Royally Screwed: A British Bad Boy Romance

by Jessica Ashe

  He shuffled over, so that our bodies were touching, and then reached down and placed a large palm on my upper thigh. I repressed an instinct to flinch away, and instead let the warmth from his fingers travel slowly up to my core.

  The fire burned so intently, I felt sure he’d pull his hand away to avoid getting burned. Instead he just squeezed harder as he leaned down to whisper in my ear.

  “I want you to come back for sex,” George said slowly, but with a steady determination, as if he weighed each word as he spoke it. “I want to give you a night you’ll never forget.”

  Serves me right for wanting honesty I suppose.

  “That’s not what I want,” I lied.

  It was what I’d wanted from the moment the airplane had touched down at Heathrow. It was more than I’d wanted. Even my wild imagination hadn’t created a guy like George in my mind.

  Here he was offering it to me on a plate and I didn’t know what to do.

  “You do want it,” George insisted. “Close your eyes, and listen to your body.”

  I closed my eyes, and once again the music in the background faded away. It was just George and me now. I felt his breath on my neck, as his finger crept a few inches further up my thigh. His nose brushed lightly past my hair, before his soft lips nuzzled against my neck.

  I leaned back and let out a light, orgasmic whimper. Then my eyes snapped open as if I’d been violently woken from a dream. We couldn’t do this. Not here at least.

  “Everything okay?” George asked.

  I nodded, and put on my best English accent. “Get your coat, luv. You’ve pulled.”

  * * *

  We quickly said our goodbyes to a delighted—and slightly jealous looking—Ellie and Dani, before heading outside and straight into a cab.

  George insisted on going back to his place, muttering something about not liking the beds in the campus dorms. Fine with me. The walls were thin, and the girls I lived with were judgmental enough as it was.

  “Do an English accent again,” George whispered in my ear, as his strong hands grabbed hold of my ass in the elevator.

  “No,” I replied, letting him kiss my neck as he pushed me up against the elevator wall. “That was a one-time thing. Just like this.”

  George carried me out of the elevator with my legs wrapped around his hips. I heard some old lady mutter “oh my,” but I didn’t care. I kept my eyes closed until we were inside and I was pressed up against a wall, George’s erection pressing up against my sex.

  I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, while he peeled my top off and started kissing the tops of my breasts peeking out above the bra. I gave up trying to undress him and just held on, while his hands and lips devoured my breasts. His cock strained to get out of his pants, as it rubbed against me. The anticipation was enough to have me gushing and on the edge of coming; I hadn’t even taken off my skirt yet.

  A loud moan escaped my lips like an unexpected hiccup. George looked up at me from my breasts and smiled. “I guess it’s time we move this into the bedroom.”

  I nodded, as I felt my face turn red with embarrassment and excitement. “Can we put some music on?” I asked.

  “Uh, sure, okay,” George replied. “Worried the neighbors will hear you screaming?”

  “Force of habit. We have thin walls in the dorms.”

  “Use the TV. It’s connected up to my music library. Don’t be long.”

  George passed me the remote and I flicked the television on. My hand was shaking in anticipation. I wasn’t usually nervous about having sex. I’d had one night stands before, and I wasn’t short on experience with guys. But I’d never met a guy like George before.

  Maybe not quite Prince Charming. More like Prince Charming crossed with David Beckham, but perhaps that was what I really wanted after all.

  A news channel appeared on the screen, so I quickly tried to change the channel before anything too depressing came on and spoiled the vibe. I changed the channel and then immediately changed it back again.

  George’s picture was on the screen.

  George was on the national news, and he was the lead story.

  Chapter Eight

  George

  “Oh shit,” I moaned as I saw the television screen.

  She said I had one more day, God damn it. I should never have trusted a journalist.

  “What’s going on?” Sophia asked. She didn’t take her eyes off the television screen, so I quickly put my shirt and trousers back on. She wasn’t going to want to see me half naked after this. She wasn’t going to want to see me at all after this.

  “Might as well watch and find out,” I said. I slumped down on the sofa, and motioned for her to sit next to me. “I’ll let you know if any of it’s not true.”

  Sophia didn’t sit down, she just stared at me curiously with those damn sexy eyes of hers. “You’re not a serial killer are you?”

  “Not yet,” I replied. “Although there are a few people I wouldn’t mind killing right now.”

  Sophia sat down next to me, but I couldn’t help but notice she left a gap of about a foot. So much for tonight’s fun.

  I hadn’t even intended to ask her back here for sex. I had a much more complicated proposal in mind, but my cock had led the discussion. She just looked so damn sexy—so fuckable—in that little skirt and low-cut top. The second I put my hand on her legs it was all over, for both of us. The possible became the inevitable.

  I wanted to reach out and touch her leg again to feel that soft skin over firm muscle, and the heat emanating from between her thighs. Probably not a good idea though. She looked freaked out enough as it was. Wasn’t every day you found your hookup’s face on the national news. I’d had that happen once before, but the news was reporting on Oscar nominations at the time. Boy, that actress had certainly known how to celebrate. Good times.

