Natalie Vs. Prince: A Steamy Royal Romance

by Mona Cox

  I should've been more careful.

  16

  Connor

  I salute the doorman as he holds the door open for me. I spent the morning working out and then I got it in my head to do something nice for Natalie. I went over to the Time Warner Center, which is really close to the New York Athletic Club where I train, and bought some nice sexy lingerie for Natalie from La Perla.

  Who am I kidding, right?

  She's going to put this shit on, and I give it all of maybe 30 seconds for it to stay on.

  Sure, if I let her, Natalie can gyrate around for me a little bit. Look all sexy as fuck as she could maybe back that nice ass of hers against me, into my cock.

  Fuck, just thinking about her in this thong is getting me hard as I get into the elevator.

  I wonder if she's coming straight to my place or if we're meeting for dinner?

  One thing is for fucking sure, love, and I know it in my fucking bones. I think I'm in love with this girl.

  But yeah, I haven't told her anything yet.

  A large part of that is that I've never been in this situation where I've fallen for a girl and she's been pretty aloof from me.

  I mean, think about it, love. Ever since the first day when I fucking fell from the sky, she hasn't put up with any of my bullshit.

  Remember the fucking tongue lashing she gave me at the United Nations?

  Remember the honest assessment she gave of my public image?

  Sure, she's loving and caring. But she's also smart as all fuck and she doesn't suffer fools.

  For the first time in my life, someone expects more from me than just to show the fuck up and get my award.

  In fact, you may not think it, but my swearing has come down a lot too, love.

  I'm serious. I don't swear as much. Unless I'm with her and we're about to have sex that is.

  Then, all bets are off.

  Speaking of which, thinking about how I love her is fun and all, but the elevator doors are opening up to my floor and I'd much rather imagine what she's going to look like in this La Perla that I bought for her.

  I think the best course of action is to go open some wine for her, pour some scotch for myself, call her, tell her to come over, give her this underwear, tell her to wear it, then rip it off of her, and proceed to fuck her brains out.

  Maybe she won't be so smart after my cock is done with her, but her intelligence hasn't been affected so far, so I think I'm fucking good, love.

  I'm actually quite pleased with my plan as I walk into my apartment.

  But when I look around my apartment, I freeze.

  That's odd, there's shit all over the place.

  I mean, I know it's not like I've been ransacked. It's just I see a travel bag of Natalie's that's on the dining table.

  I see her iHome that she brought over to charge her phone and play music unplugged.

  What the fuck is going on?

  "Hello?" I ask as I walk through the apartment.

  Probably for the first time ever, I kick myself for having such a big place to live in New York City.

  You're going to think I'm a fucking asshole for telling you I literally hate myself for having six bedrooms right about now.

  I find her though in the Master Bedroom.

  She's carrying a handful of her clothes from the walk-in closet that I cleared out for her and dumping them on my bed.

  "What the fuck is going on?" I ask. She seems so intent on getting her clothes out that she gives a start when I speak.

  "What are you doing, babe?" I ask her again.

  She's silent. She's not even looking me in the eyes.

  "Natalie?" I ask.

  This shit is starting to seem kind of fucking mental. I take a couple tentative steps toward her and raise a hand to caress her cheek.

  It's like I pushed a trigger or something.

  "Don't you fucking touch me, you asshole!" she shrieks, taking a step back.

  Almost as if forgetting me and going back to what she was doing, she walks into the closet and emerges in a few seconds with more blouses and dresses. She brings these to the bed and hastily stuffs them into a duffel bag.

  "What the fuck are you doing?" I ask. "Besides creasing your fucking dresses. That dry cleaning bill isn't going to be cheap."

  She looks at me with eyes smoldering with fire.

  "Don't worry, I'd rather pay any dry cleaning bill than take up any more of your precious time or lead you astray, Your Highness," she says with a cold edge to her voice.

  Something is definitely not right here.

  "What are you so upset about?" I ask her, looking around. "And why the fuck does it look like you're moving your shit out?"

  Natalie looks at me like she's about to laugh through some tears.

  "Are you fucking serious?" she asks me. "After everything we went through and everything we did you're wondering why today I'm moving my shit out? And yes, I'm getting everything out of here. I won't be troubling you anymore."

  But that can't be why, can it?

  Was it her birthday?

  Was it our anniversary?

  "Listen, babe," I say, trying to figure what the most expedient thing will be to say. "I'm sorry."

  She pauses.

  Bingo.

  Maybe I got something.

  "I really am sorry, Natalie."

  But whatever it was, it wasn't good enough for her.

  She zips up her duffel bag with the last of her clothes and turns to me.

  "I'm really sorry too, Connor," she says.

  I watch her, still puzzled and a bit concerned as she grabs her iHome and the other bag, and walks out the door.

  Jesus.

  Maybe I should've told her I love her a lot earlier instead of waiting.

  17

  Connor

  "I swear to all that is fucking holy I have no fucking idea what you're talking about," I say, not without a little fucking exasperation to Christine.

