by Nicole Snow
“Go on, love. I'll be out in just a second. Need to make a quick pit stop.”
I head for the bathroom. While I'm there, I let my eyes wander to the counter.
No sign of anything there. I'm washing my hands while I let my foot slide to the pedal on the small steel trashcan.
The lid lifts up, and I see the hottest thing in my life after Erin's naked skin.
Nothing. It's empty, which means...fuck.
Fuck yes.
The small, secret remote I've got concealed in my pocket burns like my pistol used to in Afghanistan.
Today just got a lot more exciting, and it's got nothing to do with playing head of state.
“Here we go,” I say, grabbing her hand as the car slowly rolls forward, perfectly positioned between two jet black SUVs with flashing lights.
She looks at me and smiles. Bashful. She knows that I know what's in her pussy by now, but she doesn't have a clue my words have double meaning.
Here we go, princess. Here we fucking go, and we're not stopping until you've come so hard you won't walk straight.
My thumb burns like mad, hovering over the little wheel that controls the intensity of the earthquake she's about to feel. I've already turned it on, as soon as Victor gave me the thirty second countdown, before our convertible started moving.
He's in the passenger seat next to our driver, eyes roaming like a sheepdog, making sure every little detail goes according to plan. He won't have a spare second to notice what's happening to my Princess in the back seat, next to me.
Seeing the city center with throngs of bystanders is nothing new. Having a woman riding next to me while I own everything that happens between her legs for the next hour or two is.
My finger nudges the switch. Erin's eyelids flutter, and she leans back in her seat, not even noticing the rows of people waving hysterically all around us. We're into the thick of it now. Christ, there must be thousands, all of them here to show their support for the royal family.
The speakers across the city start blasting King of All Things. My dick throbs to the heavy drumbeats and clashing cymbals like it's saluting the kingdom's anthem.
“You doing all right, love?” I ask, grasping her hand.
She barely nods. My signal to crank the power higher.
“Oh, God.” I can't hear her over the crowd screaming, but I know it's the only thing on her lips when they open up, form a perfect ring, and tell me I'm bringing her O closer.
I have to look away for a few seconds before I shoot off in my pants. Besides, the cameras are rolling. I sit up as tall as I can in the seat, waving to the people, giving them my very best princely salute.
I've watched my grandmom and my great grandfather do it a thousand times in old movies. My hand moves up and waves, every movement carefully choreographed. The people lining the streets swoon with the prince and future king so close.
Men and women alike. I think some of the girls are about to faint, visibly leaning into their friends and husbands for support when I flash them my smile.
It's boring. The only woman I want to see losing her mind is already next to me, ready to go over the edge as soon as I twist the dial higher.
And I do.
“Silas – oh!” I read her lips again. She's leaning back in her seat now, her hips squirming like mad.
Can't resist putting my hand on her thigh and squeezing it hard. I stare her down in between smiling at the crowd, throttling the controls back. Just enough to leave her on the precipice.
“You don't come until I say you do,” I growl, leaning over to whisper in her ear.
She looks at me like she wants to sink a knife in my throat. Smiling, I suppress a laugh, wondering what the media jackasses are capturing right now through their lenses. The video online later ought to be very interesting.
We turn the corner, circling the next street, rolling down another double row of people screaming at us like we're rock stars about to bang out their favorite tune.
Everyone except one asshole, anyway.
A big, surly bastard in a trench coat rushes my car, hate twisted on his face. Secret service acts fast. I see them throw the fucker down on the pavement, a boot pressed firmly in his back. His sign slips out of his hands and hits the curb, right-side up.
NO MORE GREED.
NO MORE LIES.
NO MORE KING.
I don't even bat an eye at the ridiculous slogans written there in thick black ink. I turn to Erin, wondering if he scared her, but she's in another world. She's balls deep in pleasure, lost there so deeply she's forgotten what pain and fear mean.
