by Malone, Nana
“You guys get back inside. I’ll call the cops.”
The girl with the silver wig didn’t turn around to face me, but instead she stood, putting her full weight on her knee into the guy’s stomach. Or at least that’s what I assumed, because the guy oophed and grabbed his gut. “Are you sure? Oh my God. Yeah, that would be awesome. I don’t feel very good. I think I need to vomit. Come on, honey.”
She stepped off of the guy with his nose spewing blood and ran over to her friend, reaching for her hand, but the friend needed no assistance. She managed to push herself up on her heels, staggering slightly. For two girls that seemed wasted and uncoordinated, they still managed a hell of a lot. I could only stare as they wandered arm in arm back down the opposite end of the alley.
“Who the hell were they?” Lucas asked.
I turned to face him. “No idea, but we need to move.”
We headed down the alley and around the corner. When we were alone, I shoved him against the wall. "Are you fucking serious?"
Lucas gave a nod and a smirk. "Thanks for the assist, man. Although I probably could've taken them."
"They were going to kick your ass. You would be the one lying bloody in the alley if I hadn’t been there."
Lucas shrugged. "Maybe. But that was a good fight though.”
I could only stare at him. "Don't you give a shit? That could have been bad."
"But it wasn't. Thanks to you. I owe you a beer or something. What's your name?"
I sighed. "Sebastian."
He grinned. “I’m Lucas. C’mon. Let’s have a beer.”
8
Sebastian …
The following morning, there was a clattering and a banging outside in the hallway, accompanied by a series of inventive curses from a soft, feminine voice. With a frown, I tugged open my door and was met with a sight that had me both grinning and shaking my head.
It looked like I was getting a new neighbor.
She was bent over, trying to pick up a box and shaking her ass. “Back, back, back it up. Three, six, nine, damn you’re … ” She hummed and sang as she picked up one of the boxes.
It was kind of unavoidable, but my eyes strayed to the way her jeans stretched tight across her ass. And the view made me wonder what the rest of her looked like.
Unfortunately for her, the jeans hung so low, they also exposed her electric blue thong. Despite myself, I laughed. "Looks like you could use a hand with that."
She stood abruptly and whirled around, and some kind of lamp went flying. I lunged for it, catching it in the nick of time. “Holy shit.” She clutched a hand to her chest then tugged out her earphones. “Where did you come from?”
I hitched a thumb toward my door. “From there.” I frowned as I stared at the thing in my hand. When I shook it, the boobs jiggled, as did the hips. "Is this seriously yours?”
She grinned and gave a nod. "That's Lola. My lucky charm. I know she’s tacky, but I picked her up at this artist's display a couple of years ago. I love her. And when I take her somewhere, I have the best kind of luck. So when I moved to New York, of course the lamp came along because I need all the luck I can get. Going out on my own, moving to New York, it’s crazy. So … ” She shrugged. “Lucky charm.”
I stared at her, dumbstruck. She was pretty, beautiful even. Her skin was a luminescent, sandy brown, and her hair framed her face in a wild array of curls. Several locks were green and purple. I wanted to play with them, and watch them bounce back into place.
Her eyes were wide and dominated most of her face. In this light, they looked hazel but with flecks of green. My gaze dipped to her lips. They looked soft and full and I couldn’t look away while she chattered on.
They looked tempting enough to kiss or to wrap around my—
No.
More like hell no. I was not going to go there. That was the man I used to be. The new version of me didn't do that. The new version of me didn't have time. I needed to get Lucas on board and head home. Get the old man to push the vote then I could abdicate my fucking throne in time for my opening. Easy. Lucas could be king, and I could be free. But my plan hinged on my brother. Or my sister if I failed here.
I resented my instant reaction to this girl. I’d spent the last six months trying to prove I wasn’t what everyone thought. A lazy, selfish layabout who fucked anything that moved. I resented her for tempting me.
