Dirty Princes: A Standalone MMF Romantic Comedy

by Jo Raven

  She makes it sound like it will happen. That I’ll visit here often enough that her cat with the bumhole jewel will get used to me and come rub herself on me.

  Brylee tugs me to the couch. “Sit. I’ll make you something to eat.”

  I obey, my knees not too steady, and watch her go, dazed. I rub at my eyes. They burn. Letting my head drop back, I gaze at the ceiling without seeing it.

  What a fucked-up day.

  I need to tell Jet about Mom’s new overdose. The last few times I kept it from him, but he has a right to know, even if he can’t help me.

  Nobody can.

  Brylee comes back with a steaming mug, a muffin and a toasted sandwich. It’s grilled cheese, and my stomach gives a loud growl at the smell. Sheepishly, I thank her and then inhale everything.

  The muffin is a bit crunchy, but I barely notice.

  “You were hungry,” she observes.

  No shit, Sherlock.

  “What was wrong with your mom? Is she going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her truthfully.

  “Why?”

  “My dad drinks, my mom self-medicates. He shouts a lot. She goes into hysterics and swallows every pill in the house. So she overdosed. Again.”

  There it is, the painful truth, laid out before her. I expect the telltale flinch that will confirm she’s horrified she asked, that she’d rather take her question back. Probably travel back in time and leave me in that parking lot of the hospital without a word.

  But she holds my gaze and grabs my hand to give it a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry. I hope she comes through.”

  I put my mug down on the coffee table. “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask quietly.

  She shrugs, toys with a loose thread in her sweater, her hazel eyes looking anywhere but at me. “I told you. I like you.”

  “You like me. Like you like your friend Candy and your cat?”

  There it is, that delicate blush that seems to bypass my conscious brain and shoot straight to my dick. She whispers, “Not like that.”

  I take her hand, lift it to my lips. “I don’t like you that way, either, Princess.”

  Her hand twitches in my hold. “Rid…”

  “Anything you want. You just have to say what it is.”

  “I don’t… It’s not…”

  Sweet. She’s the sweetest fairytale princess. She dresses up to cheer sick children up. She held me when I fell apart. Brought me to her home.

  Sweet and hot. A deadly combo.

  Too much for my fraying control.

  I let her hand go in order to cup her face and lean in to kiss her.

  She stills, her lips pressed together for a long moment, until I think I made a mistake. That I misjudged what she wants and that I should apologize and leave.

  But then her lips part. A small sound escapes her, lost in the fusion of our mouths, and her hands come up to tangle in my hair, dragging me closer.

  Fuck, yeah. Finally I’m tasting her mouth, and it’s like her, burning hot and sugar sweet. I slide my hand to the back of her head, controlling the kiss, thrusting into her mouth, sliding my other hand around her shoulders, pulling her against me.

  She’s trembling. When I pull her leg over my thigh, she rocks. I doubt she realizes she’s doing it. Her eyes have fallen shut, and she’s whimpering.

  Breaking the kiss, I kiss a line to her neck, and whisper in the fine shell of her ear, “I’m gonna make you come, Princess.”

  “Oh God…” She’s panting, and it’s like little sobs. “I shouldn’t. I have a plan. I shouldn’t…”

  I trail my hand down, over her tits, and she gasps. “Shall I stop?”

  “God, no.” Her eyes are feverish. “I mean, I don’t know. I was supposed to… supposed to save myself.”

  I shift on the sofa, so hard I ache. “I won’t fuck you, Princess, if that’s what you want, though I bet my big cock inside your pussy will make you come like nothing else. But there are other ways…”

  She bites her lower lip, face crimson. “How?”

  She feels so right in my arms. I kiss her again. I shouldn’t. But I want her.

  And I want to see her come apart from pleasure. I wanna see her come so hard she forgets herself and her hang-ups, those ancient ideas of saving her cherry for a prince, and give herself to me.

  “Let me show you.”

  ***

  I lower her down on the sofa, on her back, smirking at her wide-eyed look. With her curls tumbling around her, her tits almost spilling from her Disney princess dress, she looks…cute.