  Fuck, I don't even know if Christine is the best person to contact. All I know is that after last night, this morning I went to the first of Natalie's friends that I could find. All I know is that I remember her from some party at the United Nations and over the last month or so she's been out with us half a dozen times.

  Always seemed pretty solid. Maybe a bit immature, but then again this is coming from the man who calls himself Prince Pleasure, right, love?

  "You have to have known something, Your Highness," Christine says to me, leaning back on her bench.

  Christine is a young graduate student at NYU and when I came looking for her she was sitting on an outside picnic table reading something for class.

  "Christine!" I yell out, and at first after she got done being startled, she didn't want to have anything to do to me.

  "I'm not trying to do anything more than simply figure out what I did that pissed Natalie the fuck off!" I yell at her. This may or may not have calmed her down and got her to look at me curiously.

  "You don't know?" she asks me.

  I shake my head.

  "All Natalie told me was that if I was going to drop Gage Price, I could've at least had the decency to let her know so she could've tried to fix whatever was wrong," I say to Christine. "The problem is I never dropped Gage Price."

  Christine shrugs at me. "Well, she's out of a job most likely because they all think you dropped them because of her," Christine says. Then she narrows her eyes at me. "It's 12 noon right now. Do you know where your press officer is?"

  At first I'm about to snort and laugh at this question. What a fucking joke.

  But then I start to think.

  Christine looks at me and raises her eyebrow.

  "Think about it," she says to me. "If you didn't do anything, but Natalie thinks you did, then who else would be the one to know enough about your involvement to remove you from Gage Price?"

  Fucking hell.

  I tell Christine that I have to go and I start walking to my motorcycle.

  I c
all Jacques before I get on the motorcycle.

  “Jacques,” I tell him. “Get ready to go to St. Albans. Call me when you land. We’re going to have some digging to do.”

  I get a call from Jacques that evening.

  "Jacques, tell me everything we know on Nadia Scow," I speak into the phone. "And I don't just mean the standard shit we ask before someone starts working for the Crown. I mean I think Royal Intelligence needs to do a quick scan of her right now."

  Jacques is nothing if not efficient because it takes him literally all of two days to get back to me.

  It's not as if I'm sitting around on my ass during that time.

  I do as much research onto the Constitutionalists as I can. If they’re focusing on me, I can’t help but feel that somehow this is all fucking connected.

  Sure enough, there’s websites already running as to ‘the Crazy Prince’ and how he’s biting the hands that feed him - firing his PR company.

  I place a call to Silas the next day.

  "Tell me everything the Constitutionalists have been up to," I ask my brother Silas as I call him. He takes my call, despite being in the middle of a Cabinet meeting and sighs.

  "They've mainly been pointing to the shenanigans of the Royals of St. Albans and calling us unfit to lead," he says wearily.

  This doesn't make any fucking sense.

  "Wait a second," I say to Silas as I talk into the phone. "Mom and Dad abdicated the throne to enjoy retirement and I doubt they warrant much gossip, and you're a family man with kids. That means they're all fixating on..."

  I trail off as I make the connection in my head.

  "Yeah, baby bro," Silas says. "They've started focusing on you. It's nothing you did or didn't do. It's that the rest of us are too boring and by using you they think they have the greatest chances of stirring up a popular revolt."

  "What if I was in the process of cleaning up my act?" I ask Silas.

  "Well then firstly I'd probably have to pinch myself," Silas says with a chuckle. "But you'd probably cut the Constitutionalists at the knees. In fact, baby bro, this last month you've been on some good behavior, haven't you? I think I read about how the Anti-Royalist factions in St. Albans were starting to get worried."

  We talk for a few more minutes but everything is starting to make sense.

  I hang up. It only took three days. But it all makes sense now.

  It’s one thing to go to Natalie and tell her sorry for anything.

  But in order to really win her back, I need to show her I’ve fucking changed. I’m not the impulsive fuck anymore.

  I have all my shit together.

  And then Jacques calls.

  "Sire," Jacques says. "I'm sending over some security forces to your location. We have some definitive proof that..."

  "Right, Jacques, listen, just track my motorcycle," I tell him and hang up before he can protest. I know I cut him off, but I already know what he's going to say. I’ve already figured this shit out.

  I’m buzzing down Broadway within the half hour and it takes me no time to get to Gage Price.

  I approach the receptionist at the lobby.

  "Mr. Thomson and Mr. Brown aren't in right now," the receptionist tells me. "They're conducting the exit interview with a client."

  No shit. I'm the client. But she's just staring at me dreamily. If I tell her I'm the prince of St. Albans I don't think it'll do me any good.

  "I'm here to stop them from fucking doing that," I tell her. "I'm Prince Connor D'Avington from St. Albans."

  The dreamy look disappears. It's replaced.

  With fear.

  "My Prince.." the receptionist says, trying to clear her head.

  "Where are they?" I ask, politely.

  "The Frying Pan," the receptionist says simply.

  I nod. I know exactly where that is. I run out and hop on my bike.

