Dirty Royals Read online

  Soon enough, my muscles heat, relaxing under the wave of bliss crashing through me as I tighten around my fingers, Alex’s name on the tip of my tongue as I come.

  I’ll come on my fingers all day long thinking about him and find grave satisfaction knowing he’ll never have a clue.

  4

  Alex

  After I got in this morning, I made a phone call to a "friend" at The Daily Mail.

  I wanted to ensure the story on the front page was exactly as it should be. Then I slept until noon, waking with a hard-on when I heard Lily's voice carry down the hallway. After I stretch, I do what any normal man does in the morning: jerk one off in the shower then get dressed—only unlike most other men, I have nothing to do.

  I mill about, running into Mary who suggests I have tea. Proper British etiquette and all. When I say I'll have liquor, she gives me one of her signature sour-puss scowls. I doubt that woman’s had a day of fun in her entire life.

  When I walk into the empty dining room, the middle-aged florist busing herself with an arrangement of lilies and peonies looks up and smiles. I acknowledge her before taking a seat at the head of the table. She keeps bending and fluffing, the rustling her fuss creates nearly drives me insane.

  The wooden door creaks open and a brunette I’ve never before seen approaches the table with a tea set, the dishes rattling. The tremble to her hand as she pours my Earl’s Grey tells me she must be new. Most girls get nervous on day one. Maybe I should feel bad about that, but I’m well aware of the reputation I’ve been awarded: Arrogant. Never pleased. Asshole. Then again, at least they know what they’re getting into when they accept the job.

  I eye the delicate swirl of steam wafting from the bone china before slowly lifting my gaze to hers. She’s so young and full of hope. Time to squash that, I guess. “It's past noon.” I shove the teacup away with an indignant turn of my nose. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

  “I-I’m sorry, Your Highness. Mary said I wasn’t to—”

  “Mary doesn't get to make decisions for me. I’ll have gin.” I furrow my brow and check my watch, fighting the smile that threatens to break free as she scurries off.

  I shouldn’t enjoy being a dick as much as I do, but I have nothing else to entertain myself with. My life has been laid out on a silver platter, making it impossible for me to find joy in the simple things most do, like a wink from a stranger or a set of eyes that linger too long. Everyone stares. Everyone knows me. Every-fucking-one bends over backwards no matter how ludicrous my demands are.

  “Alex!” The door bangs against the wall.

  Everyone except her.

  A twinge of excitement darts up my spine at the sound of Lily’s heels clicking over the floor behind me. She stops beside me with red cheeks, then slams a copy of The Daily Mail onto the banquet table.

  The florist shoots a curious glance in our direction before busying herself with the arrangement again.

  Lily leans beside my ear, and I take an obvious whiff of her hair. I swear if anger had an aroma, I’d catch a hint of that as well because I can feel it bristling off her. “Tell me you didn’t.” Oh, her voice is shaking.

  “Well, there’s lots of things I didn’t.” A blond tendril of hair slips from her clip and I twirl it around my finger.

  She swats my hand away like I’m nothing but a pestering fly, then jabs at the print in front of me. “This. Did. You. Say. This?”

  The headline above her manicured nail reads: Prince Alex’s Lawyer Has a Second Job as a Stripper. Underneath it is a full-page article regaling how I heroically swooped into London’s seediest night club in an attempt to save my poor, sex-crazed lawyer.

  I shrug a shoulder. “Since I’m without a PR manager, I figured I should take matters into my own hands. After all, the reason so much attention was brought to my little visit to The Bunny Bin was due to you…”

  Her nostrils flare.

  “This article makes me look like a saint. You should be happy.”

  She straightens, pinching the bridge of her nose as she takes a breath and closes her eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “I know.” I grin wide

  Lily's perfect lips purse and I'm so busy imaging how they'd feel around my hard cock, I don't hear New Girl slip in until the crystal tumbler clinks against the table.

  “Your gin, sire.”

  “Sire. I like that.” Arching a brow, I lift the drink to my lips and dismiss her with an indignant wave of my hand.

  Lily huffs. “You could say thank you.” She’s so flustered, so angry, and a fool if she thinks I don’t catch her wandering gaze dropping to my lips every few seconds.

  “Do you use one finger or two?” I take another sip, and her brows pinch together. “When you finger-fuck yourself thinking of me. How many fingers do you use?”

  The florist knocks the vase over, fumbling for a linen to soak up the puddle of water.

  Lily’s lips quiver. She goes to open her mouth, then immediately snaps it shut. I was only joking, but given the red blotches breaking out over her chest, I think little Lily has absolutely fucked herself wishing it were me. The image of her, legs spread, fingers buried to the knuckles as she moans my name makes my cock stir to life. She wants me—that dirty fucking liar.

  “I bet your pussy’s so tight you only need one, huh, kitten?” With a wink, I push up from the table, adjust my dick, then grab my gin and tonic.

  “You are…”

  “What wet dreams are made of, evidently.” I keep walking and she groans.