She's simply gorgeous. I pause, taking a good, long look, before I decide how I'm going to bring her off for good. Squirming, bucking her hips shallowly in her seat, desperately trying to milk the last burst of pleasure in the toy that sends her over the edge.
“What did I tell you, Princess? Can you hear me?” I say softly, placing my hand over hers.
“You're killing me. Please, Silas. Please.”
“Please what?” I smile, wondering how filthy and crazy she can get when she really wants it.
“I'm not going to...I can't fucking say it. God, you're a bastard!”
Guilty as charged. My thumb slides across the little wheel in my pocket, but only for a split second, teasing with such sharp vibrations I'm sure she can feel it in her clit.
My dick leaks more pre-come in my pants. I hope like hell there isn't an improved press conference after this. The entire kingdom is going to see my hard-on if I don't get a chance to fuck her first.
“Sire, Mister Nelson from the Daily Eagle is just ahead,” Vic cuts in. “We'll do our very best not to let him get too close, but you know how aggressive he can be.”
Yeah, I do. The motherfucker ambushed me last year in my own nightclub, dancing with no less than Serena when I was drunk off my ass. The rumors that hit the press the next day didn't help me, or my secretary's ridiculous crush.
“Let him come up,” I tell my chief.
“Your Highness?” He looks behind him in the seat, both his eyebrows raised.
“You heard me. We have nothing to hide.”
Slowly, he turns back around, and whispers something into the radio to security. Perfect timing. I see Nelson's giddy, goateed face staring from the curb. The idiot steps out onto the asphalt with two assistants, all their cameras flashing.
That's when I throw my arm around Erin, pull her close, and smash my lips down on hers.
Sometimes, the only way to tame a tiger is to give the damned thing its red meat. I'm giving him exactly what he wants – the photo of a lifetime. Serving up huge, juicy steaks with this kiss, so hot and sudden I think we're going to set our custom made Rolls-Royce convertible on fire.
Her sweet, dark eyes are narrow. Lids half shut. Begging.
Not yet, beautiful, I tell her with my kiss. You don't get it unless I see how bad you want it.
Show me.
Her desperation tastes incredible. When I try to break the kiss so I can smile to my subjects some more, she doesn't let me. Erin throws her little hands around my neck, digs her nails into my skin, and bites my lower lip.
Fuck, doesn't she know I'm going to bite back harder? We're practically stripping off our clothes and fucking in the seat before it's over. I wonder if I can shut down the bullet shoved inside her, make her come with just my kiss.
It's goddamned tempting, if only it wouldn't ruin all the fun.
I have to break the kiss. Have to, before I roll around, push between her legs, and take her in broad daylight in front of several million people.
I've always had a bit of an exhibitionist streak, certainly, but even I'm not that big a freak.
I'm winded when I break away, settling reluctantly back into my seat.
My tension has nothing on hers, though. Erin has her eyes pinched shut, gently bobbing her hips, after the leverage she needs for sweet release.
My heart starts pounding. The car rolls on, reminding me I'
m the sole heir to an entire kingdom someday. Lesser men would swell up and prance like peacocks at the prospect.
Not me. With Erin on the brink of coming next to me, it's nothing.
I'm not after power over anyone except her, and her next O. My fingertip burns against the remote, stuffed into my pocket, while I look back across the crowd and wave with my very best.
A few more Republic First disruptors go down when they come for the motorcade, tackled by my boys. A couple thousand more people get my smile, my wink, my grey gloved hand waving their way with grace and reassurance.
I don't have the soft, motherly air Her Majesty brings. But I can tell the people I won't let them down. They're safe, happy, and prosperous with me, whatever the media jackals and the protesters say.
“Sire, the King Winston bridge is coming up next. Several ministers there from the EU, China, and India are waiting. They're scheduled to meet you after the parade, as planned, and we've given them one of the best spots in the city to observe your arrival.”
“Of course. Wonderful work, Victor.” I see him glowing in the rear view mirror.