  In seconds I'm weaving Midtown traffic like a fucking boss.

  The Frying Pan is on the West Side. Think extreme west side.

  I see it in the distance.

  So, just something really quick about this restaurant.

  It's built on an old salvaged barge and it floats on the Hudson River. It's not actually on land. It's a giant barge that's tied up to a dock.

  And within seconds I see where Natalie is sitting with George next to her. I see Nadia sitting across from them.

  Fuck, I actually think Nadia sees me coming because I get the sense that her body stiffens.

  No use slowing down now.

  I've got to get fast enough to jump across the water that separates the barge from land.

  And then there's gonna be a fucking reckoning.

  18

  Natalie

  I almost wish that the corporate mindset didn't require me to have to be so professional where I had to smile and be polite to this stupid bitch Nadia.

  Sorry, I shouldn't call her a bitch. That's really not fair.

  But she's sitting right here, smiling at me sweetly, as George and I basically sign exit interview papers that will mean the dissolution of the partnership between Gage Price and the kingdom of St. Albans.

  And after that, it means the loss of my job. Because even if George wasn't forced by the partners to have to let me go for losing a client, I would have probably left on my own. I couldn't hold onto one bad boy prince!

  Think about all the books you've read in the past. The heroine always manages to tame and reform the bad boy prince. Sometimes they even have babies.

  Not so here. This prince...all he ever gave me was a pink slip.

  I just don't understand the whole smile at you while stabbing you in the back mentality.

  It really just doesn't make any sense how Connor pulled me out of my shell and got me to start falling in love with him, and then just as I'm close to it, just as I'm ready to let go and give into him, and just as he's about to do the same, he goes and does something like this.

  I mean, listen, I know it's been three days and I should probably move on.

  But Connor D'Avington is the closest I've ever come to just completely giving myself up to someone. I mean, I've had sex before. I've been in relationships before. I've even had my heart broken before.

  But this is the first time I've ever honestly been able to picture myself growing old with a man.

  I dunno, it just seemed right, you know?

  And I feel betrayed.

  "Connor regrets not being able to be here today," Nadia says with a sweet smile. "He's in the process of potentially getting married I believe, but you didn't hear that from me."

  Despite everything, George is still taken by Nadia.

  "Your secret is safe with us, pretty lady," he says, but I just roll my eyes. She's not trying to impress George. She's trying to rub it in my face that Connor has a life that he's moving on with after shattering mine.

  And yes, he pretty much did just shatter my life.

  First he fucked me so hard and so good that I think he ruined all other men for me. Like seriously, I will compare all other men and how big their cock is and how they use it to him. And they will all fail.

  Second, he made me open myself up to being loved. And you know what?

  It felt amazing.

  But then he left.

  And now I feel like shit. I don't know how or when I'll ever be able to open myself up like that again.

  I mean, I can go on and on. You're probably not going to like me if I do. You'll read this and then just go write a review about me talking about how I was being whiny. Because honestly, the longer I keep talking about Connor, the more whiny I feel, you know what I mean?

  It's like....

  Wait.

  Did you hear that?

  There's something coming

  I realize I've sorta been spacing this whole time and I look up and see Nadia with her mouth open and her eyes fixed on me.

  What is the big deal? Oh my God, do I really look that sad?

  But then I realize that Nadia isn't look
ing at me.

  She's looking beyond me.

  I turn.

  And that's when I see a motorcycle roar off the pier attached to Manhattan and fly up into the air.

  Everyone on the open-air barge that is the Frying Pan watches as literally it looks like the motorcycle flies across the air.

  I watch as it arcs upward and then as the rider desperately keeps the nose up to make it go farther.

  I take a moment to admire the body on the bike. The strength that the person has to be possessing in their upper body to be lifting the motorcycle and keep the nose in the air is impressive.

  Equally impressive are the patrons who start to scream and run away from their tables as the motorcycle starts angling down.

  Like they're running from the wrath of a descending deity, the people leave their purses and their drinks and their entrees and they get the fuck out of anywhere in the vicinity as fast as they can.

  Because when that motorcycle lands, it basically lands on a table, breaking it. It takes the wooden chairs along with it and then starts to speed toward us, breaking everything and strewing detritus on its way.

  Just the fact that the motorcycle making impact with the barge sends shockwaves throughout the restaurant and people are screaming.

  Thankfully the barge is rather large, at least the size of a basketball court and people are running the other direction.

  But I'm looking at the rider curiously.

  Because I have a sinking feeling I know who it is as the man gets off the bike and takes off his black helmet.

  Yup, how did I guess? Of course, it's none other than Connor D'Avington.

  I'm about to say something when he rushes over to me.

  Well, whatever happens, I need to remember to be firm. I can't just forgive him because he managed to land a motorcycle on a barge.

  Connor rushes past me.

  Okay.

  That's not really what I was expecting

  Instead he approaches Nadia and throws his helmet on the table, upsetting our drinks.

  It's safe to say that everyone, including Nadia, George, and I are standing up now since he landed his motorcycle and we're watching him.