Kian: Prince of Sorenia (Dirty Princes)

by Imani King

  “Hello,” I say to those I know as we walk through the crowd.

  The party has grown well beyond those I know, though. It’s a public beach with a bonfire and free food and booze. People have come from all over to take advantage.

  “Kian!” Tomas cries out walking up.

  Tomas has two scantily clad women hanging on either side of him. He’s the heir to a fortune which he’s doing his level best to blow before he’s thirty. He and the girls are both drunk, weaving side to side and grinning. The girls are running their hands over him and all but undressing him.

  “Hello Tomas,” I smile. “Have you met Abby?”

  “Hi,” Abby says.

  “Damn, she’s hot,” Tomas says, ogling her.

  “Enough Tomas,” I growl, anger flaring.

  Tomas holds his hands up. “Hey, sorry, just appreciating.”

  “She’s not that hot,” one of the girls say. “Not as hot as us.”

  “True,” Tomas says, kissing her.

  “Did you need something?” I ask.

  “Just being friendly. Good party,” he says.

  “Thanks, see you later,” I take Abby’s hand and pull her away from him.

  I’ve partied with Tomas a lot and never before has he rubbed me the wrong way like he just did.

  “Hey, you okay?” Abby asks, cutting into my thoughts.

  “Yeah.”

  “No, whoa,” she says, pulling her hand out of mine and forcing me to stop. “Talk to me.”

  I shake my head. Anger is pulsing through me like a second heart. “It’s nothing. He just pissed me off when he was being rude to you.”

  “He’s fine,” she says, placing her hands on my chest. “Relax.”

  I take a deep breath, letting the anger go. “Okay.”

  The warmth of the whiskey in my stomach swallows the anger. We make our way to the dance area and dance, keeping it more conservative this time so that we don’t become the sole focus, taking a drink between each song.

  “I’m drunk,” I say, my head spinning and the beach rocking back and forth around me.

  “Oh yeah?” Abby laughs then trips and falls into me.

  “You are too.”

  “Yes I am,” she says, hanging onto my shoulders and looking up into my eyes with her full lips pouting. “Kiss me.”

  I do. The warmth of the night, the hours of drinking, the dancing. It all comes together in my head, like it’s a fantasy. She runs her hands down my arms and onto my waist. I put my hands around her waist and pull her tight against me. I break the kiss to get air.

  “We should slow down,” I say.

  “Screw that,” she says. “It’s my last night. I…”

  She trails off looking down at the ground. I crouch down so I can see her eyes.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to go,” she says, throwing her arms out wildly. “I want to stay with you.”

  “I want that too.”

  “Whatever, you’ve got…” she motions around us at all the women and dancers. “Whatever you want.”

  Gently I hook my fingers under her chin and lift her eyes up to meet mine.

  “I want you. I want to take you home, introduce you to my family,” I say. “Not them, you.”

  There’s a pause, and neither of us says a thing. She raises an eyebrow like she doesn’t quite believe me. And why would she? What she’s seen of me so far doesn’t suggest any capacity for seriousness. But when I look at her, I feel like I could be serious. Like I could settle down, craft a life, find an interest that could become a career. I’d do it for her. For our family. For our future. I feel that all in a single moment, and then my thoughts are broken.

  “Okay, folks!” the lead singer of the band calls out over the PA system.

  The crowd quiets. Abby steps in closer to me and I put my arm around her waist. She leans her head against me and my heart swells. I feel complete in ways I’ve never felt before.

  “We’ve got something super special tonight,” the singer says. “Allow me to introduce Carmen Vidoza, her company, Exquisite Vacations, is sponsoring this contest.”

  A thin woman in a red dress walks over to the microphone.

  “How you all doing?” she asks, and the crowd cheers. “Great! Well, we’re sponsoring a dance contest, right here, tonight! And what is a contest without a prize? There are so many lovely young couples here tonight in this beautiful, romantic spot, what better way to celebrate then with a wedding! So the winner gets a free full-service wedding. It’s all ready to go, all you have to do is win the contest!”