I refocused my gaze on her face and not the full swell of her curves. "Do you always talk this much?"
She nodded enthusiastically, and her curls bounced up and down. "Yes. Usually. I can’t help it. Nervous habit when I'm excited, sometimes when I'm sad or totally spiraling out of control. So, pretty much all the time." She shook her head again. "Okay, let me start again. I’m Len."
Christ church. I couldn't help but laugh. She was cute. Clearly kind of a disaster, but cute. "Okay, Len. I’m Sebastian. Let me help you with that.” I took the box from her easily with one hand. Our fingers brushed and I froze. The zing of electricity surprised me and I snatched my hand back.
What the hell? I stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out what was so familiar about her, but I couldn't place it. Maybe I'd seen her around the building? Or maybe I’d seen her this morning. I hadn't been paying attention because I’d been focused on my Lucas problem.
Whatever. Shut that shit down. I cleared my throat and forced my mind and expression into neutral. “Welcome to New York, Len.”
“Thanks. I’m really excited. It’s my first time in the city.” She talked a lot. With the box no longer blocking my view, my gaze swept over her. I was already a fan of the hair. And, yeah, the face was beautiful. Heart shaped with high cheekbones. And when she talked, they dimpled. When she smiled, they deepened even more.
Jesus, she was adorable. She wore an off the shoulder T-shirt in gray that said, I'm an artist, so I'm sensitive about my shit. The thing was meant to be oversized and have a bohemian look, but all I could focus on was how it clung to her tits.
You do not have time for this. And I didn't. I had a plan, and I had to work fast. I had zero time for this, but it was like she’d been sent here by a really twisted deity to tempt, seduce and punish me.
This girl was everything my type. You mean breathing? She was sexy, adorable bait, but I wasn’t biting the line. I had more important things to do.
Hell. I’d managed to keep shit wrapped up for six months. I hadn't slept with anyone. I’d been too busy traipsing all over the US, Canada and Mexico looking for my brother. Well technically, I’d been tracking Lucas’s mother and her longtime boyfriend. But the investigator I’d hired had led me here.
The girl had a strip of belly showing. It was flat, taut. Like she worked out. She was probably into classic yoga—a ‘look into your inner eye’ kind of girl. And her legs were amazing, even though she wasn’t excessively tall. Probably around 5'7", but her legs … Wow. All toned and lean. She looked like an athlete.
She turned around to the door, kicking it open. "Could you help me carry it in here? Please?" As she turned, I noticed she had paint on the hem of her shirt back.
Okay then. She also had a streak of badass. "So, I guess from your T-shirt that you’re an artist?"
"Yeah, good guess." She directed me where she wanted the box. "I just graduated from the Chicago Institute of Art. I think my father thought it would be a passing fancy. That I’d give up and study engineering. You can imagine his face when it wasn’t. So he’s given me a whole four months to figure out this artist thing. If it doesn't work out, then I have to get a real job."
"That's one hell of a Faustian bargain."
"You don't know my father. He has this way of getting what he wants. So I moved out here to get away from him and his influence. I'm starting fresh, and he's footing the bill."
"Four months isn't very much time."
She gave a winning smile, and for a second all I could do was stare at her. Jesus, she looked like some kind of angel. A cherub without all the baby fat. She looked
far too cute to be locked in an engineering lab. If I’d gone to school with her, I would have spent a lot of time trying to get in her pants and very little time studying.
Keep it in your pants. Put the box down and run. I made a vow in that moment to spend as little time as possible with my new neighbor. It would be far too easy to forget what I came here to do.
"It’s plenty. Good news is I'm just like my dad, and I have a way of making things work out. Thanks for the help."
The urge to stay and help her was strong. And even though I tried to fight against it, the next words out of my mouth tumbled out on their own volition. "You need help moving any more stuff in here?"
"Thank God. I thought you were never going to offer. Come on."
