by Thorne, Gigi
One of the waitresses drops off the round of lemon drop shots I ordered. I grab one and gulp it back.
An hour later, I’m onto shot number four. When I slam the empty container on the table, I catch Alex staring at me. His teeth pull at his bottom lip and his gaze drags over me like a dirty rag. I can only imagine how he must look at a woman just before he fucks her. And I bet that when he fucks a woman, he fucks her. Men who are arrogant beyond reason are always good in bed. That's what makes them lethal to a woman's heart.
The tip of his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. Suddenly, I'm burning up, tugging at the top of my dress to cool my heated skin.
This is why I shouldn’t be drinking. The more I drink, the harder it is to forget how wet he made me when he trapped me between his half-naked body and the bed the other day. It took everything inside of me not to fall back on that luxurious mattress and spread my legs. Much to my dismay, I’ve found myself masturbating to the thought of him fisting my hair and taking me from behind countless times over the past three days. It’s not a migraine that’s kept me from work—it’s the palpable fear I have that I’ve already fallen victim to his bad-boy charm. This is beyond fucked up.
“Do you remember Garrett?” Karen snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Hello? Garrett, the guy with the motorbike and tattoos?”
I shake myself out of the Prince-Alex-is-an-asshole-who-I-want-to-hatefuck-into-next-week fog and look at her. “Yeah.”
“Absolute dick. Raging player, and then when we got serious he was a teddy bear. Brought me flowers. Massages. I walked all over that poor lad.”
“What does that say about you?” I grab another shot and shove it toward her.
“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about how you need an asshole in your life.”
I tip the last shot back and snort-laugh. “Oh, trust me. I have an asshole in my life.” I nod toward Alex. “That asshole right there!"
“One snap of his fingers and your panties fall off.”
If I could roll my eyes until I saw the back of my skull, that still wouldn’t be hard enough. My panties will never fall off for him. “Please, Karen.”
“He’s attractive. A prince.”
“Disgustingly arrogant.”
A wide smile shapes her cotton-candy pink lips. “And he’s looking at you like all he wants is to fuck you.”
“He looks at anything with a hole like that. I promise.” It takes every ounce of control I have to not turn around.
After a glass of water, I excuse myself to the restroom, not so much as throwing a crumb of a glance to the haughty prince nestled in the corner—although I sway my hips extra hard as I pass.
I wash my hands and put a fresh coat of sheer lip-gloss on, then leave the restroom while trying to zip my purse.
“I like you better without makeup.”
I startle at the sound of Alex's voice, dropping my purse to the floor, then clear my throat. “I’ll be sure to wear a full face tomorrow then.”
A group of drunk guys stumble past into the men’s room, and Alex takes the opportunity to close the space between us.
I sidestep in an attempt to escape him, but I don't get very far because with one swift movement, he's right in front of me, pinning me to the wall with his body.
“Wrong answer. You were supposed to say thank you.” His nose grazes the curve of my neck. Hot breaths blow over my skin, causing my stomach to flip-flop in anticipation. As much as I hate him, there’s this carnal part of me that wants him. His lips lightly press against my throat and my knees threaten to buckle. I wish he didn’t affect me like this, but as much as I hate it, I revel in it just the same.
“You shouldn’t pay compliments expecting thanks," I whisper. He laughs against my me, and a warm pull forms between my thighs.
“And you shouldn’t keep lying to yourself.”
His lips trails over my throat before he slowly pulls his face away, just enough that I’m left with no other choice but to stare into his steel-blue eyes. His gaze drops to my mouth before his thumb skims my bottom lip. My heart thunders like the hooves of a horse over the desert in my chest. Unrelenting and hard.
“I fucking want you, Lily.” His thumb presses down on my lip, and I'm tempted to suck it into my mouth. Curious whether his skin is salty. When he pulls his hand away, I struggle for a decent breath. “And the way you can’t seem to catch a breath right now”—he inches closer and my pulse grows furious—“tells me all I need to know.”
