Dirty Princes: A Standalone MMF Romantic Comedy

by Jo Raven

  The hell is wrong with me?

  Maybe my father was right. Maybe I should go get my check up—only I’m pretty fucking sure this issue isn’t within my doctor’s field of expertise.

  After a night of uneasy sleep—and some pretty intense dreams that had me waking up with my hand wrapped around my dick—I make it to work on Monday.

  Everything seems normal. Piles of paperwork, lists of tasks waiting for me, new projects to familiarize myself with. All par for the course. Part of the schedule.

  Which reminds me of Brylee.

  But Brylee doesn’t come anywhere near me. It’s like I caught the plague. She’s at the office, I catch a glimpse of her as I cross to the meeting room, but she’s gone again, like a flash of lightning.

  There and then gone.

  I busy myself with numbers and spreadsheets. I force my mind on work. I do my fucking best not to care, not to wonder, not to ask myself where she is, why I can’t stop wishing she’d come over to say something funny.

  To my credit, I last most of the day. It’s mid-afternoon when I say, fuck it, push my chair back and go to find her.

  PART II

  Princess Brylee saved her cherry for her prince—who was being difficult and not following the damn script.

  Then another guy, Riddick, walked through the door and ate her cookie.

  Literally, okay? It was a good cookie, too, with chocolate chips.

  Even Princess Brylee had to admit Riddick could hold a candle to the beauty of Ryan. A pretty big candle, too.

  This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. She was supposed to get a prince, not get caught between a hot prince and a hunky pauper, unable to choose…

  But it was fine. After all, she didn’t want them both.

  At the same time. In her bed. Like, ever.

  #FamousLastWords

  Chapter Thirteen

  Banana-shaped Dream

  Brylee

  Phase One was a complete and utter failure. Phase Two sucked.

  And sadly, Phase Three has suffered a setback: my cookies have burned three days in a row. I blame it on my confusion about Ryan and Riddick.

  On the fact I like Riddick. A lot.

  And that I liked the fact that Ryan wanted to check in on him, and that he helped him look for his brother.

  Not to mention that he massaged his ass.

  Okay, okay, that image is… kinda hot, and why is my heart racing like that? Let’s rewind. Back to safer footage.

  I want Ryan to pay attention to me and see how right I am for him.

  But I also want Riddick to kiss me.

  And Ryan, too.

  Holy crap, right? That wasn’t part of my plan. Not like this. I wasn’t supposed to lust after one of them, let alone both. It wasn’t supposed to be anyone but Ryan on my mind, as the goal of a well-thought-out plan.

  And now… It’s a miracle my brain hasn’t boiled, and the top of my head hasn’t exploded yet.

  Ew.

  I need to take some cleansing breaths, do some meditation, burn some essential oils and find my balance. This is unacceptable. I can’t lose focus. Can’t let lust confuse me.

  Besides… two guys? Ha. Haha. Whatever. No way.

  And no matter how much I like Riddick, he’s not the right one for me. I’ll just have to avoid him, stop thinking about how frigging good-looking he is.

  How sad his eyes are sometimes.

  I walk over to the water cooler, hoping to clear my mind. I fill a plastic cup with water and stare into it, as if the answer is waiting in its depths.

  But nada.

  I hate this feeling of not knowing what I’m doing. Whether I’m doing the right thing. I don’t like doubts. The only way to succeed in something is to believe in it.

  And Ryan…

  “Hey,” a deep, familiar voice says from behind me. “You didn’t come over to ignore me today.”

  Oh dear Lord. I stagger sideways, clutching the plastic cup, water sloshing over. Here he is.

  Okay, stick to the plan. “I’m ignoring you now.”

  He shrugs. God, those wide shoulders rolling… “It’s not the same.”

  I frown at him. “Wait a sec… You like it when I ignore you?”

  Another shrug, and a half-smile that lights up the emeralds in his eyes. “I like the way you do it.”

  I think about that. “You mean, pointedly?”

  “Yeah. Very pointedly.”

