Princely Passions: A Royal Romance

by Alexis Angel

  Ashley takes her knife and fork and starts cutting into her deep dish pizza with gusto. She ordered the Italian Sausage and I got the pepperoni and bell peppers. It’s greasy, cheesy. And it tastes so good. But…

  “By the way, babe,” Ashley says to me as she pops a piece of pizza into her mouth. “I know you’re like the youngest Vice President in the history of Carter Jeffries now, all promoted and whatnot and still in your 20s, but we can’t keep eating like this.”

  Gimme a break, you know?

  I mean, sure, I’m popping the pizza in my mouth, but it’s not like it was my idea to go get deep dish pizza.

  “Ya babe, I’m so with you, we gotta do better eating wise, because I don’t know how many more hours of Pilates we can really do before we end up just passing out.”

  Alicia laughs to herself. Is she laughing at me? Oh my God, I can’t believe it!

  “What the fuck, babe?” I ask her.

  “Like, I think you can eat as much greasy food as you want with all the fucking you’re getting from your billionaire boyfriend,” she teases me. “If you get him an extra 10% return will he maybe do anal?”

  Ya, in case you were wondering, I’m still an anal virgin. I haven’t given it up.

  But I mean, it’s not like it’s been boring sex.

  Far from it. OMG. It’s like life-altering sex. It’s like we’re one person. It’s like everything I could have dreamed of.

  “Seriously babe, it’s like you're like living in a romance novel or something, “ Ashley says to me and looks out the window. “I just hope that I’m as happy as you one day.”

  I mean, I know that Ashley is the first to tease me and such, but something about her in this instance lets me know that she’s genuinely happy for me.

  And you know, it does feel good. I’m so much better off than I was a year ago. I have a man who totally loves me. I have my career. It really does seem to be possible to have it all.

  It’s been a great year. Just in case you need a quick rundown of what happened to my life over the last 12 months, let me just let you in on the key details.

  So, Nadia Moore is in jail. She lost her securities license. Then she got indicted for fraud and grand larceny as well as conspiracy.

  I kept working at Carter Jeffires. Ashley went to work for a fashion magazine in Times Square called Femina.

  I still live in my apartment but spend most of the time with Derek. I mean, I should probably not renew my lease when it expires next month. I’d probably save some money.

  Work? It’s been good, I guess. I mean, being part of the team that brought down an international con artist and thief put a lot of wind behind my sails. I’ve traded nods with the CEO because he’s recognized me.

  I know, right? It’s insane. Like I’ll be walking down with my co-workers and Preston Cabot and his Managing Directors will be walking by and he’ll recognize me and nod and be like “Alicia,” and I’ll nod and say, “Hi, Mr. Cabot!”

  Totally raises your street credibility among your peers.

  And I guess it doesn’t hurt that Derek goes golfing with Preston and we’ve all gone out to dinner and various social events together. Maybe it doesn't help, but I mean, it probably doesn’t hurt that my guy is his client/boss.

  But enough about me. I need to get Ashley off her subject and on something else. Plus, I wanna know about her new job.

  “How is the new job at the fashion magazine?” I ask her. “Any cute guys?”

  Ashley shrugs. “The managing editor is a dick,” she says with enough matter-of-fact to let me know she’s made peace with it. “But the commute is good.”

  “Yeah, but what about the guys?” I ask again. “You’re not answering the question.”

  That’s when it dawns on me. “Oh my God. Did you already fuck someone?”

  Ashley looks startled. “No!” she squeals back to me. Then, as if considering. “But there might be someone I saw in the building,” she answers quietly.

  Yay! It’s like my good fortune is rubbing off. Because if anyone deserves to be happy, its my Ashley baby.

  “You need to wear that skirt you have from Forever 21,” I tell her. “The one that looks totally sweet and slutty.”

  “Uhm, no,” Ashley says to me. “I don't wanna look like a slut in my first month to get some guy. Besides you borrowed it and never gave it back.”