I shook my head as I followed her back out the door. As I watched her ass, I wondered if this was what it was like to follow the Pied Piper.
9
Sebastian…
In the darkroom I hung my latest developed prints and studied them closely. Would any of these be good enough to exhibit? Since leaving the island, I felt like that endless well of creativity was dying.
Like somehow removing me from the place I loved had shut me off entirely. My camera was usually my center. With it in my hands, I usually felt like I knew who I was.
But that was all different now. Everything had changed that day. And I didn’t know how to get any of it back.
6 Months Ago…
Sebastian …
No guy in his right mind said no to a hot girl who wanted to suck him off. But somehow, as Bridget’s hair fanned across my lap in a golden cascade, and her lips encased my dick in warmth, I couldn’t get into it.
She was beautiful and … enthusiastic, but my mind kept wandering to all the shit I needed to get ready for my first big gallery opening. I’d just gotten the news. All the hard work I’d put in was paying off and I had an opening in ten months, just after my birthday, for the Piques Gallery’s Fresh Young Talent exhibit. So instead of focusing on the woman with my dick in her mouth and my balls in her hand, I kept wondering if any of my pieces were good enough.
Clearly something was fucking wrong with me.
I loved women. All kinds of women. Tall women, short women, waiflike women, and curvy women. I’d never met one I wanted to say no to.
Bridget Lennox had tits so perky they defied gravity and an ass so tight someone should make a bronze casting of it. But she was just like everyone else: more than eager to get in my royal pants but lacking any real substance or desire behind her eyes.
None of what was happening was about me. And I’m just enough of an asshole not to care. There were three very distinct reasons for my ambivalence.
For starters, she wanted to bag the prince. I got that; I really did. Because … well, I was the prince, Crown Prince of Winston Isles. And as much as I hated it sometimes, the crown came with some perks.
The second reason I knew this enthusiastic display of oral skills wasn’t about me at all was that she had some daddy issues. Her father was the Duke of Essex, and fucking me would piss her old man off.
Ever since my failed engagement to Laila DuPont, the French duchess, it was open season on me, the eligible prince. Laila, it seems, didn’t want a royal life. Or at least not one with me. As it turned out, I wasn’t royal enough. After all, I wasn’t European royalty. My father hadn’t been pleased about the whole situation, and I knew he blamed me.
After Laila walked away, I went a little off the rails and became the kind of prince who made any royal father nervous.
I apparently had a bit of a reputation. So sue me.
The final reason for my ambivalence about Bridget’s performance was my awareness that she’d likely heard the rumors and wanted to test them out for herself.
I knew what women said. ‘Incredible stamina and unparalleled knowledge of the female form.’ There were many rumors; like I once went down on a woman for an hour and she passed out from too many orgasms. Oh yeah, and my personal favorite, that I was packing a ten-inch cock.
Neither of these were exaggerations.
Bridget had been trying to find out if I rocked boxers or briefs for the two years since I’d returned from my military service, and lost my would be princess. She wanted to know if I went commando.
I did.
No, I was lying. It was boxer briefs, but commando sounded better.
Bridget tilted her head forward, sucking me deep and forcing the tip of my cock to the back of her throat. Holy shit. Oh yeah, that got my attention.
Get your head in the game. You have a reputation to protect.
I let my eyes close and surrendered to pure sensation as she deep-throated me. There was almost something poetic about the way her hair brushed over my thighs.
As I gave in to the sensations, I let myself pretend that she was someone who could matter—that I was someone who could matter as more than just the crown.
The only warning I had that we were about to be interrupted were the footsteps at the door. My Royal Guard would never think of walking in. Only one person would turn that knob unannounced.
Shit.
My father was supposed to be in meetings with the Foreign Secretary of Labor. He wasn’t scheduled to be back for three days.
Bridget’s eyes widened, and she released my dick abruptly with an audible pop before scrambling under my desk.
Fuck me.