  I beam at him. “I nailed it, didn’t I?”

  He laughs. God, I love his laughter. So deep and warm, like melted butter flowing over my senses. “You’re good.”

  I’d curtsy, but I’m too caught up in his near-unbearable proximity. The heat coming off his body, a light scent of aftershave, the way the white shirt hugs his muscular torso, the way his smile is slightly lopsided.

  My breasts tingle. My nipples have tightened up, aching. That annoying throbbing starts between my legs.

  Lust, Simone said. A physical reaction to a handsome man.

  Nothing more.

  “I can’t come over today,” I say quietly.

  Because Phase Three is on hold. I have no cookies.

  “Oh.” A shadow of doubt steals over his green eyes. “Are you sure? I have chocolate.” At my continuing hesitation, he adds, “And photos of kittens.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Is this a trap of some sort? Are you making fun of me?”

  He lifts his hands. “I swear I’m not.”

  “Swear it on your mother’s life.”

  His eyes darken, and a flash of pain goes over his face, gone so fast I’m not sure I really saw it. “I swear.”

  Oh, what the heck. The bribes are pretty good. “When should I come over?”

  ***

  Turns out he only has one chocolate bar and one pic of a kitty—but the kitty’s cute, and the chocolate hits the spot.

  Also, he basically bribed me to go ignore him. I love my job.

  Only I can’t even pretend to ignore him, not when he’s searching for more kitten pics on the internet to show me while I munch on his chocolate bar, his brows knitted over his eyes, those long fingers gripping a black, manly, lethal-looking mouse on the mousepad.

  Good mouse. Nice mouse.

  It looks like a little fat vibrator, like the one Simone showed me.

  Or was that a buttplug? Can’t remember.

  And why does the image of his hand wrapped around a vibrator or a buttplug send a surge of heat through my body so sudden I gasp?

  “What is it?” he asks, glancing at me. “Is something wrong?”

  I shake my head.

  “Didgoo af a nice likend?” I ask around a mouthful of chocolatey goodness. When he sends me a questioning look, I swallow and try again. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

  “Ah, yeah. It was okay.”

  I’m still trying to figure out what happened and how I found myself in his office, leaning over his shoulder to see what the search engine brings up. “Anything exciting?”

  He stills, his fingers tensing on the mouse.

  What did I say?

  He takes a deep breath and clicks to close the internet page. “How did you spend your weekend?”

  I lick my fingers clean of the chocolate, and his gaze goes a shade darker. “I baked.”

  Three cakes and two pies, on top of the cookies, but who’s counting?

  His brows shoot up. “You bake?”

  “Of course.”

  The interest gleaming in his eyes is encouraging. Phase Three may be a go, after all. Mom was right: men are governed by their stomachs.

  “What about your friend, Riddick?” he asks.

  I blink. “What?”

  “Is he okay?”

  Okay, now… “All this,” I wave a hand at his office, “was to ask me about Riddick? What’s up with you and him, huh?”

  To my surprise, color rises to his cheeks. Is that a guilty look in his eyes? “You like him. I like him, too.”

  “Ah-huh
.”

  “Look, all I want to know is… did he kiss you?”

  Really.

  I turn to go, but a hand clamps over my wrist and suddenly I’m pinned to his desk, his powerful body pressed to my curves. His eyes bore into mine, and his mouth is so close…

  “No one has kissed me,” I tell him. I try for defiant, but it comes out a little breathlessly. “Ever.”

  “No one?” He frowns. “But…”

  Will he do it? Will he kiss me? Is this why he came looking for me?

  His nostrils flare. His lips part. “This is a bad idea,” he whispers, like he did at Riddick’s before walking out.

  But his head dips, and his mouth covers mine. I gasp at the sensation—warm, soft, insistent—and then his tongue traces my lips, the roof of my mouth, strokes my tongue. It sends shocks of pleasure through me.

  He tastes dark and spicy, like licorice. His lips move over mine, harder, and I clutch at his arms, drowning, losing all direction.

  Ryan is kissing me.

