Dirty Prince

by Vanessa Waltz

  “I’m not giving your twat magazine a fucking picture.”

  Daisy looks down at me, her half-dry hair clinging to her neck, and her eyes wide.

  “Where should I go?”

  Fury pounds against my chest as I watch her steer the boat, the blue sky sliding over me. All I wanted was a bit of fun, and those fucks had to come and destroy our afternoon.

  My trousers slip down my ass, my cock still half-hard. I wrap my hand around it as I imagine my wife straddling me in this boat.

  Fuck it. Why not?

  “Daisy.”

  She looks, sees my cock in my hands, and gives a nervous laugh. “What the heck are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for you.”

  Her teeth shine brilliantly in the sunshine as she laughs. “You want to do this now? While there are photographers chasing us?”

  “Absolutely, I do.”

  She shakes her head.

  “There will always be one of those fucks chasing us. I’d rather have a little bit of fun while they do it.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Look at me, Daisy. Look how hard you make me. Tell me that doesn’t turn you on.”

  She looks again, her gaze focusing this time on my cock stabbing through my hand, a pearl of precum about to slide down my length. The distant shouts of the paparazzi echo over the motor.

  “It’s really hot, but—”

  “I want to get back at the pieces of shit for ruining my plans. I’m your husband, and I’m commanding you to sit on my cock, right fucking now.”

  She bites her lip as though debating whether she should and looks back at the paparazzi. Then she climbs down onto the bench, her dress billowing over my legs.

  “God, I’m going to regret this.”

  “You’ll regret nothing.”

  Daisy’s light weight sits on my legs as I slip my hands under her dress, and inch them up her thighs to the delicate mound covered by a thin strip of fabric. I push it aside, running my thumb over her hot clit.

  “Oh God, Liam. This is crazy. We’re going to get caught.”

  “I want to get caught. They’ll know exactly what we’re up to, but there won’t be any photographic evidence.”

  “I’m sitting on you.”

  “Your dress covers everything, love.”

  I slide my fingers down her clit into her extremely wet folds. My dick jumps as I reach all the way back and stroke her, and then I hover my fingers over her opening, watching as her chest flushes with red.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “They’re coming closer.”

  “Ignore them. Be with me, Daisy.”

  The words seem to act as a stimulus. She bites her lip and raises her hips. My cock aches to feel her liquid heat wrap around it. I tease her first. A shudder runs through her legs as she braces herself on the sides of the boat, feeling the head of my cock touching her clit. It slides down, her folds running along my length like silk. She gasps when I push against the slight resistance, her pussy clenching over the inch I’ve got buried inside her. Then my hands find her hips under her dress, her bony hips that fit right into my hands as though they were made for them.

  “Look at me, not them.”

  She does.

  That’s when I yank her down, impaling her on my cock. Her mouth widens with a sudden cry that trembles into a moan. I dig into her skin, my senses blazing as she lifts herself, my cock sliding out of her pussy, and then sinks down again.

  “Oy! Where’s the prince?”

  She hesitates, turning her head around before I rip my hand across her ass.

  “Ow!”

  “Don’t ignore me.”

  She starts an angry retort that deepens into a moan when I thrust upward, pulling her hips down as her pussy slaps me wetly. I dig my cock into her, frustrated by my lack of leverage as desire pounds through my body. I want more—deeper. It’s as though every other concern fades away. All I want is her body and all the little moans that keep erupting out of her mouth.

  “Ride my cock like the filthy princess you are.”

  Daisy rides me, her face breaking with lust as our hips join again and again. The motor of the paparazzi boat drifts closer, but Daisy pays it no mind. She holds the edges of the boat and grinds against me. I don’t think she’s ever been this determined to milk my cock, but it’s hot as fuck. It doesn’t even matter that she’s not naked. The dress still clings to her tits, and I watch them bounce as she rides me.

  “Are they fucking? Bloody hell, they are! Quick—get a shot!”