  Fuckable.

  Perfect.

  I push up the long dress, revealing her long legs, and take in my hands her feet, encased in those blue high-heeled shoes, so sexy and yet childish.

  Another powerful combo. It’s like she’s made of beautiful contradictions.

  I stroke her legs, and she shivers. The fabric of her dress is flimsy, light, and I push it up higher, until I get a look of her panties.

  Pink. Lace. With bows.

  Jesus Fuck.

  “Rid…” Panicking. Her feet jerk in my hands, almost nailing me in the nuts. “I can’t…”

  “Shhh.” I put her feet on the sofa and kneel between her legs, then brace one hand beside her head and bend over her. “I just wanna touch you. That okay?”

  After a moment, she nods. Swallows. Nods again.

  “Good girl.” I trail my free hand between her legs, over the pink panties. Heat seeps through the lace as I stroke my thumb down her seam. Again. And again. And again, until she moans and lifts her hips off the sofa, pressing into my hand.

  “God,” she whispers. “God, Rid…”

  I kiss her. I lick at her lips, thrust my tongue inside her mouth, suck and nibble and groan when the sensations shoot to my dick until it’s hot and heavy inside my jeans.

  Her moans are growing desperate. I draw back, breaking the kiss, wanting to hear them as I keep rubbing my thumb over the lace, feeling it grow damp.

  She lifts her head and our lips meet again.

  “You have no idea how much I want you,” I whisper between kisses. “You can drive a guy crazy, Princess.”

  She gasps against my lips and arches up, her hips rising and falling in frantic little circles. I pant, my body jerking as she comes, my dick twitching, eager to follow.

  Eager to sink inside her, spill inside her heat.

  The lace under the pad of my thumb is soaking wet, and the scent of her light musk fills my senses. Her gasps are growing quieter. Her cheeks are flushed, the freckles standing out on her nose, sweat making her forehead gleam.

  Damn, she’s breathtaking.

  “Oh God…” Her voice is hushed, her eyes wide. “It doesn’t feel like that when I—” She catches herself.

  “When you do it?” Oh, this is fucking precious. And damn arousing, the image of her in her pink babydoll or whatever she wears in bed, rubbing herself under the covers, biting into her pillow not to make noise.

  Holy fucking shit, I’m about to cream my pants.

  She starts to get up, and I sit back before we crack heads together. “Rid.” Fluttery panicky gestures. “This isn’t… I don’t know…”

  A brief surge of disappointment clogs my throat. I knew this could happen. Panicking about going too far, and with the wrong guy.

  “Relax,” I tell her. “We did nothing wrong. Didn’t even get undressed, for fuck’s sake.” I push to my feet, wincing when my cock presses into the zipper. “Consider it a thanks for today.”

  I’m already heading to the door, when she calls my name.

  “Wait.” She’s breathless, and seeing her like that, in her blue gown, with her hair disheveled and her tiara askew, is almost enough to make me smile.

  She looks like she’s just had an orgasm.

  And that’s because she has. By my hand. Can’t help but take some guy pride in that.

  “It’s getting late.” I grab the door handle. “And you’re not sure about
what you want.”

  “I do. I am.” She adjusts her laced-up bust, and my gaze is instantly drawn to the swell of her boobs on top of it.

  No wonder the princes keep falling for the princesses in the tales. That cleavage is like a magnet.

  “I want you to stay,” she goes on, drawing my attention back to her face. “I want you to come, too.”

  Wait, what?

  “Bry…” If she’s unsure about a handjob over her panties, for chrissakes, how does she see this going down?

  But she grabs my hand and drags me back to the sofa.

  Granted, I don’t put up much resistance. Her apartment is a haven, a place out of my reality, and I’m damn horny.

  “I want to do for you what you did for me.” There’s a determined glint in her eyes.

  “You sure, girl? I’d have to undress.” I glance down at the bulge in my pants. “This would go further than what we did before. Which is fine by me. Just saying.”