  Sophia turned the volume up as the news studio went to a reporter standing live outside an office building in London. “The Daily Guardian has just revealed its cover story for tomorrow, however we only have the bare bones of the story so far.”

  “What do we know?” the newsroom correspondent asked.

  My face stayed on the screen the entire time. They could at least have picked a more flattering photograph, but I suppose that wouldn’t sell as many papers. The one they’d used was me coming out of my house after a night spent drinking, shagging, and then drinking again.

  “All we know is that the paper is claiming that King Michael did not, in fact, die childless. It appears he had a child two years before his marriage. If true, that child was the heir to the throne and should be King now instead of the current Queen. At the very least, he’s a prince.”

  “Please don’t tell me…” Sophia muttered, before trailing off, as the newsroom correspondent asked another question.

  “It sounds like the child was illegitimate,” she said. “Would an illegitimate child be the heir to the throne?”

  “It’s complicated, but potentially yes. However, the paper is also claiming that the king married the child’s mother briefly as part of a whirlwind romance while he was abroad in America. If that’s true, and if the child was conceived during that marriage, we’re looking at a new heir to the throne, or possibly even a new monarch.”

  “No, no, no,” Sophia said softly. She hadn’t accepted the news yet. That made two of us.

  “What do we know about this man?” the woman asked.

  “Not a lot. We know that his name is George Whittemore, and he’s the son of Mary Whittemore. He has a sister and a nephew.”

  “Well, whoever this man is, his life will never be the same again after tonight.”

  Yeah, no shit Sherlock.

  I grabbed the remote from a stunned looking Sophia and switched off the television.

  “You’re a prince,” she said quietly. “You’re a fucking prince.”

  “You can call me Prince Charming if you like,” I joked. I tried to smile, but it felt forced and awkward. I probably loo
ked more creepy than comforting.

  “I… I have to get out of here.”

  “No,” I said quickly, grabbing her arm before she could move. “You can’t leave. I mean, you can obviously, but you shouldn’t. The press might already be out there.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Okay then, just stay because I want you to.”

  “How can you be so calm about this?” she asked. “I don’t even understand what’s happening. I take it you already knew?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I’ve known for a while. I thought I had another day or two before the information leaked. Figured I had time to—”

  “Screw some more women?”

  “Get my affairs in order.”

  “You’re not dying,” she snapped. “You’re inheriting a fortune. You’re going to be… no, I can’t even say it. It’s too fucking crazy.”

  You’re telling me. A year ago, I was still grieving for my mother’s death. Then I found out my father wasn’t some drunk my mum had shacked up with for a few months before I was born. He’d been someone entirely different and he’d died recently. People made quite a big fuss about it, what with him being the King and all.

  “Just stay the night,” I pleaded.

  “How will that help? There’ll be even more reporters out there in the morning.”

  “It’ll help me. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “You’re going to be able to sleep after all this?”

  I laughed. “No, I guess not. I’ll lay there tossing and turning, while you sleep in my bed.”

  “You think I’m going to be able to sleep after all this?” Sophia sighed loudly, but then laughed. “Ellie is going to love all this. I’ve hooked up with a Prince after all.”

  “I really didn’t intend for things to go down like this.”

  “No, I can tell. Your shirt’s on inside out, by the way.”

  “See—I really did just intend to screw you tonight. I was honest.”

  “You’re a noble man, Prince Whittemore. The country is lucky to have you.”

  I couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic or not, but I didn’t really care. “Just stay the night, please. I want to talk to you about something in the morning.”

  “I am kind of tired,” she said reluctantly. “But you’re sleeping on the sofa.”

  “Sure you don’t want to see the crown jewels?” I joked.

  “I’m an American. It’s probably illegal for me to touch them.” She walked over to the bedroom, but stopped in the doorway and turned back to face me. “Goodnight, milord.” Sophia gave a mock curtsy, which just meant her skirt rode even further up her backside. God, what I wouldn’t give to get a go on that.

  Was it too late now? If I could just convince Sophia to go along with my plan, I might not have to become a prince at all.

  Sophia was my last hope. It all hinged on her now.

  Shame I only met her this morning.

  * * *

  I’d spent most of the night staring at my phone. Emails, texts, and phone calls flooded in, but the only one I opened was the one from Harry. I’d reached out to him a few weeks ago when I knew the news was going to be made public, but he hadn’t believed me. He did now.

  Harry was an old friend from college, who’d turned a bad attitude and poor grades into a decent PR career. He was going to come in use over the coming days, weeks, and months.

  I sat up on the sofa as I heard the toilet flush from my en-suite, followed by the tap running, and then Sophia walking out of my bedroom. She’d slipped back into the revealing top and short skirt from last night, and looked every bit as sexy, even without the make-up.

  “Hi,” I said groggily. I’d barely slept, and every time I did, I quickly woke up to nightmares of being crowned king in front of an audience of millions.

  “Hi,” she replied softly.

  At least she didn’t sound mad. That was a start.