  There is nothing worse to a woman like that than being caught with her fingers in her cunt. The distinct clip-clop of heels over the marble floor echoing from behind me quicken with each step.

  I take another slow sip, strolling past the line of portraits secured within gold-gilded frames. Lily struts past me and my eyes go to her ass. I like the way her hips aggressively swish from side to side. I’ll have to piss her off more often.

  “We need to talk,” she says when she turns into the office, but instead of following her, I go left, ascending the stairwell spiraling to the upper floor.

  I’m nearly to the top before she storms out of the office. “Alex!” Her voice resounds into the tall ceilings, and I peer over the railing at her. Her fists are dug into her hips. We lock eyes for a moment, like two predators staring each other down. Soon enough she’ll be forced to admit I’m much more well-versed at this game than she is.

  “We need to talk.”

  I take another swig of my gin before disappearing into my room.

  The usual click of her shoes has morphed into determined thuds that thunder down the hallway. Fighting a laugh, I finish my drink and set the glass on the dresser before kicking off my shoes.

  When Lily throws open the door, I’ve managed to fumble out of my shirt and unfastened my buckle. Much to my disappointment, I’m still in my trousers. I was hoping to already have my cock in my hand.

  She burst in shaking her finger at me. “You have got to stop—” Her eyes fall to my open fly, lingering for only a second before they dart to the floor. The slight hint of pink that stains her checks makes my dick throb. Those perfect breasts of hers rise on a shallow breath, and I smirk. Poor little thing is caving.

  “You were saying?” I take a few steps toward her, and she moves back.

  “Why are you undressing yourself?”

  “Why did you follow me into my room?”

  She pops her hip to the side and crosses her arms over her chest. “Someone needs to set some boundaries with you. It looks like I’m the only one willing to do that.”

  I step toward her and she stumbles back. “Boundaries?” I can't help but bite at my bottom lip. It's cute that she thinks she'll exercise authority over me. It really is.

  For each step I take toward her, she moves in the opposite direction. Eventually, she’s at the foot of the bed, and I’m between her and the doorway. Perfect.

  “If you’re trying to make me quit, you may as well g
ive up.” Her gaze shifts from me to the exit then back, dropping to my crotch before she quickly looks away.

  “Oh, I’m not trying to make you quit.” I close what little space there is between us. Her legs bump the footboard; the only place she can go is the bed. And she’s only allowed on that if I’m on top of her. “All I’m trying to do,” I say, “is fuck you before you’re fired.”

  Her eyes flash wide and her jaw tenses. I step even closer until her body is flush against mine, but she doesn’t budge. The heat of her body serves as a welcomed temptation, and while I know I shouldn’t touch her, I can’t help but skim a single fingertip from her shoulder to the curve of her neck. She's soft and warm, just like I imagined.

  Goose bumps break out over her fair skin, and she inhales a sharp intake of breath. There’s a long pause where the air feels electrically charged. I’ve got her just where I want her. Pissed and turned-on and at the foot of my bed…

  Closing her eyes, she rolls her bottom lip underneath her teeth. “I’m not getting fired, Alex.”

  With a smirk, I comb my fingers through her thick hair, then fist it. “Maybe not.” I brush my lips over her jaw, and her hands find their way to the waist of my boxers. “But you will fuck me,” I say.

  She leans in and moans by my ear before she grabs my balls through my boxers and squeezes. “I’m not fucking you. Ever.”

  The pain shooting through my groin causes my knees to buckle on a groan. When she releases me, I collapse onto the mattress, cupping my junk. I want to tell her to fuck off, but all that comes out is a weak “Fuuuu…"

  I can’t even breathe right now, much less curse at her. I’m face down, gasping into the down comforter.

  “Get your shit together because I’m not dealing with it.” And then the doors slam closed.

  I shouldn't have such a hard-on for her, but I've never experienced a challenge. And I'm finding that I enjoy it very much, nut crushing and all.

  * * *

  _____

  It’s unusually warm for London, and I’m not too keen on the thin sheen of sweat forming on my brow as I walk to the pub with my friend Henry.

  A group of leggy brunettes approach, giggling and winking.

  “Quick." Henry grabs the brass pull to the bar and opens the door. Loud cheering and the smell of fried food spills onto the street. “They’re going to stop you. And we’ll miss the start of the game.”

  He ducks inside, but I don’t follow. After a few seconds, he steps back onto the sidewalk and groans. “Go on then, get your ego wanked a few times.”

  The girls stop, and two of them shove the other in front of me. She stumbles, batting her eyes bashfully as she holds out her phone to Henry, her gaze glued on me. “Could we get a picture with you?”

  “Of course.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders, jerking my chin in invitation for the other girls to join us. Several selfies later—one of which I’m kissing the shortest of the group on the cheek, they’re prancing off and blowing kisses over their shoulders.

  “That just made their day,” I say.

  Henry’s brow furrows and he shakes his head when he yanks open the door.