  He’s kissing me.

  My toes curl inside my shoes. My body arches against him. He’s hard. I can feel his hot length through his pants, and a whine of need leaves my throat. His hands slide down my sides, behind to curve over my ass, squeezing, hauling me up, against his hard-on.

  It feels so good.

  We kiss for what feels like years, until I have to breathe and pull back.

  His eyes are dark, the green swallowed by black, and his chest is rising and falling so fast. He swallows and produces a faint groan.

  Then he puts a hand on his chest as if about to profess his undying love to me—but instead pushes off me and stumbles out of the office, leaving me to stare after him.

  Dear God. He walked out on me.

  Again!

  ***

  “That’s it? He cornered you, kissed you, and then walked out?” Candy is gaping at me from her pillow fortress on the sofa of her apartment. “Hot and cold in the space of five minutes?”

  I shrug.

  “I don’t like it, Bry. He’s playing games with you.” There’s a seriousness about her I don’t recall from before.

  “You think?” I’ve been touching my lips all the time since he kissed me.

  That was two days ago, and I can still feel his kiss, on my lips, in my body.

  And he’s been avoiding me. For real. Not even glancing my way when I pass by, and going the other way if I approach. That’s pretty hardcore avoidance right there.

  Candy eyes me. “Was it good? The kiss?”

  I nod.

  “That’s all I get? A nod?”

  “What do you want? A replay?”

  “Ugh, no. I’m not into girls.” She sticks her tongue out at me.

  Yeah, me neither. I’m definitely into boys.

  I change track. “He asked me about Riddick.”

  “He knows Riddick?”

  “Yeah. They happened to meet. There’s something there…between them. Like a spark, you know?”

  Candy stares at me. “You mean they want each other? I thought Riddick was bi, but do you think Ryan is too?”

  I shrug.

  “But they also want you.”

  I chew on a nail, tasting nail polish. “Maybe. It’s all so weird.”

  “Is it?” Candy whispers, and glances at a framed picture on a shelf. It’s of her between her two boyfriends. “You still don’t think a girl can love and be loved by two guys at the same time?”

  “That has nothing to do with it.” I fall back on the cushions. “You guys are in love. That’s different.”

  “Can I tell you a secret?” she says, her voice going lower still. Her eyes sparkle as she puts a hand on her tummy. “You’d find out sooner or later anyway. Not like I can hide it forever.”

  My eyes widen. “You didn’t!”

  She laughs. “Six more months.”

  “Oh my God!” I slap a hand over my mouth, smiling. “I’m so happy for you! Which one is the daddy?”

  She shrugs. “We don’t want to know.”

  Wow. I admit she makes a convincing case for three people loving each other for real.

  But all I have to go on is a kiss and a whole lot of confusion.

  ***

  The confusion hasn’t cleared up by Saturday when I drive to the hospital for my usual rounds. Should I go through with Phase Three?

  Or should I abandon ship? I mean, Mission Ryan?

  Or men altogether?

  I thought I knew what I was doing. Now I’m not so sure anymore. Not when he’s hot and cold, when he’s ignored me every single day since he kissed me.

  Not good. I should call my mom, ask for advice.

  I check my tiara and makeup in the rearview mirror and step outside in my blue princess shoes.

  Nurse Ellen smiles as she waves me toward the children’s ward. I’ve brought a book of fairytales with me, and I read a short tale to every child. The girls love my costume. The boys always look intrigued.

  “You’re a real princess?” a new patient, a blond little boy asks, touching my hair.

  “Why, yes, of course.” I touch my tiara. “Don’t I look like one?”

  “Your crown is plastic,” he tells me sadly, “and fairytales don’t come true.”

  “Fairytales don’t have to come true,” I tell him, “because they are true. They are stories, like our lives, going from good to bad, and then back again to good. Like you.”

  He looks doubtful. “I’m not a story.”

  “Yes, you are. And you will have a happy ending.”

  He smiles, at last, and allows me to read a tale for him.

