You think you can come to my home and then write shit about me?
I spotted his wife at the resort I was staying at that weekend. I didn't set out to bone her. She set her sights on me. Seduced me. I just went along with it. Poor bastard walks in when I got her bent over the desk, balls deep in her. He walks in and starts sputtering just as I'm cumming all over her. He runs over to grab her and pull her away. She's screaming at him to go away, but he forgot I wasn't done.
Well, let's just say his face got in the way of the trajectory. It's simple physics, really.
Earned my nickname when he got a good look at me after that.
Prince Pleasure.
That's fucking right. The newsie went ahead and coined me a nickname that stuck after catching me banging his woman.
I walk through the doors and look at my unit. The boys didn't listen and I realize that maybe I have it too easy - with my looks, my cash, my title. Because what I thought is ridiculous is actually working. They're picking up a girl or two each, talking and spitting game out at the various ladies that are waiting in line.
I shake my head to myself. These women are dressed as skanky as they can get. Trying to emulate the hookers and the porn stars that they think all the blokes are after. Trying to shuck themselves silly. At least onto me.
I wonder how many of the boys will actually make it into the club and how many will decide to just quit while they're ahead and take these girls home.
Night ending before it even begins.
That's the problem with fucking blokes these days, I think to myself as me and three of the boys sit down in the VIP section. Guys are all about sacrificing everything they have for a little bit of strange. Whatever happened to a guys' night out? Nowadays, when I go on a fucking guy’s night out with my blokes, they're all about going to a strip club, trying to get a lap dance. Or going to a club or bar, find a broad. Never just hanging out with guys, and having a real guy's night out.
I'm going to enjoy my fucking last night, and if at the end of the night I want to fuck, I'm sure there'll be plenty of options.
Not that there aren't already.
Remember how I told you that the plan was working for my mates? Getting out of the Bentley limo early and walking down the street to the club before the bouncer let us in? Well, if they were attracting one or two girls, I've attracted at least five.
A fucking gaggle.
They're cute - I won't deny that. But I wasn't in any mood to start bagging sluts at that point. I needed a fucking drink.
Scotch whiskey for me. Ordered a bottle. $4,000. Only the top shelf liquor for me. And by top shelf, I mean a shelf high enough that only I can reach.
Women love their billionaires?
I had three billionaires who worked from me. Ian fucking Carrington.
They liked guys in shape. I was a personal fucking trainer for my fucking unit. You didn't have a body as good as mine unless you were juicing up. And if you were juicing it, then let’s just say it wouldn't matter. Your balls would have been tiny.
But I wasn't juicing. And my balls were plenty big. Like fucking tennis balls. Filled with a gallon of cum, ready to spray whenever I needed to.
I was the most badass Prince in the whole fucking world.
I was global. Heir to a First World European island nation, the financial hub of Western Europe.
My face was splashed across the TV screens, newspapers, and tabloids - looking down on at least 4 billion people.
I sigh as the girls sit down in the VIP section. I lean back, seeing what they're going to say. Maybe one of these girls will have something smart going on in their heads.
"Well, well, well, ladies," I say, putting my arms back on the sofa. "Who may you be?"
"I'm Carrie," the blonde next to me on my right says with a smile.
"I'm Anna," next to her.
"I'm Anya," her friend says.
"I'm Dee," one on my left chimes.
"I'm Candy," the one next to her says. She doesn't hold back either. "I give good head."
Fuck me. Whatever happened to fucking small talk?
That was it. I had gotten my boys in the club. But they were all busy now. Wouldn't have cared if any one of us left the pack. It seemed like two already had.
"Listen, ladies," I say, clearly exasperated. "I'm having a bit of an early night tonight. Have to pack and all."
"Where are you going?" Carrie asks.
"Holiday with my family, love," I say, drawn into the hint of a conversation.
"Can I come with you?" she asks.
And there it goes. Boom. Why would I take you on a family vacation with me? After just meeting you? What kind of fucked up alternate reality are you living in? Even without my security crew, who already have a perimeter set up unobtrusively around the block, why would I take you anywhere?
"No," I say, basically figuring a question like that only deserves a one-word answer.
"Can I?" Anya asks, her face lighting up.
What the fuck? She thinks because I didn't take her friend, she now has a better chance?
I sigh and take a large drink of my scotch.
I know what you're going to say to me, okay? Not every girl is like this. There's some with great personalities. I know what you're going to say. But here is what I'm going to say back to you. When those girls with their great personalities and really smart brains and all, when they come into my radius, they're going to ask shit questions like the one Anna asks me that moment.
"Do you want to fuck me?" she asks me, batting her eyelashes.
At least Dee is a bit more reserved. She just brings her fist to her mouth and makes a blowjob motion, then smiles at me.
Sure, after a few drinks and on an off-night, when I have nothing going on, why not? But I wasn't lying when I said I need to pack. I want to make sure I'm not late or come after everyone else to the Hamptons. Family vacations are important to my father, the King.
Ever since he married Vanessa, who used to work for him, the both of them have been trying to make us a family. I don't mind my stepmom much. I call her 'Mum' and all. And her daughter, Alicia, I grew up with and knew in school too.