  All I want is my wife. I grab the front of her dress, goaded beyond endurance, and I pull her down to my lips as I sink into her. She screams into my mouth, as my cock swells inside her. Then I flip her around so her back is against the bottom of the boat. My eyes sting as the world reorients itself. The Royal Exposé boat is only a few meters away, clicking madly, and I steer our boat away.

  Then I drive into Daisy’s pussy.

  She lets out a beautiful scream, her eyes a deep blue against her pale cheeks.

  “Prince Liam! Having a good holiday?”

  The obnoxious voices cut into my concentration. “Piss off, I’m fucking my wife!”

  I grab her hips, sinking my cock into her as she tightens around me—I’m ready to explode—

  And our boat is about to crash.

  “Fuck!”

  We slams into a sandbar and grates against the rocks. I shut off the motor and the boat dies, but we slide over the sandbar, the metal hull screeching as it skitters across rocks. Then we come to a grinding halt in front of a small forest.

  “Jesus!”

  “We’re not done, Princess.”

  I don’t give a fuck about the boat. Nor about the tabloid bastards following us. There’s one thing on my mind and one thing only: getting my cum into Princess Daisy’s pussy.

  I loosely fasten my trousers, pick up Daisy and step out to disappear into the forest.

  “The boat!” she wails. “Liam, we totally fucked it up.”

  “Do you think I give a damn about some stupid boat?”

  I’m still raging hard, and my dick is screaming over the interrupted sex. I put her down on some soft earth. Trees block us in from all sides. Without even prompting, she bends over, her hands bracing on a tree trunk.

  I free my cock from my trousers, the cool air striking it before I flip her dress over her back and open her cheeks, exposing her wet cunt. Then I sheath myself in her pussy. Daisy’s arms tremble as I sink into her.

  “Don’t stop, my prince.”

  So fucking tight, and completely mine.

  I watch my cock pound her ass until her cheeks burn red. She ducks her head between her arms, crying out with each thrust.

  “Do you want my cum?”

  “Yes.”

  “Beg me for it.”

  “I want it,” she says in a high gasp. “Please.”

  Laughter shakes from my mouth. “You can do better than that, Princess. Your duty is to open those legs and take my cum.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Say the words, or you get nothing.”

  I dig my hips in, my sanity at a breaking point.

  Fuck the girl. Shut up and fuck the girl.

  “I—my duty is to—ahh.”

  “To take my cum.”

  “My duty is to take your cum.”

  I don’t think her cheeks could burn brighter, so I give mercy to my trembling princess. I slam her pussy with all the force I can muster and fill it with my cum. It explodes out of me in two long jets as I let out a yell that causes a bird to fly away from a nest in alarm. Daisy pushes back against me, and suddenly I feel her spasms around my cock, milking me for all I’m worth. I pull out as exhaustion drains all the energy from my limbs, and we tumble to the ground in a mess of leaves. Daisy, my beautiful Daisy. She crawls toward me, her damp hair hanging around her elfin face. It tugs at my heart when she smiles at me.

  “Did you ever think we’d be fuckin
g in the woods like this?” I ask.

  She tumbles into my lap, and I rest my back against the trunk of a tree.

  “I never thought any of this would happen.”

  I make a sound at the back of my throat.

  “I came here wanting to write a story, and now I’m married to a prince.” Her head tucks under my chin.

  “I never thought I’d marry an American.”

  “It’s not real, though.”

  “What if it was?”

  My heart slams against my chest before I realize what I’ve just said.

  “What?” She sits up. “What are you talking about?”

  “I want you to stay.”

  What? No you don’t.

  She gazes at me openmouthed. “You don’t even like me. You make fun of my Americanness all the time.”

  My heart beats even faster at the image of me watching her board a ship and turn her face away from me forever. The more I think about it, the more I can’t bear the thought of her leaving. God fucking damn it, but I’d miss her.

  “That’s not true, Daisy. You know it’s not.”