  All in all, it has been a good day. All the kids seem alert and happy to see me, which is the whole purpose of this visit.

  Giving them a final wave, I saunter out of the children’s ward.

  At least this is a constant, a mission I won’t ever fail, a goal I always reach, a promise to myself I can keep. The children never play games with my mind, never reject me.

  I’m out of the hospital and almost at my car when I see him.

  Riddick.

  Like last time. He’s smoking, staring into the distance, his dark hair falling in his face, longer than I’ve ever seen it.

  I hesitate, think about slinking away. It’s obvious he hasn’t seen me, and maybe, after our last meeting, it might be less awkward if I left quickly.

  But then he lifts a hand to his face and wipes at his eyes, and I’m transfixed, rooted to the spot.

  Oh God, what happened?

  “Rid?” I start walking toward him, my legs getting tangled in my long skirt. My princess shoes weren’t made for the rough cement of the parking lot. I manage to reach him just as he frowns at me, recognition dawning on his face.

  And then I step on the hem of my dress and cry out as I go down.

  You know how your life flashes in front of your eyes in the face of a cement floor coming up to meet you?

  All lies. All I saw was the floor—and then there were arms around me, hauling me up against a very male, very strong body with the smell of fresh tobacco and pine.

  “Are you all right?” his voice rumbles through his chest, and I cling to him, afraid to draw a breath and break this spell. “Bry. Talk to me.”

  His voice is a little hoarse, I think. If from crying or from the cigarettes, hard to tell. I look up into his face, and his eyes look red-rimmed.

  “I’m okay,” I say, gazing into that sharp-jawed, gray-eyed face, as if in a trance.

  “Good.” He smiles faintly at me, and I reach up to touch his eyelids. They’re soaked. He blinks and turns his head, my hand trailing on his cheek. “This costume… You’re here for the kids, aren’t you?”

  I don’t deny it. “And you’re here for your mom?”

  He makes a choked sound, and I grab him tighter, not anymore for fear of falling to the ground.

  Maybe for fear of falling for him. Much easier now, when I’m mired in doubt over Ryan and Riddick is right here, warm,
and solid. And so sad.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, and he hugs me back with a sudden fierceness, bruising my ribs. Not that I care. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” he breathes.

  My face is smooshed against his broad chest. His jacket is open, and it’s only a thin cotton T-shirt. Through it, I can hear the hammering of his heart.

  “It’s okay,” I explain, “to fall apart sometimes.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sometimes you don’t have a choice.”

  A ragged breath. “Others depend on me.”

  “And who do you have to depend on?”

  A half-laugh, half-sob wracks him. “Bry…”

  “I mean it.”

  He takes a few shuddering breaths. “You’re so serious. What happened to the funny girl I know and love?”

  “She ran off with this guy who says he’s always fine, even when he’s not.” I swallow hard. “Humor is a defense, you know. Just like your snark.”

  He’s very still in my arms. I might as well be holding a warm, life-size statue of a man. He’s breathing fast, though, and his hands are clutching at me like he can’t let go.

  “What do you want, Bry?” he asks at last.

  I don’t have to think about it much. “To take you home.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sugar Plums in Black Lace

  Riddick

  She takes me to her apartment, and it’s a relief not to go back to mine that’s quiet like a tomb.

  Xavier isn’t there. He took off again last night.

  Then again, what’s new?

  My head feels heavy and full of cotton as I climb out of my car and follow her into her building. She calls the elevator—and then takes my hand.

  Everything else fades, apart from the feel of her slim hand in mine, a point of warmth to fight the chill that’s in my bones.

  We ride up to her floor, and she lets go to unlock her door. Then she grabs my hand again and pulls me inside.

  Her apartment is warm, the living room done in happy colors. Red carpet, green sofa, orange cushions, a poster on the wall. Knick-knacks and books on the shelves.

  And a cat.

  “Hey, Fluff.” Brylee makes meowy noises, but the cat slinks backward and vanishes into another room—or a different dimension, for all I know. “Aww, she needs time to get used to you.”