Yeah, we basically grew up together. But now is not the time to be thinking about her. I have to get away from this scene before I drink myself silly and fuck all five of them just to get them to stop talking.
"Listen, ladies, I'm out," I say. "Help yourself to the booze."
They look at me with sad eyes, but I know, just like birds, they'll forget about it in the next few moments.
At least I fucking hope so.
Welcome to my fucking fabulous life.
God, it'll be good to get away.
23
Alicia
Between when we moved so Mom could work in St. Chaviel and when she got married, we'd been back to New York quite a bit.
But we'd never been in the Hamptons until after Mom got married to the King. It wasn't that we didn't know where the Hamptons were. It's just that it wasn't something that we could afford to do.
I still can't get my mind off of how much my heart is breaking as I sit in the back of my cab, staring out at the cars as we pass them by on the Long Island Expressway. I'm just glad I didn't spend the entire flight crying.
I smile to myself. Actually, I didn't spend any part of the flight crying.
I'm going through the stages of grief, I think to myself. I've gotten done with the shock and denial. I'm going through the sadness. I can't wait until I get to the anger. And you know what? The anger is going to feel good.
I mean, who the hell is Ben Ebert anyways that he can assume that just because he thinks I'm bad at sex that it gives him the right to go about and have sex with whomever he pleases? And wait a second, buddy. Who ever said that I was the only one bad at sex? Why is it that we always had the same kind and type of sex every time we had sex? Come to think of it, why is it that he wears those damn tightie-whities? I hate how they look and they made him look ridiculous.
For
the entire time that we've been dating in college, it's always been about Ben. It's never been about me. There have been things that I've wanted to do but that I haven't been able to because Ben didn't want to do them. And so, that meant that I was always having to sacrifice.
In a way I'm actually glad that I'll be able to get away from him for the next few months. It'll give me a chance to recuperate and re-energize myself for going back and finishing off my senior year.
The only problem that I see on my horizon is something that’s making me nervous.
Ian Carrington - my stepbrother.
I've always been a bit uneasy as to how to deal with Ian.
I mean, he's really easy on the eyes, but it's just that, well, uhmm, how do I say this?
Right. How about he's a major Grade-A asshole.
A real prick.
I can say that. He's my stepbrother, remember? And I grew up with him.
We actually went to the same elementary through high school before he entered the St. Chaviel Military Academy. I went to college back in the US because I knew I could do better than whatever he was being handed on a silver platter.
But that's not why he's an asshole.
He treats women really horribly. He's a giant ass to them and he uses them, lies to them, breaks their hearts and then leaves them.
I've never liked him. Even when he was a little kid and we were in the same class and he used to go around and lift up girl's skirts.
Seriously, who does that anymore? What kind of sociopath do you have to be as a little kid to be able to go out and torture little girls?
All the girls used to be afraid of him and what he'd do to them if he got a chance.
Over the years as we all grew older, those girls began to stop being afraid of him and started looking at his body. And then that's when he started really letting the sociopath come out. He started taking the girls out, one by one, and having his fun with them for a week or two, before discarding them like used laundry. Or more apt, like garbage.
I've heard girls crying in the bathrooms and the locker rooms because Ian never calls them back. I've heard girls who tried to come over to the palace to talk to Ian to ask him why he stopped returning their calls and when they could get back together because their hearts were shattered over the cruel way in which he dropped them.
I've seen girls lose their mind.
By itself, I think it'll be easy to avoid Ian for most of the summer if he’s out partying all the time, but every time I think back to everything that I've heard my friends say about him or heard what he's done to girls, I shudder. Including now. Because it does nothing but remind me of Ben Ebert. How Ben broke my heart.
So this must be what it feels like to be one of the girls that gets a chance to date Ian, huh? I can't believe anyone would want a shot with my Prince Stepbrother.
I mean, I can see why people would want that chance. The guy has a body apparently that was custom-made by God when he was creating hot guys.
But, he's my stepbrother. Don't make me think about his body. Ew! Or his abs and pecs. That's just gross. I'm not thinking about it anymore.
But I swear, if Ian gives me any trouble I'm not going to keep my mouth shut this time. I don't care if he's the King of Europe - even though I'm smart enough to know that there is no such thing as the King of Europe. That's something that I think Ian would say - considering he never really seemed to be taking his classes seriously.
It seemed that guy took everything that was positive about being a Prince and just used it to his own ends to get as many girls to bang, get as drunk as possible and then do some of the most retarded things.
At the end of the day, it doesn't matter if he's really hot or anything. He seems like a complete asshole that has absolutely no respect for the 1900 years that his family has been running St. Chaviel.
I mean, look at me. Sure, I may technically be a princess and all, but my mother married the King. And prior to that, I was just regular ol' Alicia Wright. But even then, I think I knew more about the country and traditions of St. Chaviel than Ian did. Because I took it more seriously.
I took life more seriously. I would never be like him – he’s basically taken all his duties and turned them into one giant orgy.
Asshole.
