Filthy Royal
A Bad Boy Royal Romance
Roxeanne Rolling
Filthy Royal
1. Luke
2. Rebecca
3. Luke
4. Rebecca
5. Luke
6. Rebecca
7. Luke
8. Rebecca
9. Luke
10. Rebecca
11. Luke
12. Rebecca
13. Luke
14. Rebecca
15. Luke
16. Rebecca
17. Luke
18. Rebecca
19. Luke
20. Rebecca
21. Luke
22. Rebecca
23. Luke
24. Rebecca
25. Luke
26. Rebecca
27. Rebecca
28. Luke
Mailing List
Deep End
1. Anchor
2. Allison
3. Anchor
4. Allison
5. Anchor
6. Allison
7. Anchor
8. Allison
9. Anchor
10. Allison
11. Anchor
12. Allison
13. Anchor
14. Allison
15. Anchor
16. Allison
17. Anchor
18. Allison
19. Anchor
20. Allison
21. Anchor
22. Allison
23. Anchor
24. Allison
25. Anchor
26. Allison
27. Allison
Mailing List
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY AUTHOR
Copyright © 2016 Roxeanne Rolling
This is a work of fiction.
All characters appearing in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is not intended and is purely coincidental.
All characters in this book are over the age of 18.
No part of this book may be reproduced, re-sold, or transmitted electronically or otherwise, without express written permission from the author.
1.
Luke
“Watch out, Luke!” yells Sebastian, right into my ear.
I swerve the wheel of the RV and we drive right into a ditch on the side of the road.
“Goddamn Texas roads,” I yell.
Sebastian’s never pissed though and lets out a whoop. “Let’s get the party started!”
The girls in the back of the RV come rushing up to see what happened. They’re all wearing string bikinis and their tits are bouncing around enticingly.
“Shouldn’t we figure out what happened to the RV?” says Eugene, my royal sidekick. He’s basically paid to make sure I don’t get in too much trouble. He acts kind of like an old maid sometimes.
“Fuck it,” I say, slamming the RV into park and getting out of my seat. “Where’s the beer?”
“Maybe we should…” says Eugene, frowning, and looking down at a clipboard he’s carrying around. He’s been trying to map out our whole journey, down to the minute, so that he can file his reports back to my dad, the King of Liseria.
“Catch, Eugene,” says Sebastian, tossing a beer right into Eugene’s face.
He ducks just in time and the beer explodes as it hits the wall of the RV, sending a foamy spray everywhere.
I grab the beer can and shake it over my head, going into my interpretation of an American dance, which to be honest probably isn’t that accurate. Basically it just looks like I’m humping the air in front of me.
“Yee-haa,” cry the girls, as their bikini tops get showered in the beer foam.
Their nipples are all hard and poking through. They’re hard just thinking about getting some of my royal princely cock. That’s what they’re all here for. I don’t give a shit about their motivations, though. That’s why I brought them along anyway.
“I’m going to check on the tires,” says Eugene, frowning as always, as he ducks to avoid the girls’ swinging dancing arms.
“What a prick,” says Sebastian, sidling up behind one of the girls and rubbing himself against her plump ass. “Doesn’t he know how to have any fun?”
“Yeah,” says one of the girls. “Why’d you have to bring him along? Why don’t we just leave him here?”
I sigh.
“He’s not that bad,” I say. “Plus, he’s got to be here.”
“What is he, your babysitter or something?” says one of the girls. She’s probably the most sullen of the whole bunch. I thinks he thought she was going to have me all to herself when she agreed to come driving across the USA with us in the RV. As soon as the other girl’s showed up, she got really pouty.
“Basically,” says Sebastian, laughing, and slapping me heavily on the back.
“You wouldn’t understand,” I say to her. “Things are different in other countries. Have you ever even been out of the US?”
“Never been out of Louisiana until this trip,” she says.
“Then lighten up,” says Sebastian.
Sebastian hasn’t been out of the US either. I forget how we met him now. Most likely I had dragged Eugene to some seedy bar around Boston and somehow we’d met Sebastian.
They all speak only English. Part of my princely training was learning languages. I’ve been fluent in five languages since I was a kid. I guess all those private tutors and private boarding schools paid off in a way.
But fuck all that. I’ve had enough of it, and the last five years has been nothing but trying to get all that shit out of my system for good.
“Looks like we have a flat tire,” says Eugene, poking his head back through the door. The blast of Texas summer heat meets us.
“Shut the fucking door, man,” I say. “It’s too hot.”
I’ve been trying to work on my American expressions, like “man.” Sebastian has been a big help, and I’ve been trying to talk more like him, but I still think I’m missing a little of his natural rhythm, and once in a while I’ll misuse a slang word.