  “You’re not in love with me,” she says in a small voice.

  “That doesn’t mean we should end this. I want you to stay because I like having you around.”

  “No. That’s not happening.”

  “Why not? Why would you want this to end?”

  “Because it’s not real. It’s all predicated on a fabrication. I can’t live a lie.”

  Is it still a lie?

  “Yes, we get on each other’s nerves, but it’s all in good fun. You can’t deny that, love.”

  Looking conflicted, she turns away. “You know I was engaged before.”

  “So?”

  “This isn’t the same for me. I don’t feel the same. I’m sorry, but it’s not even close.”

  That is bollocks.

  She gets up, smoothing her dress as her curtain of hair swings in front of her face. “My life is in America, and I’m not leaving it for you.”

  Well, that fucking hurts.

  Her words twist in my chest like a shard of glass, painful and real. There was never any doubt she would eventually return home.

  I want her, but I can’t keep her.

  Daisy ignores me the whole two hours back to Harronvale, interrupting the silence only to ask me questions about the country, how my rule will change the lives of everyday citizens, whether I plan to lift the trade embargo on America.

  When we get back to the suite, she heads toward the guest room, and I try to swallow my resentment, reminding myself I wasn’t supposed to get fucking attached. That was never part of the deal. That was never part of the deal.

  I stare at her closed door and grasp the handle, determined to walk in there and make her understand she wants me. Of that I’m certain.

  The door flies open with only the slightest pressure, but she’s not in her room. I hear the shower turn on. Fine, I’ll talk to her when she gets out. I gaze at the state of her room, the neatly tucked-in bedsheets and her clothes folded in the laundry hamper even though they’re dirty, and then I spot her open laptop. I see my name.

  I shouldn’t look. It’s none of my business.

  But a niggling impulse urges me to talk a step forward and look at the screen. It could be something important. It could be—fuck.

  To: Daisy_Walker@gmail.com

  From: info@ADCnews.com

  Subject: Re: Exclusive interview

  Hi Daisy,

  Would you be interested in Monday? We’d really like to get started on your story. Please call at your earliest convenience.

  I scroll down the chain of emails as blinding fury pounds behind my eyes. She fucking lied to me. This started weeks ago.

  You were a fucking moron to think this girl wanted anything more from you.

  I’m just her meal ticket, the same as I was for the rest of them.

  Red-hot rage builds in my chest as I stand there, staring at the screen, waiting for another email to pop up in the chain so I can write FUCK OFF in capital letters, repeated hundreds of times.

  What should I do? Confront her?

  No.

  I stride out of the room and slam the door, relishing the sound of it.

  I’m going to make Princess Daisy’s life hell.

  F*CK THE ROYALS! Madness in Harronvale Café

  Daisy

  Cheeseburgers.

  Sometimes I dream about the taste of them. The fried onions cooked in the ground beef patty, the toasted sesame bun, American cheese oozing over the whole thing, and the tang of ketchup to accompany it.

  Yeah, I fantasize about them a lot. I sometimes smell them.

  The moment I wake up, it hits my nose. I open my eyes, waiting for it to disappear, but the greasy smell doesn’t disappear.

  I nearly fall over my sheets in my haste to get out of bed. Anglefell doesn’t have a burger joint. I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without a burger or a pizza. I haven’t realized how much I need fast food until the tantalizing scent hits my stomach. I burst through the guest room door and walk toward it.

  Liam sits on the couch with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. There’s a half-eaten carton of french fries next to him with a little tub of red paste, and in his hand is a giant cheeseburger. He bites into it, and I imagine the taste exploding over my own tongue. He chews loudly, the sound carrying across the room. He gives the burger a thoughtful look.

  “Wow—this is—really adequate.” I make a strangled sound, and Liam directs his attention toward me. “Oh, hello.”

  I look at the table. “Where’s mine?”

  He takes another giant bite that he can barely chew. “I ordered one from the chefs for myself. I’ve never really tried a cheese-burger.”