  The crowd cheers drowning out the rules she’s trying to explain.

  “Let’s do this,” I say. The thought of a wedding—even if it’s probably some scam—feels like the perfect ending to a night like this.

  It couldn’t be real, I think. Everything is bright and bubbly, like there’s champagne shimmering around us. I grin. But it is fun. Hell yes.

  “Are you insane?” Abby replies.

  “Maybe, why not?”

  “Right, why not?” she laughs, and we stumble our way drunkenly through the crowd.

  Couples are coming forward and dancing one at a time. The crowd stands around clapping and cheering as each couple dances. Some of them are good. Some look like drunken fools. We will probably fall into the latter group, but none of that matters at the moment.

  “We got this,” I say, confident.

  “Of course we do.”

  “Next!” the lead singer calls out.

  Abby and I walk onto the dance floor. The singer asks for our song preference, and I call one off the top of my head. The bass players hits it immediately then the drummer follows before the entire band takes it up. Abby and I stare into each other's eyes, our hands on each other’s waist. As the beat rolls, she sways her hips then gyrates them in a circle.

  As she completes the circle I join in, and we move. I miss the next step and stumble because the beach seems to be rocking up and down but she moves with me. I laugh, and she smiles then closes with me pressing her body against mine. We mold together and rotate our hips in a wide circle. I hold her tight and kiss her passionately forgetting for a moment that we are in the middle of the dance contest. The catcalling of the crowd jerks me back to the moment and I break the kiss. We both dissolve into laughter, like there couldn’t be anything better than this moment. We look ridiculous, but it might be the most fun I ever had.

  We move together and she spins into my arms pressing her back against me and looking up into my eyes. I don’t care how many people are watching. I want everyone to know she’s mine. We both stumble as we dance, but soon we enter a rhythm, completely lost in each other and laughing hysterically. It’s crazy and fun, and I just don’t care what those watching think. She turns back to me, and we kiss once more. The crowd is cheering as the song comes to an end. We hold hands and take a bow together, then stumble off the floor.

  “That was fun. It’s not like we’ll win, but that was… awesome. We were awesome.”

  “You’re incredible,” I say, still laughing.

  “I don’t know about that, Kian. But we had a good time. That’s what counts, right? On our last night…” My voice trails off.

  “You’re the hottest, sexiest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever been with,” I tell her, too much of the truth slipping out.

  She laughs and shakes her head. “You’re crazy.”

  I take her in my arms and pull her close. “Maybe,” I whisper in her ear. “Because you make me that way.”

  The music starts as the next couple takes the floor. She moves in front of me, so I put my hands over her shoulders and clasp them across her stomach. We watch as several more couples dance, and in my own inebriated opinion, none of them are as good as us. As the last couple leaves, Carmen Vidoza returns to the microphone.

  “Was that great or what?” she asks, her voice booming out across the beach.

  The crowd cheers loudly.

  “If all
our couples could line up here in front of the stage, let’s choose our winner!”

  Abby and I line up with the others. I stand behind her because I like having my arms locked around her. It makes me feel like she’s mine, like this isn’t our last night together. The voting is blind, someone moving behind us and holding up a hand or something. I don’t care; my attention is on her. I nibble her neck as the crowd cheers for their favorites. Carmen Vidoza walks out in front of the couples stopping close to us.

  “Well, we have a clear-cut winner,” she yells to be heard.

  She places an arm on my shoulder. Surprised I look at her, and she smiles and nods pulling me forward. We step out of line to stand next to her.

  “Your winners!” she exclaims, and the crowd goes wild. “You two have won a free wedding. Are you ready to get married?”

  My head is spinning with the alcohol. This has to be some weird show thing. Abby looks up at me and grins.

  “You want to?” she asks.

  “I got nothing better to do,” I say laughing. The alcohol swims in my head, and it all seems like an excellent idea. We’ll probably be entered into a free contest to win a car and get incessant calls on our phones. There’s no way this is real—but it’s close enough to the real thing. I’ll take it.