“Lucas, sir, we’ve got a serious problem. We don’t yet have our camping permit, and we’re not supposed to just park on the side of the road like this.”
“Stop your fucking worrying,” I say, grabbing the RV door and pulling it closed. I flip the lock.
Eugene’s too polite to bang loudly on the door, but I can hear his little rapping knocks and his voice calling me.
“Time for another beer,” I say.
“Funnel?” says Sebastian.
“Whoo-hoo,” scream all the girls in unison. It’s like they’ve been practicing or something, the way a chorus for a play would. I don’t even know how many there are. It seems like we gain a couple more every stop we make, so of course the inside of the RV is completely trashed. There are bras and panties and makeup kits scattered all over, not to mention a healthy sized collection of crumpled beer cans.
“Let’s shotgun ‘em,” I say, drawing my words out like a real Texan.
“Whoo-hoo,” scream the girls. I could probably say anything and get the same reaction. Sometimes I like to mess with them just to see what they’ll agree too.
I pull out my big American folder knife that I picked up in some Texas store, and puncture the beers the way Sebastian taught me.
We all shotgun about ten in a row, and by the end we’re dancing a lot slower and a lot crazier…a lot lazier.
Sebastian’s got himself all over two of the girls who are fondling his chest. But meanwhile they’re still eyeing me up and down hungrily. They just can’t resist a real life prince in the flesh, even if they’ve never heard of Liseria before in the
ir lives.
I survey the girls for a moment, while leaning up against the steering wheel.
They’re fucking hot, that’s for sure. And a couple have removed their tops. Their tits are pert and bouncy and their nipples are rock hard for royal cock. No doubt they’re already wet.
But I’ve been getting bored of them.
I came over to the US sure for the girls. That was a huge part of it. But the more we’ve been driving around, the more I’ve wanted a real American adventure.
That’s why I drove us down South and that’s why I drove us out here to this deserted Texas campground.
“Catch you later,” says Sebastian, giving me a wink, and dragging his two girls back to one of the little rooms in the rear of the RV.
This thing is a state of the art RV. After all, royal money goes a long way, especially considering the exchange rate to US dollars. Not that I had to pay the exchange rate any mind.
“Why don’t I show you a good time,” says the pouty girl, sidling up next to me, rubbing her skin against mine.
“Yeah,” say the rest of the girls, coming over to the pouty girl’s annoyance.
I consider it for a moment, but damnit there’s only so many times you can have this kind of American frat boy fun before it starts to get old.
“I think I’m going for a walk,” I say.
“I’ll come with you,” says one girl.”
“Me, too.”
“Me, too.”
They’re surrounding me like little chirping birds.
“I’m going by myself,” I say, making sure my words sound final.
“Wow,” says the pouty girl, withdrawing. “I don’t even know why I came with you. You know I quit my job to travel with you?”
“That’s on you,” I say. I’m pretty sure my words sound icy cold, but I don’t give a shit right now. I know that even though I’m fluent, and picking up more idioms by the day, I have to make a big effort to make sure my words don’t come across as cold. That’s just the way it works when you’re not a native speaker, especially one from Liseria. And especially one from the royal Liserian family, where we’re not exactly taught to be friendly.
Right now I don’t care though.
I’m about to open the door, when the lights suddenly go off in the RV. The AC fan cuts off too. It’s now dark and deathly quiet.
“I guess we should have registered the campsite and plugged into the power source,” I say.
“What are we going to do?”
“Well, it’s going to get pretty fucking hot in here pretty quick.”
“What are we going to do?” say the chorus of half-dressed girls.
“I’m going for a walk,” I say. “Why don’t y’all figure it out?”
I open the door and walk out despite their whining protests. I’ve really had it with them. I don’t give a shit if they leave or stay in the soon-to-be-boiling RV.
“There you are sir,” says Eugene, jumping up from where he’s been sitting on a rock by the RV. He’s drenched from head to toe in sweat.
“I think the power ran out,” I say. “But you should have seen how I used the word ‘you’ll’. I think I really nailed it this time.”
“Very good, sir,” says Eugene. I’m half expecting him to do a little bow like he used to do back in the Liseria palace, but I’ve given him enough shit over our trip that he’s mostly stopped. You can still see the impulse in him though to practically genuflect before me like I’m some sort of god.
That’s why I’ve had enough of this royal shit. I’m just a guy like everyone else. Just a regular dude as the Americans would say. That doesn’t mean I didn’t take advantage of the opportunities for some serious partying that the royal money and title provides me. I mean who wouldn’t do the same?
“I’m going for a walk,” I say.
“What should we do about the RV’s power, sir?” says Eugene. He’s still speaking English, and he has a much stronger accent than I do. I forbade him from speaking any of our native French dialect to me while we’re in the States.
“Whatever, man,” I say.
“What about the guests?”