Without warning, his mouth slams over mine. So warm and soft. My lips part, inviting his tongue in as I struggle to keep ahold of some form of reality, because this kiss—this kiss. There's an electric charge to it, like a lightning storm in the dead heat of summer, sparking with danger. His tongue thrusts brushes against mine and his hands fist my hair, tilting my head so he can deepen the kiss. The clatter of dishes, the sporadic cheer from the bar patrons all fade into the background until all I can hear is the clanging pulse in my ears. His teeth nip at my lip when he pulls away, and it's not until he’s taken a step back I realize I have his shirt balled in my fist, like I need something to cling to, to keep from melting into the floor.
He smirks before turning his back to me and rounding the corner of the hall.
I’m so fucked.
6
Lily
It’s ten ’til five and I’ve managed to avoid running into Alex all day, quite possibly because I’ve had the door to the office shut and locked.
Just as I’m gathering my purse, there’s a knock. I freeze in place like a wounded gazelle being stalked. The handle jiggles, then comes another rap against the wood. A thin layer of sweat beads on my brow as I imagine Alex throwing the door open, marching right to me, and tossing me down on the desk. I clench my thighs and curse myself. No man has ever had the ability to reduce me to nothing more than animalistic urges—most definitely not an arrogant prick like him. Frustrated doesn’t begin to touch how I feel.
“Lily, are you in there?” Mary’s soft voice comes from the other side of the door. Clutching my chest, I exhale the breath I’d been holding.
“Sorry,” I say when I pull it open. “I was just trying to avoid distractions.”
“Understandable.” She shoves a petite redhead who’s beaming with hope into the room. “This is Meredith. She’s the new PR manager. She came highly recommended.”
Mary is only saying that. I know for a fact the highly recommended PR managers all passed on the offer this time, but I smile and extend my hand anyway, my heart aching for the poor little thing. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lily.”
“You’ll be working closely with Lily on any…" Mary’s pencil-thin brows quirk and she clears her throat. “…issues that may arise.”
One of the staff pokes his head into the room, calling for Mary’s attention to some snafu with a fundraiser. She excuses herself into the hallway, leaving the unsuspecting girl with me.
Meredith fiddles with the sleeve of her blouse for a moment before lifting her gaze to mine. “How long have you worked here?” she asks.
“Two weeks.”
“How do you like it?”
With a sigh, I lean back against the desk, contemplating whether I should lie to Meredith or not. Finally, I settle with: “It’s…all right.”
Meredith gives a swift nod. “Is he as awful as they say?”
“Unfortunately.”
I expect a scowl, but instead, a wide grin spreads across her face. “Terribly arrogant?”
“Awfully so.” I tilt my head when her smile deepens. She claps her hands. She’s either insane or sadistic, possibly both. “Are you looking forward to working with an arrogant nightmare?”
“I’m looking forward to being the woman who finally tames him.”
“Oh.” That garnishes a snort from me. “Good luck with that. Alex is, at best, a man-child with a mind that revolves around himself and sex.”
“I don’t believe you mean that.” I cringe at the soun
d of his voice. Meredith goes pale. Alex leans against the doorway looking ever so suave in a navy suite and white button-down, his bright-red tie undone and hung around his neck.
“Call the devil and he shall appear…” As tempted as I am to start a round of childish banter with him, I refrain. Smoothing my hand over my shirt, I motion toward Meredith. “Alex—”
He holds up a finger. “Ah, ah, ah. Manners, Lily. Prince Alex.”
“Prince Alex.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Your Royal Highness. Playboy extraordinaire and royal majestic ass, this is Meredith, your new PR manager.”
After a sly smirk, he pushes away from the doorframe and struts toward Meredith with an amount of swagger you'd only expect a rock star to possess. Her chest rises in rapid swells, her cheeks flush pink. His charm nearly has her in a puddle on the floor. She doesn’t stand a chance.
Alex takes her hand, lowering his head as he kisses over her knuckles like the charming asshole genius that he is. “You must be the most beautiful PR manager I’ve ever had.”
