by Thorne, Gigi
Top off that fucked up way of thinking with the realities of never having been adopted and never lasting more than a month or two in foster care, mostly of my own doing because I was mischievous, rebellious, and twisted as fuck. And you end up with me, a walking, talking, fucking, mindfuck of a dominant, controlling alpha male.
I didn’t go looking for trouble. I was trouble.
But fuck, at least I got a skilled trade under my belt to make an honest living.
At least I know what I am.
I’m not sitting around trying to fit a square fucking peg into a round hole.
Still, I also didn’t expect to have anyone walk in on me as I work all night to complete the finishing touches in her two palatial bathrooms—rooms that are each at least double the size of my little apartment on the outskirts of the kingdom.
I certainly didn’t plan to almost walk right into Princess Charlotte.
And my night did not include the suddenly urgent pulse of my cock that now strains the sturdy fabric of my overalls. Thank fuck for these overalls. Otherwise, there’d be some serious tenting going on. And not the kind that a pretty, innocent little princess should ever witness on her loyal subjects.
But that was all before she showed up.
That was before she looked up at me with eyes that betrayed not only her innocence but desires that stretch deep into the fabric of her being. I see it as clear as day. It’s not a maybe. It’s a certainty. I’ve seen the look many times before.
This little girl, this innocent princess, has something dark and sinful inside of her.
The need to be dominated.
To be possessed.
To be claimed and owned, taken and used.
Jesus fuck.
I am fucking screwed.
Seeing her up close is a blessing and a curse, all rolled up into one sinful reality.
I’m not supposed to want this woman.
But now, I have to have her.
“I didn’t… you’re not supposed to be here,” I hear her bashful voice whimper out to me on a shallow breath.
“Neither are you, Your Highness,” I say bravely, not lowering my gaze as I’m supposed to, but instead, pinning her in place with a brazen, penetrating stare that runs from her eyes, down every sultry inch of her body, and back up again.
She moves to take a step back, but the back of her bare feet meet the wall where she just rounded the corner. “But I… how dare you speak to me that way?” she huffs out, but her voice is hollow, the words empty and meaningless. It’s as though she was trained to give such a reply by rote. And they’re thoroughly mismatched by the fire in her eyes, the look that tells me she’s excited to have stumbled upon the one and only commoner in the kingdom to dare defy protocols for engaging a royal.
Me.
And at the moment I’m the most reckless one too, so much so, that as she presses her back against the ornate textured wallpaper, and tilts her head up to me, I do something that no man has probably ever done to Princess Charlotte before.
I touch her.
I slowly run the back of my large, rough, dusty hand up her arm, skim it along her shoulder blade, graze it up her neck, and cup her chin.
“You can fool everyone else, Princess, but not me,” I growl low, my lips almost touching her earlobe.
“You bold-faced caveman… you crazy… stupid… unbelievable… I…” she says, each word softer and weaker than the last. “You’ll pay for this.”
“No, little girl. I believe it’s you who’ll pay with your sweet ass when I bend you over and spank you until you’re raw, then sink every inch of my big, meaty peasant dick into you after you beg for it.”
Her eyes widen at my suggestion, but she doesn’t reply, and she doesn’t move. I haven’t boxed her in or anything, at least not physically. But I can tell my words are enough. She’s not going anywhere until I tell her too. She’s here voluntarily, putting up with my crude, primitive behavior, and deep in my gut, I know she won’t leave until I follow through.
“Open your mouth,” I order her.
A puzzled look washes across her face, and she tilts her head to one side.
“Part your sweet lips for me,” I repeat, and when she does, I press my thick, dirty thumb past her lips. “Suck it.”
She bats her eyes in some sort of cheeky retaliation, but her lips obey, closing around the thick knuckle then suctioning with a force I didn’t expect.
Fuck.
My dick is rock hard and threatening to rip a fucking hole in my overalls from just that one movement of her lips. I feel her tongue swirl around the tip of my thumb without my asking her to, and I know right then that I was right about her.
The young princess has a closet freak lurking within.
Begging to be released.
Dying to blossom.
And I’m just the right village idiot to let it out.
“I’m Wes,” I tell her. “Wes Francis. I want you to know the name of the man who’s about to turn your world upside down, Princess. Sear that name into your mind because it’s the only name I want to hear from your sexy mouth when I take you. Remember that. Memorize is backward and forward. Forget everything else. Understood?”
She nods fearfully, but there’s a hint of excitement all over her face. She wants this as much as I want to give it to her.
As she continues to suck and tease my thumb, I run my other hand down to the seam of her skirt, then drag rough, callused fingers up her smooth, succulent thighs.
“Open for me,” I tell her, stopping about an inch from her hot folds and waiting.
Her thighs shake a little as she spreads her stance by stretching one leg away from the other. My one regret is not being able to witness the sight of her opening like a flower. It’s a regret I won’t have again, because my princess drags the skirt down past her hips, letting the light fabric cascade down around her feet.