That pride's starting to rub off on me, but not because I give a damn about the old, robotic diplomats waiting to shake my royal hand. Slowly, I turn to Erin, a smile creeping across my lips when I see the sweat building on her brow.
She's dying to come. Lucky her, I'm finally going to make it happen, just as soon as the dignitaries are in sight.
I slide across the seat, coiling one hand around her shoulder. “I'm going to kiss you, love, and you're going to give it up. All of it.”
“Silas, God yes...please.”
Please. Fuck, now she's showing me.
Holy shit. Her big brown eyes are huge, pleading, completely mine. She's still begging, and I'm worried I'm going to lose it in my trousers when I bring her off like I promised.
Fuck it. My free hand slips into my pocket while the other tightens on her shoulder, squeezing her so hard it should hurt ever-so-slightly. I clench my jaw, rolling my thumb against the wheel, just as I see the tall, shadowy figures of men and women in fine suits standing on the huge stone bridge.
“You can't look at me like that, Princess,” I whisper, hearing a moan slip out her mouth. “You keep that up, you're going to make me fall in love. Don't, for both our sakes. I don't know how to deal in hearts – only in the best fucking sex you'll ever have in your life.”
I'm sweating like mad, saying shit I know I shouldn't. Don't know whether it's my slip up or my finger gliding across the wheel that sends her into heaven. The wheel cranks as far as it can, making me think I can hear the little toy vibrating inside her when we pass through a quiet break in the crowd.
“Oh. My. God...Fuck!” Those are the only four words I can make out when I feel her start shaking.
She clenches my suit, hangs on for dear life. She comes, harder than I've ever seen her explode. My head leans on hers, pushing her mouth to my wrist. I let her bite it so she won't scream while the tsunami I've unleashed in her body sweeps her into another world.
“You're bad for me, Princess,” I tell her, hoping my dick won't rip through my trousers just watching this. “Look at you. Coming for me, coming like mad, soaking the fucking seat in front of all these ministers and ambassadors. I ought to pull you down on my throne, and spank your hot little ass until you scream.”
She squeals against my skin. Rocking in her seat, gushing underneath that dress, coming until she can't even breathe.
It's too much – for everyone. My dick barely holds onto the fire raging in my balls.
Vic clears his throat in the front seat, and the idea of being discovered back here throws cold water on my desire for a split second.
My eyes shift off the beautiful woman twitching next to me. He's talking into his radio, not looking back at us in the mirror, thank fuck.
I don't start turning down the intensity until she whimpers. Then my lips smash down on hers, sucking whatever pleasure I can from her mouth, awed by the burn of her teeth marks on my wrist.
What the hell is happening? Playing pretend isn't supposed to be this wild.
It's a fake engagement to a fake wife, and the f-word is sounding extra hollow the more it's said.
Fake, fake, fake. Fuck.
Fake isn't supposed to bring my cock to the brink. Fake damned sure isn't supposed to make me admire every inch of her when she's buried in her orgasm. Fake definitely isn't kissable when she comes down from it, looks up at me, and sucks my eyes into hers with a single blink.
I'm starting to freak out, but I don't show it. I just kiss her harder, until she stops moving, and I make sure the remote is turned to off.
“Time to stop playing slut and do Princess again,” I say, taking her hand as I sit back in my seat.
“Really? You haven't realized how talented I am yet?” Erin sticks her tongue out for a split second. “I was born to multi-task.”
“Careful, babe. The cameras are watching every second.”
Absurd advice, after I just gave her one of the best orgasms in her life on film, and we both know it. She looks at me, smiling, shaking her beautiful head.
“You're so ridiculous. Did you mean what you said about love?” Her tone turns more serious. “When we were in the heat of the moment, I mean...”
I don't know. I'm about to wiggle my way into some wishy-washy, half-assed escape when royal duty sweeps in to save me.
Our car stops. Erin's passenger door pops open, and I see her valet standing there, holding the door. “They're waiting next to the conference center, at your convenience, Your Highness.”