She giggles like a tween, and I throw my head back. “It’s so nice to meet you, Your Highness.” Her voice suddenly sounds more like a phone sex operator than the bubbly professional she was two-point-five seconds before he waltzed in here.
“You’ve come just in time,” he says, dropping her hand back to her side. “I’m going to Vegas next week.”
“What!” I blink. “Why are you going to Vegas?”
His eyes twinkle with mischief. “I need a vacation.”
“Oh!” Meredith says. “Do I get to go with you?”
“You get to go everywhere with me, love.” He swipes a finger over her cheek. She giggles. Again.
Alex in Vegas—a city brimming with free liquor and cheap women—is not a good idea at all. That man will rack up at least fifteen scandals within a twenty-four-hour period. Miss Giggle Box isn’t going to be any match for the raging manwhore in the City of Sin. And I don't have the strength to deal with the legalities of that shitshow.
“You have a fundraiser next week.” I cock my hip to the side, then cross my arms.
“My brother, Andrew, has taken that over.”
“Fuck,” I mumble, which warrants a smirk from Alex.
Without another word, he places his arms around Meredith’s cinched waistline and turns her toward the doorway. He throws a wink in my direction before they slip into the hall. “Allow me to show you around.”
7
Alex
“You’re supposed to go home,” Henry says as we step out of Dave’s to a black Mercedes waiting at the curb. I flip off the driver Mary ordered to pick me up. If he were allowed, he’d probably shoot me a bird right back.
“I’m not going home.”
“Figured as much. I’d hate to be you. Told where to go and what to do. Surprised they don’t have someone falling you around and wiping your ass for you.”
I hold a finger in the air. “Now that I wouldn’t argue.”
Laughing, we stumble into Old Willy Winkle’s package store for a bottle of gin, then we head straight to the subway—a form of transportation us royals are advised to avoid. Henry and I ride the Piccadilly line back and forth until the gin is gone and my vision swims. Finally, we get off and trudge up the rank stairwell jam-packed with people, surfacing in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. I pull my sunglasses from my pocket and shove them over my face, despite the fact it’s ten at night. In a place like this, where a homeless man wanders around wearing swim goggles and flippers, no one pays attention to shades. And no one pays attention to me.
Yet…
We pass the hordes of souvenir carts selling cheap sweatshirts and keychains. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts out of Costa’s. Something about being in the city like this, unaccounted for and pissed, riles me like nothing else.
Henry and I maneuver through the crowds toward the middle of the roundabout. The lights from the billboards cast an electronic haze over the center. We take seats on the edge of the fountain just as a light breeze kicks up, bringing a fine mist of water across my face.
I take in all the people milling about, wondering what it’s like for them. I bet they don’t have a list of ridiculous expectations rammed down their throats. A ready-made schedule or a brand ambassador ready to clean up anything sordid they’ve done.
That must be freeing.
“I bet you could’ve fucked that lawyer the other night,” Henry says, lighting a cigarette. The smoke swirls around his face before drifting off.
“Probably, but I’d rather fuck with her for now.”
A double decker bus sputters to a stop across from us and the driver climbs out, rounding the front of the monstrous vehicle.
I glance at Henry. “What do you say we go for a ride?”
He takes a quick drag before tossing the cigarette to the ground and stubbing it with the heel of his boot. “What’ve you got up your sleeve this time?”
I don’t answer him, just jog across the pedestrian crossing and climb into the bus. We find our way to the open upper deck, then I settle into one of the seats with a wry grin.
“Just don’t get me arrested this time,” Henry says when he flops down beside me.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, the buzz from the gin just seems to be growing stronger and stronger. The bus creeps up on Parliament where the yellow face of Big Ben glows bright against the night sky. The crescent moon hides behind a wisp of clouds. It’s like a fucking scene out of Peter Pan. I’ll show them all Peter-fucking-Pan.
