Princely Passions: A Royal Romance

by Alexis Angel

  I sit back down with my coffee in my room in front of my laptop and start reading the compiled reports.

  Oh. My. God.

  I spend literally three hours in front of the computer. My coffee has gone cold. I’ve been so caught up.

  Derrick is so wrong about so many things.

  And I decide I can no longer write character assassination pieces for Samantha Scar.

  In Derrick words, I’m fucked.

  18

  Derrick

  “So basically, the last three weeks have been tremendous, Your Highness,” Larry is telling me.

  I smile. “Is that your professional opinion as my lawyer, mate?” I ask him.

  He cracks a grin. Maybe for the first time since he’s been around me. “That’s my professional opinion. You have a court date for some parking tickets and fines for some citations, but honestly, if you keep up the good behavior that you’ve got going, you should be absolutely fine.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t believe that less than a month ago newspapers were openly advocating that I should be tossed out of the country. I look over some of the papers this morning.

  “Prince Charming!” reads The New York Post. It’s got a picture of me and Daphne, although her face is facing the other direction. I think the photographer was trying to capture her fucking perfect legs and ass. But we’re holding hands as we cross the street towards the Met. I’m wearing my tux and looking at her. I fucking remember exactly why I was looking at her. Because she looked fucking gorgeous. And I realized how long we’d been seeing each other.

  “Queen of the Castle!” reads the Daily News. I’m carrying a box of some shit and taking it out of my condo with her pointing where on the street I should put it. Again, that’s all Daphne. She’s been moving more and more stuff out of her ransacked apartment and as she brings stuff over, a lot of my fucking shit is going out.

  First to go was a fair amount of porn.

  Don’t fucking laugh, mate. I didn’t really mind it much, because it was all fucking DVD’s and magazines. Stuff I never looked at.

  And care to guess how fucking amazing Daphne was about all that? She didn’t mind at all when she discovered it. In fact, we fucked hard that night, doing it much better than the people on camera. Honestly mate, they should pay us to fuck. People could fucking learn a thing or two when I’m making Daphne cum for the 8th time in the night or when we both fucking pass out from hours of fucking.

  But, I have to say, the biggest turnaround has got to be The News of the Times. Abigail Adams. That lady used to be a fucking cunt to me a month ago. Now, she’s the sweetest fucking thing. Today’s Page Eight headline is in front of me. Want to know what it says?

  “Sweet Sinner.”

  That’s fucking right. They managed to get a picture of us outside on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. Daphne is looking out and I have my arms around her, wrapping her up. I’m kissing her cheek and she’s leaning into me.

  Fuck. I don’t know how they’ve been so fucking spot on. They got it first when Daphne and I first met at Per Se. They got it when I rescued the little boy, even though I didn't want it public. They got the details on Daphne and basically have been controlling the story around her.

  It’s like Pressly or Sam, or even Larry has been tipping them off. Don’t think I didn’t ask them. But each said no, and I fucking believe them.

  “As long as the three tabloids are on your side, Derrick, you’re golden,” Larry is saying to me, as if reading my thoughts. Fuck. If I’m so transparent, no wonder it’s so easy for the gossip pages to capture me.

  “I have to say, the philanthropy isn’t going unnoticed amongst the diplomats from the US,” my father says over speaker phone.

  Fucking hell. Just what he would think about. This fucking cunt doesn’t give two shits about family.

  “Fuck me, Leopold,” I burst out. “Do you even care about whether I get deported or not?” I ask.

  Larry and Pressly draw sharp intakes of breath. I continue, not caring. “You know, never mind,” I say. “I want this trade deal to mean more to you than me, because it makes hating you that much fucking easier.”

  There is a long pause on the other end of the line.

  “Derrick, you’re my son,” the King says. “I love you. I’m sorry you don't believe that.”

  He sounds fucking tired. But whatever. I don’t fucking care.

  “So, court date coming up, the city seems to love me even more, but the newspapers really fucking love me, and Leopold’s trade deal is going well,” I say to Pressly and Larry. “Anything else?”