I turn my back to him and start walking away.
I know that inside he’s just about as conflicted as he can get. He’s supposed to be taking care of me. That’s his job. My safety, well-being, and happiness is his number one job priority. Basically his mission in life. Even to the point of getting drugs for me, and then analyzing them with his portable lab to check for their purity. Or getting girls for me so I can get laid and go to sleep. Whatever it takes. I just kind of hope he doesn’t put every detail in the reports he sends back to the palace.
At the same time though, he’s got to think of the “royal guests,” back in the RV possibly passing out or dying from heat stroke and creating an international press incident.
After all, it is fucking hot out here. I’m shirtless as I often am these days, but my pants are practically drenched through with sweat.
Poor fucking Eugene. He’s still wearing his semi formal clothing, which looks hot as hell.
“I’ll come with you, sir,” calls out Eugene, since I’m already way in front of him, headed into the woods towards the lake.
He’s kicking up dust on the road as he sprints after me.
2.
Rebecca
This is supposed to be the big trip where I figure everything out. Then again, they’re all supposed to be like that. I guess I just can’t help but run off into the woods.
The heat is sweltering. The sun is blinding. I don’t know if I can stand this much longer.
My heart is beating faster just at the thought of getting out of my tent. I never thought I had anxiety that bad. I mean, I work a regular job in an office. It’s boring, but there’s plenty to be anxious about if you’re that type of person. And I’ve always done OK despite all that.
But everyone here in Texas is so much different. They’re friendly, for one thing, which kind of throws me off. I’m from a regular suburb outside of Pittsburg, a place that looks just like anywhere else in America, or so I imagined.
This is my first time out west, and I’m just completely mind boggled at how crazily different everything looks. There are cactuses and lizards everywhere, for one thing.
It’s September, but it’s still fucking hot. How do they all put up with this heat? Maybe that’s why they all seem to eat so much barbecue—but that doesn’t make much sense either, since barbeque is piping hot.
I can’t figure these Texans out, that’s for sure.
But then again I never really could figure anyone out.
I guess I just always felt a little out of step, and that’s where some of this anxiety comes from.
But it’s too hot to lie here in my tent all day. I’ve got to make myself get dressed and get out, no matter what kind of chatty Texan I’m going to run into…and invariably not know what to say to him or her when they do start talking to me.
The tent is mesh but it’s not making much difference with the heat. There are bushes all around, and I’m kind of far out in the woods, by some rocks and Agave cactuses, so I slept completely naked.
I pull on a sports bra now and some gym shorts. I hope this is decent enough by Texas standards, whatever those are.
I emerge from my tent and survey the area carefully for any trash I might have missed from the night before. I’ve only been here two nights, but I want to make sure my campground is spotless. I’m kind of an environmentalist freak.
Normally I take a long weekend and head out somewhere into the Pennsylvania woods, or maybe up into New York. The farthest I’ve gotten before is some hiking trips into New Hampshire.
This is a new level for me. I’m supposed to spend a week out here, and then move on to another camp site in West Texas, which I’ve heard is a lot different.
I’ve spent months and months researching this trip. Each piece of my equipment took me hour
s (hours at work, surfing the net, checking reviews, comparing prices) to pick out.
Well, here I go.
This trip was supposed to be about conquering…well conquering my anxiety. But back in Pennsylvania it was only mild anxiety.
Out here the anxiety feels like an untamed beast.
My heart’s thumping as I walk towards the lake.
I practically have the trail maps memorized, even though it’s only been a couple days.
There’s some weird yelling up ahead.
A super fancy top of the line RV is parked on the side of the road.
Not that I know anything about RVs. But even I can tell that it’s a really expensive one, although it does seem to be fairly dirty. Usually those RV folks like to keep their RVs in tiptop shape.
As I get closer, ambling along, worried of course that someone’s going to pop out of the RV and I’m going to have to talk to them, I realize that the RV’s not parked. It’s crashed.
It looks like someone tried to drive it off the road but didn’t do a good job of it.
The yelling is getting louder.
My greatest fear…
Someone bursts out of the RV.
Actually, a ton of people.
It’s one super sweaty guy wearing just his underwear, followed by a little gaggle of college-aged women, only half dressed.
“I can’t believe how fucking hot it is in there,” says the guy, taking a can of beer and dumping it over his head.
“Don’t you have any water?”
“Water’s for pussies,” he says, and flops down onto the road, laying motionless.
They all look a little worse for wear, like they’ve been cooked for an hour in a food dehydrator.
I should do something. After all, they could be in trouble.
I walk up to them, but they don’t even notice me.
“Excuse me,” I say, but none of them look up. The girls have flopped down onto the road too. I guess their AC broke, and they’re stuck out here, not sure what to do.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to make my voice louder, but barely any sound comes out.
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