  Oh right. I totally forgot that. I borrowed it to go to a Yankees game with Derek. He owns a skybox and I remember wearing that skirt. It was great because he was able to lift it up in our skybox (it was just us) and fuck me so hard during the 7th Inning Stretch.

  I’m smiling at the memory, getting so hot that I reach over to get a drink.

  Ashley sees me.

  “Oh. My. God. Babe, get the fuck out!” she says to me and I see her eyes widen.

  Oh, yeah, I may have forgot to tell you Derek proposed to me on Saturday.

  I promise, it’s not like I was hiding it from you or anything. I swear!

  It’s just that I got promoted today also! It’s been like a really intense week and it’s only Wednesday.

  “Get out!” Ashley says. “How did you not tell me?”

  I decide that I really should have told Ashley, but when you’re getting proposed to on the top of the Empire State Building and…

  “Tell me all about it, babe,” Ashley says and her eyes narrow. “Now!”

  I smile.

  She’s so sweet when she’s insistent.

  But hey, fuck it. I’m a VP now. I guess I can take a whole hour and talk about how I got proposed to.

  “So ya, we totally woke up and he took me to this amazing romantic brunch at the Boathouse in Central Park,” I say.

  “Oh my God, I love the Boathouse,” she jumps in.

  We both take a bite of our pizza and I look out the window. People walk to and fro.

  I smile and realize that Ashley is right in a way.

  Life can’t get better than this.

  I can’t wait to see what else is to cum.

  <3

  181

  Daphne

  I don’t think I’d ever have the courage to go rub my ass on some guy in a crowded subway train. But hey, this is New York City. You get all kinda crazy here.

  The next person we got is Christine, and then we have three lil’ short episodes, with Ashley, Christine, and then MEEEEEE!!!!

  Christine Vs. Professor

  What’s that couch in Professor Trask’s office for? Two words. Extra credit.

  Professor Anders Trask.

  It’s like someone took from other men and added to him.

  Those deep blue eyes that stare into your soul.

  That rugged face that makes you feel safe.

  That body you could just lick all day.

  That giant…uhm, medulla oblongata? Is that the word for…you know?

  There’s only one problem.

  This whole thing that we have between us?

  Totally forbidden. I’m risking my career every time I’m with him.

  That only leaves one question.

  What do I want from Professor Trask?

  A stellar recommendation and an A?

  Or more of those delicious O’s?

  *** It’s the cute single girl versus the Alpha Male Professor in this fourth installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, steamy, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. HEA? You know it, babe! ***

  182

  Christine

  Brrrrrrrrrrrr…

  Brrrrrrrrrrrr…

  Brrrrrrrrrrrr…

  I pull one eyelid open, just far enough so I can find my vibrating iPhone on my nightstand and smack it into submission, then I close my eye again with a groan.

  The next time I get the brilliant idea of having a night on the town with Ashley and Alicia – on a school night – I can only hope someone thinks to smack me, too.

  Brrrrrrrrrrrr…

  “For fuck’s sakes,” I mumble, sitting up and grabbing m
y phone at the same time. Someone better be dead. Or close to dead.

  Christine, check your Facebook now!

  It’s a message from Ashley.

  Okay, so I adore Ashley, I really do, but she tends to overreact to everything. Recently, she hooked up with some sex god and her stories about their sexual exploits just cannot be true. No one actually fucks in the back of a stretch limo. That’s something you read in a Hustler magazine, True Confessions of a Sex Addicted Housewife or whatever.

  Whatever she’s freaking out about can wait. It’s probably a cute puppy video that she’s tagged me in. She and Sex God have been talking about adopting a Corgi puppy and so it’s pretty much all she’ll talk about right now.

  I push myself out of bed. It may be stupidly early in the morning, but my alarm is gonna go off in five minutes; might as well get up now. Political Economy G53 class waits for no one.