  They both announce that they have nothing else. I hang up the phone before the King has a chance to say goodbye. He’s said his piece. I don’t want to hear any more from him.

  “Sire,” Pressly takes me aside after Larry leaves. “I know the King and Your Highness have had difficulties, but I wonder if you should show him a bit more respect?”

  I pause and look at Pressly. “You’ve been very loyal all these years since Mom died,” I say. “I hope that’s not going to fucking change.”

  Pressly sighs. “Not at all, Your Highness,” he answers. “But I do know that the King loves you and…”

  I don’t give him a chance to finish. “You call what he did to my mother love?”

  I’m nearly screaming at him. But then I remember Daphne and I quiet down.

  “You want to know what love is, Pressly?” I ask him. But I don’t wait for him to answer. “Daphne’s given herself to me selflessly. She’s helping me become a better man. She could have asked me for anything. But she didn’t. She only gave herself.”

  Pressly is silent and I continue, “The total opposite of Leopold.”

  I know it irritates everyone who I refer to the King by his first name. But it’s one of the only ways I can fight back against the shackles of royalty I was born into. If I had been just a regular man, I at least could have the option to never fucking talk to my father.

  Pressly sighs and decides to drop the case. I’m glad. I was getting pretty fucking heated. But I think about what I said about Daphne.

  I’m being serious. She’s like a fucking angel. My angel.

  She makes me want to be a better man.

  She helps me work at being that better man.

  Fuck me, just the thought of her takes away all bad memories in my fucking head. I’ve nearly forgotten about the King, and Pressly - everything.

  All I want to do is find her.

  I head straight to the room, but I stop dead on my tracks as I hear the sound of running water coming from the master bathroom. I grab the golden knob of the door - it’s not locked, so I just turn it and step inside. A thick blanket of steam covers the whole room, but I can still see Daphne’s perfect shape through it.

  She’s in the shower, completely naked; her head is held high, her eyes closed as she runs her hands through her hair. I remain still and in silence, just taking in the sight of her. I’ve fucked a legion of women, but not one of them compares to Daphne. I don’t know what it is about her that draws me in like this - maybe the gentle curves of her thighs, the smoothness of her skin or the way her smile comes so easily... I don’t fucking know and, in all honesty, I don’t really give a fuck. All that matters is that she’s right here, with me.

  I step forwards, my eyes never leaving her body; as I do it, she turns to me, a look of surprise dawning on her face.

  “Derrick… What are you doing here?” She says, brushing a lock of wet hair from her forehead.

  “I wanted to see you,” I simply find myself saying. And it’s the truth. I was fucking pissed, I was angry… And my mind immediately pointed me to the only thing capable of making me forget all of those worries easily - Daphne.

  “Now?”

  “Now,” I smile. With that, I take my hands to the glass panel and slide it to the side. I step inside the shower stall, not giving a fuck as the warm water soaks my shirt and pants, making the fabric stick to
my skin. I need to feel her body on mine and I’m not going to waste a single fucking second removing my clothes - I can do that later.

  Before she can open her mouth to protest against me being there, I grab her by the waist and pull her into me, pressing my lips against hers. We kiss gently, the warm water running down both our bodies; in an instant, her hands are on my shirt, her hurried fingers quickly unbuttoning it. Not wanting to waste any more time, she stops unbuttoning the shirt and simply pulls on it with both hands, making the remaining buttons pop out. She pushes the wet fabric down my arms, her hands feverishly running over my chiseled muscles.

  I run my hands up her side and grab the hair behind her neck, forcing her head back as I lean in and kiss the smooth skin of her neck, nibbling at it with an almost uncontrollable hunger. Just having her body pressed against mine is all I could ask for… Fortunately, she wants more than that - as I kiss her neck, I feel the tip of her fingers go down and over my abs. She grabs my hard cock over my pants, curling her fingers around it with a strength that betrays all the desire that fills her mind.