Then I see that she’s not wearing any panties, and my willpower is tested and stretched to a whole new limit.
“See, I knew you had it in you to be naughty the second we crossed paths tonight, but… no panties? You’re a dirty little girl who’s begging to be punished, aren’t you, Princess?” She doesn’t answer, not with her mouth so busy, but her eyes flash with a thrilling look of enthusiasm.
“You can nod for me.”
And she does. And that’s when I slide two thick, meaty fingers along her naked folds, capturing her taut little nub between them.
“I’d make you beg me to finger fuck you hard, dirty girl, but as you’re so busy with what’s in your mouth right now, I’ll give you a pass.”
Princess Charlotte floors me before too long. I’m in awe. I barely touch her tight little hole with my fingertips when her breath catches. Her hips begin to buck, and her legs start to buckle under her from a quickly approaching orgasm. She’s so fucking sensitive, so responsive. But here, in the middle of the hallway, that’s no place to delight my Princess with her first climax.
Fuck no.
When that happens, I need to see her in full view and with proper lighting. Legs sprawled, the pinks of her inner lips spread for me, her bud on display, and her face as she looks upon the man who makes her come undone.
Slipping both my hands free, I give her a wink, turn on my heels, and nonchalantly mutter over my shoulder, “Sleep well, Princess. I’ll be back for the rest of you sometime.”
I don’t look back. I just keep walking, like a total prick, imagining the kind of shock that must be playing on her face, and the need I left unmet between her legs. She got a taste. As did I. I’m sure as fuck that it’ll leave her ravenous, not just hungry. Hooked, not just curious.
Because that’s precisely what I feel as I walk away.
4
Charlotte
He's so going to pay for this.
I stand in the same spot where Wes left me.
Wes.
He told me to memorize his name because he wanted me to remember what he would do to me.
>
Well, I'll surely not forget the way he sized me up in a hot minute, called me out for what I am, then simultaneously gave and took, then branded me with his hot hands and commanded me with his words.
I'm livid.
Never mind that my body is taut from a need I never knew was there. Sure, I knew something dark lurked beneath the surface for me. Dormant yet ever-present.
Subtle yet insistent at the cellular level.
But just because he honed in on it like a dog and his bone doesn't give him the right to have it.
Even if he really is the only man in this kingdom who's willing to lose it all to claim me.
I'll make sure the price is dear for what he did to me.
My father would have his head. Probably his hands too, for daring to touch me.
The subjects within the kingdom would have him strung up and displayed to make an example of him and discourage the behavior.
My sister would rail on him. Well, before her earlier confession, that's what she'd do. Now that she's admitted to a torrid affair with one of the royal guards, I'm not so sure of what she'd do.
And as for me...
I hurry to my room and turn the bedroom door lock with a click. Physically and mentally spent, I sink into the mattress of my new bed for the first time. I inhale the new high thread count covers that the designers purchased for me, now infused with the faint smell of something fruity yet elegant.
But my mind is not on appreciating these fineries. It’s on him. I run gentle fingertips across my bottom lip. His hand rested there while he made me taste, lick and tease his thumb. My other hand reaches between my upper thighs, attempting to recreate not just the moves Wes made along my folds and jewel, but also the physical reactions that he spawned within me.
I'm nowhere near as good at it, but hearing the moans coming from deep in my throat, I know the effect is in the ballpark.
Soon my hips are rolling, and in my mind, they're grinding on Wes's hand, my tongue circling his thumb, and when my body comes undone, and my mind goes blank from the intense orgasm that rocks me, I whimper out his name.
Then, when the high subsides, and I open my eyes. Staring blankly at the hand painted mural of a landscape on my vaulted ceiling, I picture the demanding expression that he first pinned me in place with.
And I have to smile a little.
Thank God the village idiot's a sexy dominant alpha male.
5
Wes
Coming
I didn’t sleep.
Not a fucking wink.
Within less than six hours of touching Princess Charlotte, everything changed.
Rounding that corner, locking eyes with her, and discovering she was harboring an inner submissive, those were bad enough. But taking something so forbidden, touching her, I’ve basically proclaimed my own death sentence.
I’ve always had a rebellious streak, but this time, I’ve gone way off the reservation.
I fucking touched the princess.
And I didn’t just touch her, I took something from her. A little piece of her innocence went up in flames when I pushed my fat thumb past her pouty lips and made her suck it. She lost a little more when my other hand shot up between her thighs and rubbed along her hot untouched folds. Of course, she’s a virgin. No man within the kingdom—commoner or royalty, peasant or elite—would dare do what I did. And when I gave her what I’m sure is her first orgasm, not just her first at the hands of a commoner, I might as well have dipped the royal fountain pen in the inkpot and signed my own death warrant.
It may not come today or tomorrow, but like it is in a thunderstorm, instead of fleeing the scene and avoiding the area that grounds the extreme surge of electrical energy, I’m the one who had to go and touch the fucking lightning rod. So eventually, that shit is going to come back and bite me in the ass.
More likely than not, I won’t survive it.