  A flash of uncertainty passes through her gaze, then that glint is back. “You do it. You touch yourself. I want to see.”

  Touch myself? Does she mean…?

  “You want me to jack off for your entertainment?” I lick my lips. “Is this proper behavior for a princess?”

  She gathers her legs under her dress, chucking off her shoes, looking at me expectantly. “Well?”

  Fuck, this girl… She’s killing me.

  Am I really going through with this?

  Sure I am. I mean, hell, why not? If she wants to watch, who am I to tell her no? And on top of that, I need to see her reaction. Need to know more about her.

  I need to understand her, and see what she feels for me, because I sure as hell am starting to feel way too much for her.

  Shoving down the fear, one more among the many lurking in my mind, I reach for my zipper. “You’re on. But here’s the deal. I will ask you questions, and if you don’t reply promptly and truthfully, I’ll stop.”

  Even if it kills me.

  “What sort of questions?” She tilts her head to the side like a bird, all colors and plumage and innocence.

  Like she hasn’t just orgasmed under my thumb, moaning and thrashing.

  “Take it or leave it,” I whisper, my voice rough, wondering what I’m doing, and how I think I’ll stop once I start. Self-control has never been my forte.

  But she nods. “Fine. You may start.”

  A royal decree, if I ever heard one.

  Chuckling, I start unzipping my pants, one metal tooth, one click at a time. I stop. “Why do you go to the hospital dressed as a princess to cheer up the children?”

  She smiles. “Because children need dreams and fairytales to pull through when they’re sick.”

  “Have you ever been that sick?”

  She hesitates, her gaze sliding away from me. Then she nods.

  Oh shit.

  I force myself to go on, and tug down the zipper more. “When you rub yourself at home, under the covers…do you think of me?”

  That blush… “You’re taking an awfully long time with that zipper,” she says.

  “Answer the question.”

  “This isn’t fair.”

  “How so? Do you, or don’t you think of me?”

  She bites her lower lip. “Sometimes.”

  I gasp, my cock weeping, straining under my hand. I didn’t expect the answer to be a yes. “Me, too,” I admit. “God, me too.”

  She’s breathing hard.

  It’s so tempting to just unzip my pants, grab my dick and allow myself to come, letting out all the frustration and fear of the last weeks.

  So tempting to push her down and fuck her then and there. She wants me. She just said it, loud and clear.

  But she kind of withdraws into herself, leaning away from me.

  I wait.

  After a long moment, her lashes lift, her gaze going back to where my hand is resting on top of my hard-on.

  “Ask me,” she whispers.

  And the next question spills from me, half-serious, half-joking. “Are you really a virgin?”

  I expect outrage, anger, maybe some insults.

  “Yes,” she says. “I am.”

  Christ.

  “Saving it for Ryan?” Now why do I sound bitter? I knew this much, didn’t I? Or suspected it.

  “Truth?” she whispers.

  “Yeah.”

  She won’t meet my gaze. “I’m scared.”

  I don’t understand. I try. “Scared of what, Bry?”

  “Of sex.” Her voice is small, and it tugs on my heart. “God, why am I telling you this? I’ve never told anyone, not even Candy.”

  Shit. I reach for her hand. She lets me take it.

  “Why?” I ask gently, all thoughts of fucking her into the sofa gone from my mind. Okay, not gone, but muted. “I guess it’s normal to be scared the first time, but with the right guy… with someone who cares for you…”

  And is that you? a voice that sounds too much like my own snarks in the back of my thoughts.

  She pulls her hand away, keeps her gaze down. “I’m not scared of the penetration,” she says quickly, and before I can process that, she goes on, “Ask me more questions.”

  “Bry…”

  “I want to see how you look, how…” She makes an impatient little noise in the back of her throat. “How your penis looks when it’s hard.”

  I groan. “It’s cock, Princess. Say it.”

  “Cock,” she whispers.

  Fuck. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one. There’s Google, you know.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen others.” Her eyes lift up to mine for a second. “But not yours.”