  Carmen leads us off the floor, and a section of the crowd comes along with us as we walk. A red carpet has been laid down the beach. Carmen stops us at the end of it.

  “You wait here,” she says to Abby, and two other girls come up to her carrying flowers. “You come with me.”

  She grabs my hand, and I stumble along behind her, happy and drunk. She takes me to the front where a small riser sits on the sand. A white trellis lined with tropical flowers forms an arch under which stands a guy dressed like a Catholic priest, save for the sequins on his collar. Chairs are set up in two columns to either side of the carpet, and the crowd filters in to take their seats. Carmen and some other guy who came from somewhere hook a bow tie around my neck then slide a jacket on.

  “Okay, you look great,” Carmen smiles.

  “I do don’t I?” I laugh.

  The guy leads me over to stand in front of the preacher. Music starts up, and when I look to see the source, it’s a three piece string arrangement. They strike up with “Here Comes the Bride.” I turn and look, and she takes my breath away. Abby is gorgeous. They’ve decked her out in flowers, in her hair, at her wrists and a bouquet in her arms. She walks down the red carpet grinning at me from behind the white veil over her head.

  She stumbles as she walks down the aisle throwing her arms out to steady herself, pinwheeling through half the distance. One of the guests stands up and steadies her then she resumes her slow, ceremonial walk. My heart swells. I wish this were real. She’d be so beautiful, I’d buy her the best dress, we’d be married in the cathedral back home. The entire country would tune in to watch. They’d love her like I do.

  She reaches the front, and the preacher intones his words. I stare past her veil losing myself in her eyes. The world rocks and spins around me as we hold hands. At some point I know I said I do, once or twice I’m not sure. The crowd cheers and I kiss her bending her back over and holding her in my arms. We laugh as we sign some papers and I’m handed one that I shove in a pocket. None of that matters really.

  It’s all for fun. A fun game, a fantasy, which is all it can be. I want her, but she’s said more than once she doesn’t want more than a fling.

  We head home together, and the moment I see the bed, I fall into it and pass out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I wake up, and immediately, all I can feel is desire. My head feels thick, my mouth is full of cotton, but my sex is pulsing with need.

  Where am I? What did I do last night? Kian. I’m with Kian, mmmm.

  I probe across the bed searching for him. The damn thing is so big I have to stretch as far as my arm will go before I touch him but I hit the jackpot. I run my fingers over his sculpted muscles, my hands moving lower.

  “Morning,” he says throatily, coming to slowly. He grins at me, taking my hand in his and guiding it to his cock.

  “Morning.”

  His cock hardens in my hand. I’d blush. I’d be embarrassed. But I’m too hungover to care. I just want him. He’s my cure. He scoots closer, then his lips are on mine. His kiss is dominating, and pleasure swirls through me like waves crashing against the shore.

  “You’re sexy,” he whispers then kisses across my cheek.

  I roll over and press my ass against his hard cock. As he kisses my neck and shoulder his arm slides under mine. His hand cups my breast, and he slides his hard length into my sex from behind. As he fills me, I sigh. It feels so good. I don’t want to leave.

  He thrusts into me as we spoon. He fills me over and over until I’m crying out his name. He brushes against my nipples, his hands roaming everywhere on my body. My skin burns at the passing of his touch. Everything gets tighter then he thrusts in and out faster. His hands are on my hips holding me steady as he slams into me. Burying himself in me one last time he holds.

  “Abby!” he cries out.

  “Kian!” I echo his cry as an orgasm grips my body which clamps down on him holding him deep inside.

  As it passes and he slides out, I open my eyes at last. Rolling over in bed we kiss. Soft, gentle kisses. Mine, at least, are tinged with regret. This is over. It’s been amazing and God knows I don’t want it to end. Going home, back to life without him in it, is like looking at a barren wasteland that you have to go home to. As if all the color is gone from the world.

  “Good morning beautiful,” he says, his eyes half closed.

