked good under those too. His body was all angles and curves, cheekbones and jaw, bicep and ass, and Alex was prepared to bet he had cut hipbones too, the ones that made a delicious V arrowing down to his cock.
“Top or bottom?” George growled.
“Yes.”
“I don’t bottom.”
“Oh, I’m happy to, honey.”
For a moment it looked like George was struggling to keep a straight face, and then he buried his face in Alex’s shoulder and laughed.
“Good,” he mumbled, then started to lick and suck up and down Alex’s neck.
From there it was shirts off, and holy defined pecs, Batman and little button nipples and kicking off socks and shoes.
“Nice tattoo,” Alex said, skimming his fingertips over the dragon that crested over George’s shoulder, the beast snarling out from his chest.
“Thanks.”
Alex wasn’t expecting Mr. I Don’t Bottom to pay too much attention to his dick, so when George’s hand stole inside his Calvins and very carefully cupped the whole package, then squeezed, the noise he made was part surprise, part desperate arousal.
His toes curled, and he arched off the bed, asking for more with his body rather than words.
“Horny little fucker, aren’t you,” George said, squeezing again, then letting his fingers tuck under Alex’s balls and press farther back. He frowned and paused, two fingers hovering before going any further. “You’re alright with a bit of banter, yeah?”
Alex licked his bottom lip and felt a smile creeping over his face. “Yeah. I don’t mind.”
“Good.”
George leaned down and delicately took Alex’s nipple between his teeth, tugging gently as his fingers continued their slow dance around Alex’s hole.
“Oh God. Oh fuck. There’s lube in the nightstand.”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“I told them to put it there.”
“Handy, that.”
Alex could hear the sarcasm but no malice as George leaned over and yanked open the drawer to find condoms, lube, tissues, wet wipes, and a “for her pleasure” cock ring, then dumped them all on the top of the nightstand.
By then, Alex couldn’t contain his giggles, and he pulled his boxer briefs the rest of the way off, throwing them onto the floor with the rest of his clothes. He palmed his cock, one arm tossed lazily up over his head, as George rifled farther back in the drawer.
“What are you looking for now?”
“I dunno. I’m intrigued. Poppers? A massive dildo? The door to Narnia?”
“That’s in the wardrobe.”
“There’s no poppers,” George decided, grabbing the lube and fiddling with the wrapper to get it undone.
“I don’t need them.”
“Eh.” George shrugged. “I don’t mind a hit every now and then.”
His eyes flicked to Alex, almost casually, and then he did an amusing double take.
“Hmm?” Alex asked.
“You’re really fucking fit.”
“Thank you. You’re not bad yourself.”
George snorted and returned his attention to the bottle of lube.
“Here,” Alex said, as he let go of his cock and reached out to take it from him. “Get a condom.” George made a face. “You’re gonna need a condom,” Alex added with a laugh.
“Alright, alright. Keep your knickers on.”
George still had his socks on. Clean, smart black ones, so Alex wasn’t going to tell him to take them off. He had big hands too, Alex noticed as George fumbled—again—with the condom wrapper, then rolled it down his cock.
His big, thick, veiny cock.
Hoo, mama.
“Here,” Alex said, reaching for George’s cock with his fingers loaded up with lube. He took his time smearing the slippery stuff over the latex, feeling the whole package start to warm, then throb under his fingers. George’s eyes flickered closed.
He wiped what was left over his hole, then surreptitiously cleaned his hand with the bedcover.
“You want—” George started, and Alex cut him off with a shake of his head.
“I’m g
ood.” He spread his legs a little wider.
George shifted on the bed, then lay down on top of Alex, lining their bodies up perfectly. He nipped Alex’s jaw, then kissed him, letting his cock settle in the crease of Alex’s ass and humping slowly as their tongues slid together.
“You ready?” George asked as Alex gasped into his mouth.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
George leaned down and grabbed his dick, angling it so it was pressed just against Alex’s hole. The slippery lube made finding purchase difficult, and they both laughed breathlessly for a few moments until George got it right, finally, and the first inch or so of his dick popped inside.
“Oh fuck,” Alex gasped, and his whole body arched off the bed.
His hands were settled in that place where George’s shoulders met his neck, and he felt his entire body contract: fingers, toes, abs, spine, everything curling in toward George’s body. After a second, maybe more, George pushed the rest of the way in.
“Is that it?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
The sounds of his own heartbeat and breathing were loud in Alex’s ears as they moved together, shifting so his legs were pulled back, held in place by George’s elbows and hands planted on the bed.
He has really nice forearms, Alex thought, his mind finding the weirdest thing to concentrate on at the most inopportune moment.
George’s fucking was deep and slow. He pressed his forehead to Alex’s and wrapped his arm around the back of Alex’s neck, holding them close together for more slow, demanding kisses.
It was good. Really good. Really sexy, hot—the feel of a man inside him, the smell and taste of him, the way he grunted hard and kissed soft and knew how to angle up to grind against Alex’s prostate.
This man was good at sex, knew what he was doing with another person’s body. It was give and take, and George was giving better than Alex had had in a really long time. It wasn’t until he felt it—the really good—that he realised what he’d been missing.
George made a soft noise in the back of his throat and said, “Alex,” and Alex reached for his own cock, tugging on it in time with George’s thrusts.