She flashes me another quizzical look just before we slide out. I've bought myself some time, but she isn't going to let this go.
I never should've ran my mouth. Hell, I should've kept the strange thoughts and feelings from invading me, speaking their evil out loud.
Meeting these ministers and smiling pretty for the cameras might be the easiest thing I do all day. Who knew making this woman come her brains out in the riskiest, hottest way ever would have such a steep price?
Her touch doesn't betray anything when I take her arm. About a dozen dignitaries stand at attention, waiting for us at the end of the bridge, next to the conference venue.
Most of them bow when we approach. The others shake hands. One big Russian diplomat I've met before lets his gaze linger on my wrist too long.
“I trust you're in...good health, Your Highness?”
I smile, slipping my hand into my pocket, hiding the reddish impressions Erin's little teeth have left in my skin. “Never better, Sergei. Too much rock climbing last week in the highlands.”
He nods enthusiastically. “Da, da. They used to bring us to the Urals for training in the army. Amazing how the mountains look so beautiful, but cut so deep, no?”
“Yeah.”
Yeah. He doesn't have a fucking clue.
Several hours of trade talks and a dinner fit for a Roman emperor later, we're back at the palace. I've passed the dignitaries off to the kingdom's trade minsters to iron out the fine print on several new agreements.
Technically, it isn't royalty's role to get involved in politics, or make any real decisions like this for the nation. In practice, we've been charming the best and brightest from all over the world to see things our way for at least a hundred years.
Erin hasn't said much since dinner. I saw her drinking lots of water, barely touching the champagne, which tells me the gift I gave her in the car practically sucked her soul out. Or at least half the water molecules in her sweet skin.
Best of all, I'm not done yet. Far from it.
Next time, we'll come together, and I'll banish this painful swelling between my legs that's been taunting me all evening.
“So, we're staying here tonight? Not going back to the castle?”
I shake my head. “Not while I'm in charge. You slept like a baby in the chamber last night anyway, love.”
She doesn't deny it. I can say the s
ame thing, really, which is weird.
I haven't felt so at home in the palace since my parents were still around. Before I was old enough to realize the picture perfect days they gave me as a boy were lies. Before those days became hellish nights where they fought late into the darkness, storming off to separate rooms when they were finally exhausted...
My old place at the castle has lost its charm, and it's not just because I'm effectively head of state with grandmom in the hospital.
I think about my old club downstairs, the parties I hosted in the huge lounge, endlessly stocked with fine scotch and even finer women.
It doesn't do shit for me. Something's changed big time, because nothing does it anymore.
Nothing except getting Erin Warwick naked, sweaty, and moaning even touches my crank.
She pulls ahead of me, holding my hand, making her way to the big staircase that will take us up to our room. I stop her right there.
“Hold up. I have a detour in mind,” I say softly, taking her in the opposite direction.
My dick jerks. I'm crazy for doing this, but when will I get another chance?
I can't ignore the fantasy I had in the car while I teased her pussy raw. Fucking her in the throne room, the holiest, most taboo place possible, where there's always bound to be somebody around.
Except for tonight because I have an idea.
We walk quickly, and I guide her through the ancient passages, careful to avoid the places where I think the guards are likely to be on night patrol. Erin's eyes go wide when we're stopped, standing in front of the huge handcrafted door. Two honor guards come to attention and salute.
“At ease. I'd like to show my lady the throne room while there's some peace and quiet. We won't be long.”
“Aye aye, Your Highness.”
My greedy grip tightens on her hand. She knows what's coming – both of us, naked and grunting like animals while we fuck on gold and gemstones. Completely surrounded in the luxurious rapture that can't be duplicated anywhere else.
I won't get another chance like this for years, maybe decades. Her Majesty will be home soon. If the day comes when I'm King, there will always be someone posted inside, waiting for my royal ass to get parked in the seat and take care of business.