  Letting go of my cock, she unbuttons my pants and pushes them down my legs along with my soaked boxer briefs. I step out of them, kicking them to the side, and press my body against hers as she grabs my cock in a hurry. I can’t help but close my eyes as she starts to stroke it wildly.

  I cup her ass then, feeling it’s perfect curve against the open palm of my hand; her breasts are pressed against my chest, her hard nipples rubbing on my pectorals as if she’s begging for more. I’m happy to oblige to the demands of her body - I push her back just enough for me to grab her right breast. Leaning in, I part my lips and fit her small rosy nipple between them, sucking eagerly as she purrs in delight.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” I say, letting go of her ass and allowing my fingers to go around her waist. With only my fingertips, I gently touch the soft mound between her thighs. I can’t help but grin as her whole body trembles the moment I press my index finger just above her clit.

  “Take me…” She moans against my ear, her voice coming at me with a begging tone. What can I do but give her what she wants? I run one finger along her pussy, parting her inner lips - but instead of sliding my finger in, I just pin Daphne against the wall and, grabbing her right below her buttock, I make her raise her leg. I press my body against hers, the tip of my cock rubbing against her inner folds. She starts to struggle against my hold, swaying her hips wildly and moaning, but I keep my patience - I simply rub my cock on her pussy, driving her to the edge of madness.

  She throws her head back, pressing it against the tiles on the wall, and that’s the moment I choose to thrust - one movement of my hips and my cock slides deep inside of her, a high pitched scream of pleasure leaving Daphne’s mouth.

  Still grabbing one of her legs, I grab the other one and lift it up; she immediately locks them behind my back, her arms thrown over my shoulders as she forces me to lean in and kisses me in abandonment. I kiss her back, closing my eyes as I keep on thrusting. I have to grit my teeth, waves of pleasure hitting me all at once, her body like a maddening drug designed for the perfect high. Because that’s exactly how I feel - I feel fucking high and, by God, only Daphne can make me feel like this.

  I match the sway of her hips, our movements guided by the same invisible rhythm of lust. I feel nothing but the warmness of her body - I don’t feel or hear the running water, I don’t see the cloud of steam that fills the room. I’m fucking deaf and blind to the world, all brain power directed to what really matters - her.

  I keep going until both our bodies hum the same fucking song - one of lust, passion and pleasure. Locked in our tight embrace, our bodies tense as a wave of pleasure comes for us both. She rests her forehead against my chest, her pussy tightening around my spasming cock as I cum in a torrent.

  I exhale sharply as her whole body convulses, her muscles rippling as wild sparks of pleasure jump from her body into mine. I remain still, savoring the moment. My cock gives its final spasms, semen dripping down her thighs as her ragged breathing becomes calmer.

  In this exact moment, I’m not a fucking prince. I’m not Prince fucking Sin or whatever I’m called. In her arms I’m just Derrick, and all those fucking problems that plague me fade away as if they’re nothing.

  Fuck, I couldn’t be more glad that I found her.

  I turn off the shower, and towel her off. I look into her eyes and can’t believe I’m about to say. “I love you, Daphne,” I say.

  Fuck me. Who ever thought this day would come?

  She looks me in the eyes as I look at her. Fuck, if anything happened to her, I don’t know what I’d do. I wouldn’t be able to go on.

  She looks at me for a long moment. A very long moment. “I need you to come with me, Derrick.”

  She wraps the towel around her and ties it in the front, and walks out of the bathroom. I stare at her ass and her shapely fucking legs as she walks off.

  I gotta say one thing. This is not the response I expected to me declaring that I loved her.

  I follow Daphne into her room and she sits down on the bed.

  I throw my towel over my shoulder. Daphne looks at me and scrunches her nose.

  “You’re not feeling the towel?” she asks me with a smirk. This girl is starting to get some sass in her.

  Just looking at Daphne sitting on her bed is getting my cock hard. I grin at her, and walk over to the bed. But as I get close, she pulls out her laptop and turns it my direction.