  The wave of heat rolling through my gut is threatening to take me under. “I see.” I pull my zipper down all the way, my mind whirling, my body humming. “Have you seen Ryan’s?”

  She laughs, puts her hands on her cheeks.

  “Shouldn’t you be asking him to show his dick to you? After all, he’s the one you really want.”

  “I have seen his,” she says.

  “You have? What—?”

  “In the men’s showers. Don’t ask.”

  So I don’t. I have a sudden image of Ryan, hard, stroking himself, drenched with water, rivulets running over his muscled body, and damn if I don’t stiffen more.

  “My plan isn’t working. I doubt I’ll see any other part of him, ever.” She sounds sad, and a pang of anger hits me. “You know, he kissed me the other day.”

  Another surge of anger, and strangely it seems to make my dick harder. “Goddammit, Bry.”

  What is she doing with me? She’s playing me like a puppet, and I don’t care. Not now.

  I push my jeans down, revealing the tent in my black boxer briefs. “Now you’ll be able to compare.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck Ryan.

  “You haven’t asked me anything yet.” But her gaze is back between my legs, and I swear I can fucking feel it caressing the length of my hard-on.

  Here goes. I hook my thumbs in the elastic, prepared to pull the briefs down my legs. “Why do you like me?”

  Silence.

  “Bry. I asked you a question.”

  She frowns. “I just do.”

  “Uh-uh. I want a truthful answer.” And I’m surprised to realize it really matters to me.

  “But I—”

  “Come on.” I tug the briefs down an inch, exposing the base of my cock. “The truth.”

  “I think you’re…nice.” She leans forward, glances up at my face. “And you hurt. I understand pain.”

  I believe her. Something inside me tells me there’s a lot she could tell me about pain.

  “Humor is a defense, you know…”

  I shove my briefs down, hissing with relief when my aching cock finally swings free against my stomach, swollen and wet, ready to burst.

  “Oh God.” Her eyes are wide. “That’s…”

  “Big?” I suggest.

  “Yes. And…”

  “Hard.” Ver
y hard.

  “Looks painful. The… metal there.”

  Oh, the piercing. I toy with the silver bar on the underside and shiver with need. “It feels good. It’d feel good inside you.” I wrap my fingers around my dick and my breath catches. “So good.”

  Her gasp is just a breath of air.

  “What now?” I stroke myself faster, needing to come. “Shall I finish it? Do you want to touch? Wanna try?”

  “Try?” Her eyes are so damn expressive. They’re curious now, excited.

  I reach for her hand, lift it. “Put it on me. I’m offering myself for sexual experimentation.”

  “So selfless of you.” She lets me guide her hand to my dick. I release her fingers, and she strokes the base of my cock, as if in a trance, then trails her fingertips down to my balls.

  God…

  “You can hold it like I’m doing. Squeeze. Pull.” I demonstrate, unable to hold back a moan. “See?”

  The tip of her tongue protrudes between her small teeth as she wraps her hand underneath mine, so that the length of my cock is now hugged and warm.

  She tugs a little.

  “Don’t worry, baby. It won’t break.” I drag my fist up and then down, my hand bumping against hers. “That’s it.”

  “You look…” She takes her time, releasing my dick and smoothing her hand over my hips, my thighs, over my stomach. “Tense.”

  Laughter almost makes me choke. “That’s because I’m about to come.”

  She sits back, and oh fuck, her cleavage has dipped lower, and I think I see a hint of nipple. “Do it. I want to see you come.”

  The things she says… Straight-faced, too, although her breathing is still harsh, and her eyes seem dark against her pink cheeks.

  I keep looking at her as I jack off, stroking myself violently, urgently. A girl wouldn’t jerk me off like this, but this is what does it for me.

  This, or fucking, and this… This is so fucking good, because she’s here, watching me, moving unconsciously to my rhythm.

  I bet if I slid my finger under her panties, she’d be hot and wet and ready to go again.

  That image pushes me off the cliff, and I grunt, falling back against the cushions as my dick jerks and spills streams of cum over my chest. The relief is so great it actually fucking hurts.