  “It’s ‘cheeseburger.’ One word.”

  “Whatever it is, it sucks.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do mean it, actually. The presentation is awful. How the fuck am I supposed to fit this in my mouth? And American cheese is the vilest thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. This belongs in the trash.”

  My jaw drops as he grabs an empty trash can and hurls the other half of perfectly good burger into it. Then he leans forward and grabs the remaining fries, stuffing them in his mouth.

  “These, however, aren’t bad. But who the fuck hasn’t had fried potatoes?”

  Okay, so he’s back to being a complete jackass.

  “Are you doing this to torture me, or insult my culture?”

  His eyes narrow dangerously as he gives me a broad smile. “I don’t know what you mean, love.”

  I’m thrown by the hostility in his voice, but the room still smells like cheeseburger, and damn it, I want one.

  “How can I get one made for me?”

  “You can’t,” he says in his arrogant drawl. “I’m prohibiting it. American cuisine is dreadful, and I won’t have it in my castle.”

  “What the hell is your problem?”

  “Dunno what you mean.”

  “Is this because I don’t want to stay here and be your princess? Grow the hell up! The world doesn’t revolve around your dick!”

  He points to the ceiling at the naked photo of himself sitting on top of a renaissance painting with fat cherubs flying around.

  “Actually.”

  “Whatever. You’re having a tantrum. Knock yourself out.”

  Irritated, I head toward the kitchen, where there’s probably some bacon and I can munch on while brooding about Liam’s violent mood swings.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention I signed you up for some princess-related classes. I thought it would be good to educate you in some arts and things of that nature.”

  This doesn’t sound at all good.

  “Like what?”

  “Needlepoint.”

  “Needlepoint.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Yes, that’s exactly what I just said.”

  “What the fuck is nee
dlepoint?”

  “Ooh, careful. Madame Laurier won’t like your American cattiness.”

  I stomp toward him, knocking his iPad out of his face. “Can we talk about this instead of behaving like children? You’re mad at me. Talk.”

  He takes my hand, bringing my knuckles to his lips. I snatch it away before he can kiss me.

  “Anglefell princesses have always engaged in one art form or another. You must take up something, and I thought needlepoint would be suitable.”

  “I’m a journalist. I take pictures and shit. You could’ve signed me up for that!”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Photography is an art!”

  “Princesses don’t engage in pedestrian hobbies. They write poetry, or play the piano, or perhaps write poetry while playing the piano, but they definitely don’t run amok and take pictures for their shitty, libelous stories!”

  Wow.

  I stare at him in mild disbelief as he disappears behind his iPad again, the skin above his brow turning beet red as he stabs the screen.

  What the hell is he talking about?

  I’m about to grab the iPad from him when I hear a series of knocks at the door.

  “Madame Laurier at your service.”

  “Excellent,” Liam says, setting the iPad aside. “Come in!”

  I glower as the door opens and Liam stands in front of me with that cocksure smile.

  Oh, I’m so going to get you back for this.

  Needlepoint, as it turns out, is the exact sort of thing grandmothers do to pass the time. I can’t think of anything more mind-numbing than piercing a square of canvas over and over with yarn to make an intricate design. It took about four hours, but I’m finally done with my embroidered masterpiece.

  Madame Laurier purses her lips as she looks over the loopy, golden thread on my pillow. It’s hilarious because she can’t say anything.

  “I don’t believe His Majesty will find that amusing.”

  “I am sure he will appreciate it.”

  She shakes her head, standing up from the poofy armchair, her limbs stiff with rage.

  “Can I go now?” I ask.

  “You may.”

  “He’ll know you had nothing to do with it.”

  I turn my back on Madame Laurier and her stuffy sewing studio, bursting through the doors. The pillow remains stuffed under my arm as I make the trek back to our suite, where no doubt some new punishment will be awaiting me. I’ve got to think of some way to get back at him.