I pushed to my feet and winced as I shoved my dick back in my jeans.
Dad stopped short inside the door, glaring at me before narrowing his gaze at the massive oak desk in the center of the office.
Behind him, Roone gave me an apologetic shrug. Roone had been my best friend since I was eleven and sent off to boarding school, and now he was in charge of my security detail. He'd probably done his best, but my father was the king.
With a straight, stiff back, my father stepped inside and abruptly turned and shut the door. When he spoke, his voice was low and irritated. “Ms. Lennox, I'm sure you and I are going to forget this ever happened. No reason for me to discuss any of this with your father?"
From beneath the desk, I heard Bridget shuffling around. Presumably, getting her clothes on as quickly as possible.
She scurried out from under the desk when she was ready. "Your Majesty. Yes of course. No, we weren’t—I mean—” She stumbled through a response before grabbing her shoes.
Then with a quick wave to me, she ran past my father and out the door. When she was gone, Dad turned around. "Sebastian, you have got to be shitting me.”
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.
Fuck.
I was in enough trouble as it was. Dad rarely swore. After all, it wasn't very royal. So, every time he did, I laughed, which he hated. "Dad. No, it’s not what it looks like."
"So, you're telling me that wasn't Bridget Lennox half-naked in your office fellating you?"
My lips twisted. "Yes, okay, it was what it looked like. But—” I stopped abruptly. What the hell was I going to say? ‘She really, really wanted to suck my cock’? Nope, better not.
My father shook his head. "You know what? That is a fight for another day.”
For real? Score. He must have been exhausted because he let me skate.
Just when I thought I’d escaped a boring lecture, he slammed down his tablet with so much force I worried it might crack. But it didn’t. On the screen was the promo for my gallery show. The promo clearly said, Winston. “Do you want to explain this to me?"
Shit. He wasn’t supposed to find out about that. I ran a hand through my hair and tried to think of a good explanation. He’d asked me to stop displaying my work six months ago. Listening was not one of my fortes. "Dad, I can explain." Maybe I should have mentioned to him I was still exhibiting my photos despite his royal edicts not to.
“We’ve discussed this Sebastian. The crown prince cannot run around being a photographer. And you certainly can’t take lewd photos and call them art.”
“My photographs are
not lewd. You can’t see anything in the photos.” They were tasteful nudes. And it wasn’t like I only did nudes … ”
“Oh, but it’s the suggestion of nudity. I swear you are trying to rip this monarchy apart single handedly.”
“No one knows I’m Winston. Trust me, the monarchy will survive. You are so melodramatic. Why can’t you just see that I’m good at this? After all the years of you getting on me to focus, to find a cause to champion, I finally found something I’m really good at besides fucking.”
Maybe that was going a little far. But my whole life, the old man had been after me to be better—to do better. I'd get honors, and he’d say, ‘Why isn’t this a distinction?’
When I had a camera in my hands, it just worked. I was not a fuck-up or an embarrassment.
Dad shook his head. "You take beautiful photos. You always have, but you don’t get to be this. It’s time to put away childish things. You will be king, Sebastian. You have a higher calling than photographs. I've let you indulge this hobby of yours for too long."
"This hobby?" I narrowed my eyes.
"Don’t act like you don't know that this can't actually be a profession. You are the prince. What do you think will happen when the world discovers you’re Winston? You think they'll embrace it? Especially given the subject matter of these photographs? You need to be above it all. That is the job."
"You know, ever since I was a kid, you’ve been telling me what the job is. Have you ever stopped once to ask what I fucking want?"
"Watch your language."
I dropped my arms and picked up the camera on my desk. "This, I'm good at. Really good at. There are galleries that want to feature my shit."
"And that is fine for anyone other than you. But you need to set that aside. You can support the arts as much as you want. But Winston has to go." My father sighed before striding over to me and clapping a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know this is important to you. But we all have to give up things that are important to us when that crown gets placed upon our heads."