  “Fancy a cup of tea?”

  “I’m going to need coffee,” she replied. “Or don’t you have any?”

  “Only instant, I’m afraid.”

  “Tea it is, then.”

  I pushed myself up off the sofa and boiled the kettle, while the two of us stood awkwardly in the kitchen. Was I really going to ask her? I barely knew her. But I knew Alisa well enough, and look how that turned out. This was the perfect solution really. I just had to convince Sophia it was worth giving up her life for.

  I let the tea brew for a few minutes, then threw the tea bags in the bin and added some milk, before handing it over to Sophia.

  “You do make a great cup of tea,” she admitted, after taking a sip. “But what is it with you Brits and instant coffee? When you’re king, can you declare it illegal?”

  “I was hoping you might have forgotten about all that.”

  “The whole ‘you being a prince’ thing? No, that’s still front and center of my mind right now.” Sophia looked around the apartment as if it were somehow different to the place she’d come back to last night. “It’s quiet,” she remarked. “We haven’t been overrun by reporters yet, then?”

  “No, thank God. My address hasn’t leaked publicly, and I’m using a fake name to rent this place. It’s only a matter of time though.”

  “I haven’t heard from the girls yet, which either means they didn’t recognize you from that picture, or they haven’t seen the news yet. More likely the latter knowing them. They tend to sleep in late after a heavy night.”

  “I’ve switched my phone off now. Might as well enjoy my last few moments of peace and quiet.”

  I sat down on the sofa, but Sophia made a point of sitting on the armchair instead. She crossed her legs, revealing those delicious thighs again. Already I could feel my erection resurfacing in my boxers, reminding me that I hadn’t gotten any last night. This situation was stressful enough as it was, without the added pressure from down there.

  “You know, some people would think this was good news,” Sophia said. “Being a prince might not be a bad life.”

  “And some people would do anything to shag a prince, and yet you made me sleep on the sofa.”

  “Fair point. It would have been cool to go home and tell everyone I ‘shagged’ the future king of England.”

  “There’s still time.”

  The slight pause before she responded gave me hope, but in the end she shook her head. “Nope. It can’t happen. I should never have even come back here.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Even though you didn’t—how do you say it—get your end away?”

  I laughed as Sophia attempted an English accent again. “Oh I do love that accent. And yes, I’m still glad you’re here. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about actually.”

  “What’s that?” Sophia took a sip of her tea. With hindsight, I probably should have waited until she’d swallowed her drink before popping the question.

  “I was wondering whether you would marry me?”

  Chapter Nine

  Sophia

  I choked back the mouthful of tea, and laughed nervously. It seemed like an appropriate response. “You… Did you just… What?”

  “I want you to marry me,” George said sincerely, as if the suggestion weren’t just a stupid joke. He sounded deadly serious. “I’ll get a ring.”

  “You think the lack of a ring is the problem here?” I asked. I liked a big diamond as much as the next girl, but it would have to be damn big to blind me to the strangeness of this situation.

  “I haven’t explained, have I? Shit, sorry, my mind’s all over the place right now.”

  And now so is mine.

  Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had been minding my own business working in the café and dreaming about meeting a charming Englishman like the ones I’d seen on television. Then Ellie told me to serve George, and the rest was history. In George’s case, it literally would go down in the history books.

  I had a story to make me the envy of all my
friends. Except I’d never be able to tell them. I couldn’t say yes—obviously—and I wasn’t about to go spreading tales about the new prince proposing to me. The most exciting thing to ever happen to me, and I’d have to take the story to my grave.

  “You’re confused,” I said to George. “And clearly very sleep-deprived. Perhaps I should leave.”

  “No,” George said quickly. “Give me a chance to explain. I want you to marry me.”

  “Yeah, I gathered that much when you proposed.”

  “Right, but not because we love each other or anything. I just want us to get married, and then split up soon after.”

  My heart sank with disappointment when he admitted he wasn’t in love with me. I knew it was stupid; I wasn’t in love with him either. It was a gut reaction to hearing the words spoken aloud by a crush. That’s all he was. A handsome crush, who was about to be a prince. Or already was a prince. I didn’t know how it worked. The details didn’t seem important.

  “Then why get married?” I asked.

  “I need the money. I have an inheritance locked up in a trust and I don’t get to claim it until I get married.”

  “But you’re a prince now. You won’t need money any more.”

  “I plan to abdicate. Give up all the titles and the bullshit that goes with it. But I can only do that if I have another source of money.”

  “Some people work for a living,” I said. “Have you thought about that?”

  “I need serious money. Millions.”

  “What for?”

  George paused before answering. He liked to think he could read body language, but two could play at that game. He looked embarrassed; whatever the reason, he didn’t want to tell me.

  “I’m broke,” he said eventually. “Nearly, anyway. If I don’t get my hands on that inheritance soon, I’m going to be in real trouble.”

  At least he was being honest with me. That still didn’t mean I could go along with this plan. I had far too much going on in my life right now, namely school, paying for school, and all this visa crap hanging over me like—