But here I am, less than six hours later.
And am I working on these final touches of the princess’s bathrooms?
Fuck no.
Instead of working, I’ve opened the door leading from her main bathroom to the intricately designed bedroom, and I’m watching the stunning sexy near-naked princess as she sleeps.
She stirred a few minutes ago, but at the moment, she’s resting so peacefully that from this distance, I can’t see her chest rise or fall. The only reason I know she’s still asleep is, the dainty thing lets out the cutest little snore sounds while she’s sleeping on her side. The tiny pulls of air pass over somewhere narrow in her nasal passages, creating a slight whistling sound as delicate as her porcelain skin.
It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
I have the sudden urge to move closer, but I wouldn't dare interrupt her sleep.
But if I could, I’d sit beside her on the bed.
I’d stroke her soft, flowing red hair from its rich roots to the tips that end around her thick, round ass.
Gently, I’d slide the back of my hand down the side of her smooth, flawless face, wisp along her long neck to her collarbone.
If she happens to be lying on her back, I will lower my mouth to her full, gorgeous tits. That tube top she’s wearing would be down around her waist so I could cup her flesh with each palm and use my thumbs or my tongue to circle, flick and tease her nipples. As I picture the image of my hand traveling down to her trimmed mound, my own hand unclasps one side of my overalls and I reach in, down to my already stiff cock. Giving it a few firm strokes, I imagine the princess is kneeling at my feet, her mouth parted slightly, waiting to take as much or as little of the mushroom tip and shaft into her hot mouth as I tell her to take.
She’d love whatever I give to her, just as much as what I withhold. She would stay on her knees, pleasing me, following my orders, even when I’ve fucked her mouth for so long that her eyes are watering and saliva is dripping down from the sides of her mouth, coating my balls, soaking her chin and trailing down between her tits.
She would take it all and more because I tell her to.
Because she’s my dirty girl.
“Mine.”
Fuck.
I hear the word growled low from my own fucking mouth and immediately, I want to take a moment and punch myself in the face for being so careless. I take a step backward, hoping the sound didn’t carry, but my luck around this girl seems to be wearing thin. I stand stock still when I see her body roll a quarter of the way from her side onto her back, toward me. I’m not usually scared of any fucking thing, but my heart skips a little when her eyes start to open. I’m okay with her believing I’m a greedy, bossy, dominant ready to eat her up. Perfectly fine with that. But a loner stalker pervert too? Someone creepy enough to take advantage of his temporary job in the castle by jerking off at the sight of his princess while she fucking sleeps? No, I don’t want that label to be made official. I’d fry for it all anyway, but I’d feel some remorse and self-hatred over that shit.
But instead of looking my way, I see Princess Charlotte sleepily reach down to her purse at the bottom of the bed. She pulls out a phone, and her face turns ghostly white as she checks the screen. Something’s wrong, and I instantly want to fix whatever it is for her. My blood starts to pound hard in my ears from rage at the idea that anyone would dare upset her. It’s the first time in my self-absorbed, selfish life that I’m not thinking about only myself.
Go.
Leave.
Get the fuck out, Wes.
This is the point where I should leave through the other door on the far side of the bathroom I’m supposed to be working on. I tell myself to go over and over in my mind, in every fucking way I can think.
But my legs won’t budge.
My muscles won’t engage.
It’s as though watching her for these last few minutes has created a whole new addiction, and now I want to know everything about my sweet, dirty girl. Whoever is potentially putting the fear of God in my princess right now has got to be stopped.
&nbs
p; And maybe I’m just the man for the job.
So I stay.
I watch.
And I listen.
6
Charlotte
I wake up to a wicked persistent thud, made a thousand times worse by the throb of my hangover. Clearly, I missed out on taking my allotted two liters of sparkling water and extra strength headache medication to avoid this nagging discomfort that's sure to last all damn day.
I wrap my arms around me under the pillowy warmth of my covers, hoping to steal another hour or two of rest, but the ruckus won't let up.
Then my fingertips feel these remnants of my party skirt plus the lack of panties at my hips.
And it all comes flooding back.
My private party.
Helena's admission of her hot forbidden romance.
Coming to my chambers.
Wes.
The mere thought of his name sends a ripple of sensation from the tops of my thighs to a spot deep in my core, so deep and hidden that I've never felt it before. My stomach flutters through what feels like an abdominal crunch, one that I didn't initiate of my own free will. It's so overpowering that my back does a little arching on its own. The entire movement only lasts a split second, but its aftereffects stretch on, finally eased when I scissor my thighs together tightly.
There's a momentary break in the annoying construction noise, and I catch the buzzing of my phone still inside my clutch purse at the foot of the bed. Checking the phone, without unlocking the screen, I see over eight messages from Helena, and a string of other emails and kingdom-related news alerts that have been programmed on my phone.
As I start to read Helena's texts, a call comes in from her.
"What the hell's the emergency, sis?" I answer. "Seriously. Eight messages? Did your lover boy get caught sneaking out of your chambers or something?"