  “Hung over?” I ask. “I don’t really drink ever and I’m… yeah. Not so great.”

  “My head is pounding.”

  “Can’t handle your alcohol,” I tease.

  “Just need some more sleep. And about a gallon of water. I don’t drink as much as I might appear to.” He grins at me and puts his hand to his head.

  “I need to get a shower; you sleep a bit,” I say, kissing him again.

  “Okay,” he says, pulling the pillow tight to his shoulder and burying himself in the blankets.

  I slide out of bed then go to the bathroom. I let the shower warm up until the glass enclosure is covered in steam. Stepping inside the hot water pounds against my body like it’s trying to drive out the regrets I’m feeling. This is it. If only he… no. Don’t follow that train of thought. This was fun; that’s all it was, a weekend to warm the cold nights back in Scotland. Nothing more. He doesn’t want me to stay with him. That was just the drinks talking last night.

  Sure I was telling him the truth, but that doesn’t mean he was. He’s a bad boy, a player, making girls like me think he cares about them is the entirety of his game. I won’t fall for it because I’m not a fool. I wash my hair then let the water rinse the later away.

  What if he did mean it? What if he was sincere? Shaking my head, I can’t shake the wonder. Okay, follow the logic train. I have two more semesters for my degree. Do I throw that all away? Where is he even from? I’m sure it’s not here. Also, where does he get all his money? Who is his family? Anytime it’s come up he dodges or dismisses it. I don’t know anything about him so how can I fall for him?

  This is rebound sex and emotions. Roger broke my heart, and the first guy who was nice to me was Kian. That’s all it is. It’s not real, and I need to keep my focus on what’s real. I have responsibilities after all. The weight of everything is settling in on me. I finish my shower, step out, wrap a towel around myself, then walk out into the bedroom. Kian throws the covers off of himself and slowly moves to the edge of the bed. Sitting up he holds his head in his hands, groaning.

  “You going to make it?”

  “No,” he grouses. “Can you turn down that sunlight?”

  “I’ll get right on it,” I laugh.

  He shakes his head, rubs his face, then stands up. Damn, but he’s fine. If nothing else, he could make a
living as an underwear model. He stretches, raising his arms over his head then rolls his shoulders. The way his muscles ripple creates a new tightness in my core. For an instant, I doubt everything I’ve decided. He said he wanted to be with me. I could do this. I could wake up every day to that body. Spend every night with the man who looks at me with those smoldering eyes. Who makes me feel like the sexiest woman on earth. I could but I can’t.

  It’s not real. He’s not real, not in that sense. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Kian walks over and kisses me. He shields his eyes with a hand from the sun streaming into the room.

  “Hot water left?” he asks.

  “Should be plenty,” I reply, and he walks into the bathroom.

  I proceed about gathering my things. It’s time to pack and go home. When I get my purse, it buzzes. I dig through it to find my phone. I hadn’t been bothering to keep it with me because my service has been intermittent at best here. I hear the shower turn on as I draw the design to unlock my phone. I have text messages and voice mails. A lot of them. A dozen voice mails and maybe fifty texts. No one texts or calls me that much.

  Opening the texts my heart sinks. They’re all from Roger. Every single one of them is from him. I set the phone down and go back to packing my bag then choose out an outfit for the plane ride home. Once I’m packed and dressed for the day, I go to the bed and sit down. Kian is still in the shower, so I’ve got some time to see what Roger has to say.

  He’s begging. Some are more blatant than others, but every one of them is an apology and begging to see me again. When I get to the last one, he says he’s coming to Scotland to see me. Claims he’s going to make things right and carrying on about how much he regrets his actions, regrets breaking up with me by text.

  Shit.

  Sure he does. I’m sure he regrets it. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Can I forgive him? What do I do if I don’t? I can’t have what I want.

  The shower shuts off, so I turn off my phone and throw it back in my bag. I’ll deal with that later. Kian walks out with a towel around his waist. His hair is wet and messy and damn, but he looks so good. He seems more alive now that he’s showered. He leans against the bathroom door staring at me.