  Well, okay, maybe my teacher would start without me, but damn, I wouldn’t want to miss a minute of his class anyway. Forget Ashley’s Sex God Come to Earth, my poli-sci grad teacher is fucking hot. I think the person who invented the term “Sex on a Stick” was thinking about Anders Trask when they did. He is, quite possibly, the sexiest human alive.

  Huh, maybe I should tell Ashley and Natalie to write a piece about him for Blush with the headline, “Hottest NYU Professor Ever.” But seriously, with Professor Burgemeister with his hairy mole on his nose as his competition, that’s not saying much…

  I hurry through my morning routine, making sure to put on my sexiest red thong and push-up bra in my arsenal. I know, I know, you aren’t supposed to fuck your professor, but have you seen Professor Trask? Seriously, you’d be wearing your red push-up bra too, just sayin’.

  Oh, and if I get to class early, I can snag one of the front row seats and then maybe sniff my way through class. I don’t know what that man bathes in every morning, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was called Sexy Hunka-Hunka Love No. 5.

  Or, you know, something close to that.

  As I wind my way through my morning commute, I start getting texts from Alicia and Natalie. Christine, you have to go on Facebook!

  Huh. Maybe Ashley posted a really, really cute video of corgi puppies. They are adorable, but seriously, this level of gushing is over the top.

  I ignore them and instead flip over to my text messages. I haven’t heard from George yet. Usually he texts me first thing in the morning and we compare notes for the day, deciding if there’s a way to meet up somewhere during the day.

  I fire off a quick text. He’ll probably text me back during my first class and tell me he overslept. Again. Good ol’ George. He’s not much to look at but he’s stable and he has his whole career mapped out, something we have in common. Other than his inability to get his ass out of bed every morning on time, he’s as dependable as the day is long, one of the things I like best about him.

  He’s…comfortable. We don’t light up each other’s lives, but who needs that? I don’t. I have my education and my friends and my one-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. I’m content.

  I hurry up the steps of the 4th Street Political Science building, checking my iPhone again. Still nothing from George, but a new message about Facebook again, this time from an old high school friend I haven’t seen since we graduated together eight years ago. Now that’s weird. It’s not like we’re besties, and she’d just feel driven to have me watch the Cutest Corgi Video Ever. What the hell is going on?

  Fine.

  I flip over to the Facebook app on my phone. I’ll take a peek real quick before class starts. I don’t dare look during class ‘cause Professor Trask has this super strict policy about no smartphones out while he’s teaching, and as much as I’d love to have him take me over his knee and spank me, I’d just die of humiliation if he actually called me out for breaking his rule during class.

  Except, my Facebook app just spins and spins. Oh right, no signal. I forgot. This building has shitty signal because it was built in the 1800s when three-foot marble slab walls seemed like a good idea.

  I glance up and spot the door to Professor Trask’s office is just a little ajar. Apparently, he didn’t pull it closed behind when he left.

  I do a quick glance up and down the hallway. No one coming. No one would ever know…

  I slip inside, leaving the lights off; I don’t want anyone to see me in here. I make my way over to his computer, the blue welcome screen dimly lighting the office. I’d never make it over to the campus library and back before class started, but I can log into the computer, pull up Facebook, ohh and ahh over the corgi puppy video, and still make it to class on time.

  Right? Right. Plan Execution Time.

  I slid into the rich leather office chair, the Sexy Hunka-Hunka Love No. 5 scent drifting up to my nose as I log in. I feel my thong getting wet just from the scent and take a second to sniff extra deep. Oh yeeeaaaahhhhhh…

  I need to schedule some extra time with my vibe tonight. I could not be hornier than I am right now. I might even be willing to do that threesome that George keeps hinting about. I just need to get some!

  Logged in, I pull up Facebook. I check the time again – 15 minutes until class starts. I better read fast.

  And then I see it – the post I’m tagged in. By George. Instead of texting me this morning, he’d been tagging me in a post on Facebook.