I'm surprised this level of anger has gripped me. I didn't realize as we turned off into our exit from the LIE and began approaching our Southampton destination. The King bought it for the family in an effort not to displace us too much when we were growing up.
King Leopold is a really nice guy and I think he and my mother are a really cute couple. I mean, the guy bought us a place in the Hamptons and made sure that we would have the entire summer to stay there, and even brought Ian over. Why was that? Because just moving us out to St. Chaviel and taking our home away might scar me as a kid. And having some ties to where we grew up was going to be helpful. He was thinking about mother and me always.
I could see why. If ever there were two people who were in love, it was my mom and the King. The two were like constant newlyweds the way they went on and about. And the media loved it. They loved my mom. They were always saying nice things about her and taking her picture and she was always nice to them and smiling and letting them do their job.
I tried to keep in the background. It's not that I didn't like my picture taken. It's just that compared to all these beautiful women walking around, I didn't think I really had much to offer. I mean, come on. I just had my braces removed four years ago and it was only after I went to college that I got rid of my eyeglasses and went towards my contacts.
The car's stopped in front of the house and I pay the cab driver. I take my two suitcases and walk up the driveway to the front door. There's security around the estate, but they form a pretty large perimeter out here - at least half a mile in each direction. Which is great. They're not like some crazy Secret Service where you have to worry that they're going to follow you to the same room or something.
No one's home so I walk through the living room. It doesn't surprise me. I'm like almost a day early. People aren't supposed to be arriving until tomorrow.
Oh wait, it looks like someone's home.
My heart catches in my throat as I look out the window and see the water moving and someone lying there. I can't make out how and move closer to the window.
My heart does a little bit of a somersault.
It's Ian.
Inadvertently, I touch my cheek.
Ew, stop it. He's my stepbrother. I was just touching my cheek because it could have been anyone. Don't get any thoughts there. Please?
But I mean, if you looked at him and didn't know who he was or what he was capable of, the first thing you'd think of was, something along the lines of "OH MY GOD".
I'm staring at his body. His delicious, cut, proportioned, chiseled body made like Apollo. His chest and abs and arms and shoulders were meant to be licked by a hungry tongue.
I look over at his legs. Those are probably about some of the most powerful legs I've seen in any guy. I lick my lips, without thinking about it.
Look, that wasn't for him, okay? I was licking my lips because my lips were dry. It is the summer after all. I wasn't going to be doing it for any other reason. Remember? Stepbrother. I am so not into his body in any way at all. No way. Nothing happening there. Nothing at all. Period. End of story.
Ian shifts a little bit and turns over and I'm looking at his sexy back.
I can't believe that some guy's back muscles would look so good.
Remember what I said, some guy. Not my stepbrother. My stepbrother's back muscles are not what I'm looking at. It could be anyone.
The way those powerful arms of his lift his body up. The way they flex when his body moves. There is nothing but unrestrained power in that frame.
I'm breathing hard as I see him walk towards the house.
Again, please get your mind out of the gutter. I'm not here ogling at my stepbrother. I mean, please. Think about it like th
is. I grew up with him. I've known him since we were 8. I have no reason to be staring at his body as he walks through the side door to the house.
Yeah, he's wearing board shorts but that ass of his is still visible. It's nice. And hard. And flexes as he walks and I can tell there's nothing I would like to do but reach out and squeeze it. And feel it against my hand.
But that's only if he was another guy, okay! He's my stepbrother and I'm never going to do that.
I try to straighten myself out as I see him enter the house.
Wait, why am I straightening myself out and brushing back my hair when he's walking in the house? It's not like I care that much about him. It's not like I'm into him. Why am I acting so nervous?
Does he remind me of Ben? Ben Ebert, the guy who broke my heart?
Why exactly did Ben break my heart again? Oh yeah, he cheated on me. With my roommate. On my bed. And he basically told me this wasn't the first time he's done something like this. And I should be okay with it. And that he couldn't do a long distance relationship because he needed sex. Which I'm bad at. Even though, this summer he's going to be in the Hamptons just like me.
Stupid jerk. I hate him.
But Ian's like that too. I wonder why all the girls go for him. I mean, I've heard the stories in the locker rooms and the bathrooms. He's got a really, really, big..., well, you know.
His, uhm, cock, is really big. It's apparently something like 11 inches or 10 inches or something ungodly. I mean, that's pretty big. I didn't know they could be that big. Ben was only about 6 inches and he was always walking around like he was such a big manly man’s man.
I mean, Ian, even though he's wearing board shorts, I can sort of see a bulge. I can make out the outline of his cock through his board shorts and I think I see where the 11 inches comes from. I swear, it's like a snake. A big, thick snake hanging between his legs. I wonder how it feels to girls when he puts it inside them.
Oh my God. Was I just wondering what Ian feels like when he has sex with girls? He's my stepbrother. This is so gross. I am totally going to stop thinking like this.
Only it's too late, because Ian's in front of me and when I look up at him, I see him smirking. It's pretty obvious that he just caught me checking out his package.
President Stepbrother...With Benefits: A Bad Boy Alpha Male Stepbrother Romance Page 20