  “If you’ve fallen in love with me Derrick,” she says and I stop short. “If you’ve really fallen in love with me, then…I can’t keep this to myself any longer.”

  What the fuck is this? I actually put my towel down and sit down on the bed.

  “You need to know the truth,” Daphne says and hands me her tablet as well.

  I look through it. The headline is from the St. Livy Register - the newspaper of record in my kingdom. It simply reads, “Queen Dies From Drug Overdose in New York.”

  I look up at Daphne. “What the fuck is this?” I ask, my heart starting to beat.

  She looks at me firmly. “The truth,” she says. “Read.”

  And read I fucking do.

  It rocks my fucking world.

  My mother never had cancer. She had several, and I’m talking about upwards of ten times she checked into rehab for drugs. For alcohol.

  Article after article. Government records. Foreign newspapers and gossip columns. All painting a picture far more different than I ever knew.

  My parents being married in an arranged marriage. My mother getting caught cheating on my father, the King at least five times. Her struggles with alcoholism. Her passing out drunk and high at state functions. Embezzlement of monies from the Royal Treasury. Being picked up in Amsterdam in the Red Light District - high on methamphetamines.

  Finally, internal documents that were declassified by the St. Livy Royal Office showing my father taking my mother for treatment all around the world. Taking her to St. Penares for therapy. To Australia to get away from the press. And finally to bring her to New York City for intensive therapy - after a particularly heinous episode where she was caught fucking two guys in the Royal Palace with cocaine in her system and a Blood Alcohol Level around 0.15.

  Apparently New York City was the last straw. A sum of $2.5 million dollars was found to have been embezzled by my mother and the Parliament of St. Livy had demanded that the King do something about his wayward wife or abdicate the throne until the matter was resolved.

  Rather than throw his country into chaos, he brought her to treatment here.

  But it didn't work.

  I read a News of the Times article that talks about how the Queen of St. Livy was checked into rehab and left one night. She went partying, and died of alcohol poisoning and a drug overdose.

  The heroin was too pure apparently.

  Pictures of my father at the funeral. Despite everything that she’d done to him - all the times he cou
ld have divorced her - he stayed by her side until she took her life. I look at shots of my father, his head bowed and sad, holding me.

  “Where did you get all this?” I ask Daphne, awed that she could put this all together. “How did you get all this?”

  “I’ve been digging Derrick,” she says. “You talk about your father so much, but he doesn’t deserve your hate. He deserves…”

  I don’t let her finish. “Sympathy,” I say out loud.

  Oh my fucking God. What the fuck have I done? All my father wanted was to preserve for me the sweet and innocent image of my mother that I had. He let me continue thinking that. He let me stay angry at him. He let me turn into the prodigal son, the embarrassment to the throne. Everything I ever did to hurt him, he took without question because he wanted me to have a mother.

  And I twisted it, to where he no longer had a son.

  Daphne coms over and wraps her arms around me.

  Fuck, I’ve never cried in my life. But if there were any time that I would, now would be it.

  I look over at my angel.

  She looks at me as she speaks. “I love you, Derrick Blaine,” she says to me, a single tear falling from her eye.

  I smile, wiping it away with my fingers. “I love you, Daphne Apple,” I say back to her. “God, I fucking love you so much.”

  We kiss. It seems like forever and I don’t want it to end. I want that fucking moment to stay for all fucking time.

  But eventually she pulls away and looks at me with a wan smile. “I think it’s time you made a phone call,” she says.

  I nod to her. For once, sex can wait.

  I walk to the living room, and pick up my phone and dial.

  The personal number to his office rings and I reach his manservant.

  “This is Prince Derrick,” I say into the phone. “I’d like to talk to my father, if I could.”

  Dad comes on the line in a second.

  “Son,” his voice is filled with concern. “Is everything all right?”

  I choke back a sob. I don’t fucking cry, I’m not going to cry now. Instead, I speak into the phone, “Dad,” I say, cursing myself for everything else I’ve ever called him. “I’m so sorry. So sorry for everything…”