  Well, at least I know he wasn't sleeping in, ’cause at this very moment, he’s doing a Facebook live video of him…

  And a stripper.

  Like, an honest-to-god stripper, the kind I’ve never even seen in real life.

  And he’s…oh my god, he’s putting dollar bills down her G-string as she shakes her ass in front of his face. He’s whooping and hollering as the music is pumping in the background.

  Numbly, I realize that someone else has to be holding George’s phone in order to get this shot. Is it Adam? Adam is George’s best friend and try as I might, I never could like him.

  I realize that I must be in shock. Why does it matter who is holding the camera? My boyfriend of six months has just smacked the ass of another stripper, this one with only pasties on, her tits bouncing everywhere as she does a lap dance for George. He turns and grins at the camera.

  “Take this as me breaking up with you, Christine!” he shouts over the music and laughter around him. “I want a real woman who knows how to fu—”

  Which is when everything goes black.

  183

  Anders

  I check my iWatch as I push the office door open. Five minutes until class starts, and I forgot the damn file on…

  What the fuck?

  There, in the glow of the computer monitor, is one of my grad students…Christine? I think? I mean I have so many of them this semester and I haven’t been good about getting to know them yet – with the whole UN Consultancy Program…actually, sorry.

  Priorities.

  Christine.

  Anyway, she’s fucking passed out in my office chair!

  And why the fuck is there a grad student in my office?

  And then the sound hits me and my eyes jerk to the screen. There, on Facebook Live, is some ugly ass dude who is slurring drunkenly, “If only you put out more, Christine, I wouldn’t have to do this. I don’t even wanna, ya know, I just—”

  I hit the power button on my speakers and the computer goes blessedly silent, even if the scene continues to unfold. I jerk my eyes away as another stripper begins shaking her moneymaker in the ugly guy’s face. She must be getting paid a lot of dollar bills to pay that dude some attention.

  I turn my attention back to Christine-the-grad-student-who-has-an-asshole-for-a-boyfriend and contemplate what the hell to do with her. I reach out to stroke her shoulder-length brown hair away from her face, trying to see if I can gently wake her up, when I notice the dark red blood trickling down her temple. My eyes flip over to the filing cabinet drawer, pulled out and about head height to someone sitting in my office chair.

&nbs
p; Goddammit, I’d been in a hurry earlier and hadn’t shut the drawer all the way, and she must’ve smacked her head on the drawer when she passed out. I shove the drawer back in and then scoop my arms underneath her slight form and stand up, heading for the door.

  I pause at the doorway. Hospital or the nurse’s station? I impulsively choose the nurse’s station. It’s a hell of a lot closer and they ought to be able to at least decide whether she needs further medical attention, right?

  God, she could have a concussion.

  I hurriedly backtrack to my classroom and bark at a student who’s about to enter, “Tell everyone that class is canceled today,” and then pivot and head towards the elevator. The nurses’ station is on the second floor, but after a quick glance down the hallway towards the elevator, I see people waiting and decide to go for the stairs instead. She hasn’t stirred yet, and god, what if she really hurt herself on that filing cabinet?

  I take the stairs two a time, her body so light, I feel like I’m carrying nothing more than a backpack full of books. I look down at her gorgeous body, her silky button-up shirt gaping open in the front, showing me her lacy red bra.

  I gulp and stare ahead again, taking the stairs three at a time now. I cannot leer at her while she’s passed out, or that makes me no better than the asshole in the video.

  But Jesus Christ.

  Did you see that bra?

  No. Stop it. My cock is not twitching.

  Is she wiggling around? Because I swear, her top parts a bit farther.

  It’s like somehow the universe is tempting me to stare at one of my female student’s red lace bra covered tits as she lays unconscious in my arms.

  Yeah, perfect scenario to be caught up in, right?

  Would not be good for the family name. Although thankfully I’m not like the rest of the family – all caught up in preserving that whole New England façade.