When I push to my feet, a jittery excitement shoots down my spine. This is going to ruin my image, and I couldn’t be more delighted. First, I pull off my shirt and toss it to the seat. The woman behind me whistles. Next, my buckle comes undone with a clink and I drop my pants and boxers to the floor of the bus, grab my flaccid cock, and tug.
“Fuck’s sake,” Henry moans.
“Stop being a pussy,” I say, still working myself over. "I’m not wanking one out. I just can’t have Roger not looking his best for the pictures.”
“Your dick’s name is Roger?”
“What else are you going to name your cock? Most certainly not Harry or Bob.”
Most of the people on the top deck of the bus are now jabbing each other’s sides, pointing and whispering. Henry clears his throat and motions like he’s taking off a pair of glasses.
“Oh. Right.” I snatch off my shades, and then come the gasps. The “Oh mys…” And of course, some smart-ass mumbles, “God Save The Queen.”
Now. Now it’s show time.
“Anyone want a picture? All of England’s finest in one snap.” I hold out my arms. “Parliament. Westminster. And my royal cock all in one frame-worthy photo.”
I can only imagine the horror on Lily’s face when she’s told about this.
8
Lily
I’ve started to make it a habit to check the news before I leave my flat. You know, try to prepare myself for what shitstorm awaits me. This morning, however, I ran behind and haven’t had a chance. I’ve barely had a second to drink the coffee I picked up on my way over, and I’m praying that maybe the royal pain in the ass took a night off from his schedule of debauchery.
Just as I round the corner by Victoria Station, I catch sight of the newspaper bin, and I stop dead in my tracks. A stranger bumps into me, and I drop my coffee to the ground, splattering the leg of my white dress pants. “Motherfucker,” I whisper while staring at the picture of Alex, nude on top of a bright-red double decker bus, the iconic image of Parliament and Big Ben a backdrop behind him. Thankfully, his dick is blurred out, but from what I can tell, he’s grabbing it. The headline is enough to make me want to turn in my notice at this very moment. Prince Alex offers a taste of “England’s finest” to tourists.
I can hear him saying that while fisting his cock. “Want a taste of England’s finest, ladies? Step right up and put it in your mouth.” I swear, if a prince could get fired from the royal family
, I would suggest that to the Queen.
By the time I arrive at the palace, I’m getting push notifications about Alex’s little stunt last night. The New York Times. Washington Post. French and Italian and Chinese headlines.
I’m sure I’ll log on to an inbox full of claims from people on the bus. Anyone who feels they can claim some type of mental anguish from being exposed to his genitals is going to come out of the woodworks. I’ll die trying to handle the lawsuits and NDAs for this fucking stunt.
My computer is booting up when Meredith comes bursting through my office doors, bags under her once-bright eyes, her cheeks red, her hair oddly resembling a bird’s nest that’s been vacated for years. “Please.” She shakes her head. “Don’t make me go alone with him to Vegas. Please…”
She stops in front of my desk, sinks to her knees and lays her head on the smooth wood. “He’s terrible.”
It’s like the screeching brakes of a subway echoing through my head. Vegas. Vegas. Fucking Vegas!
It will take a leash—possibly a stun gun—to manage this shithead in Vegas.
There’s two days before he leaves. That doesn’t give me enough time to secure another job, which means, no matter what, I’ll be dealing with the fallout from Vegas on top of this!
I’m going to kill Alex.
_____
* * *
The dry heat envelops me when I step out of the cab, lugging my suitcase behind me. I weave through tourists with straw hats and sunglasses, grumbling. Half naked girls strut along the sidewalk and lean in windows, asses up in the air while they offer services to horny men.
Karen thinks it’s amazing that I was handed a first-class ticket to Vegas. I, on the other hand, find it nothing short of a sentence to some twisted form of hell where I want to fuck the devil. I repeat what was my mantra for the ten-hour flight: I am only here to make my job easier. The last time I came to Vegas, I was twenty-one. I got drunk, threw up, and lost four hundred dollars on the slot machines. I’d been there, done that, didn't intend to ever come back, and yet here I am, chasing after a man-child who wears a crown.