  We make ourselves comfortable at a vacant table in the back of the pub, one where we can still see the television and get the attention of the barkeep. We slam back a pint of beer and watch the game, jeering when Portugal scores a goal. While I do have an affinity for football, even that’s not enough to keep my mind from drifting to thoughts of Lily.

  England scores, and most everyone in the pub pushes to their feet, shouting as they raise their glasses in the air to toast the person beside them. The old man a few feet over spills half his cider. It's when I glance at the foaming puddle on the floor that I see a pair of red heels step right over it. My gaze follows the long legs to the hem of a white summer dress. Lily. Her blond hair is pulled into a high ponytail and a scattering of freckles dust her cheeks. From here, it looks like she doesn’t have on any makeup, just some shiny pink lip-gloss, and much to my dismay, she’s even more attractive this way.

  My eyes never leave her while I chug the remainder of my beer. The plain Jane at the table with her leaves. Poor Lily looks bored scrolling on her phone. Just as I stand with every intention to take the empty seat next to Lily, a guy dressed in a navy cardigan steps beside her. Good luck with that, bell end. Any minute, I expect she’ll shove him away, shaking a finger in his face and scolding him for daring to approach her, but then, she smiles at him. And when he brushes a stray wisp of hair from her face, she glances demurely at the floor.

  For fuck's sake. He’s in a cardigan! And slacks that look like they’ve been pressed. So that’s the kind of guy she goes for? One who most likely works in some menial job and reads the paper while he shits. Unbelievable!

  “Mate. What are you doing?” Henry glances to the side and spots Lily. “That's the lawyer-slash-stripper?”

  “She’s not really a stripper.”

  His brows pinch together.

  “I made that up to get under her skin.”

  “You’re such a cockle.” He laughs before jerking his head in her direction. “That her boyfriend?”

  “I don’t fucking know, Henry.”

  A sick grin twists his lips and he takes a slow sip of beer. “Looks like she’s done a proper job of getting under your skin.”

  “She’s a pain in the arse.”

  “Right.”

  The two lovebirds take a seat at one of the high-top tables, and she catches me watching her. Her eyes go wide, her face pales. I arch a brow and shift my gaze toward the prick cozied up to her. She slowly shakes her head. The woman believes a silent plea will be enough to have me leave her alone? What a grave mistake on her part. After a pint of beer, no matter how hard I try, there is no controlling the asshole within.

  Smoothing a hand over my shirt, I weave through the crowded bar. With each step, my lips deepen into a devious grin. I grab a spare stool from the table behind theirs and slide it between them. I don’t acknowledge Cardigan Fuckboy when I take my seat, I only focus on Lily and that low-cut dress she’s wearing, I bet just to be a cock tease.

  “I haven’t seen you at work.”

  Her eyes flutter as though it's a struggle not to roll them. “I’ve been working from home.”

  “Oh. I see.” Cardigan clears his throat, and I throw an annoyed glance at him. “It's poor manners not to introduce me to your boyfriend, Lily.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “I’m Thomas Rhett." He extends his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The way his thin lips curl around his too-large teeth bothers me. I glance at his open palm, then back at his teeth.

  “I would shake, but per her”—I point at Lily—“anyone who touches me must fill out a non-disclosure.” I clasp my hands on the tabletop.

  “Oh, for the love of…” She rubs at her temples. “Would you just leave!”

  “Lily!” Tom interjects, immediately shrinking under her fiery glare.

  “Don’t, Tom. I’ve had a migraine for the past three days because of this prick.”

  She shoves an accusing finger at me, which I slowly lower while producing a charming smile. “I hear a lack of sex causes headaches.”

  Her elbows hit the table with a thud. While she buries her face in her palms, Tom stares slack jawed. I guess he expected a royal to have more couth.

  “My balls are still a little sore from the other day," I whisper, trailing a finger over her forearm before she's able to snatch it away like I've burned her. “But you know I like it when you’re rough like that, kitten.”

  A soft hiss is the only response I receive. Tom’s mouth keeps opening and closing as though he’s grappling with what exactly to say. With a pleased smile, I stand and pat his back. “If you get lucky tonight, be sure to watch her; she’s got nails. Also, she’s not a fan of anal.”

  “You’ve slept with him?” Tom sounds like a hysterical little girl.

  “Please. Of course I haven�
�t slept with him.” She glares at me, her eye twitching and nostrils flaring. I’ll give it to her…if looks could kill, that one may very well end me.

  There’s a spring in my step when I circle behind Tom. “Blowjobs don’t count as intercourse, mate." And I whack him one more time on the back for good measure before I strut back to the table where Henry waits with another pint of beer. I think if Lily had her way, she’d hate me. After all, there is a thin line between love and hate. Or so they say. I wouldn't know anything about love.

  5

  lily

  Karen shoulders her way through the pub, spilling most of her cider before she falls onto the stool. She glances from me to the empty stool beside me. “Where'd Tom go?”

  “He left.”

  “He just got here."

  “Well…” I angrily thumb toward the booth in the corner where Alex sits, most likely smirking. “He came over and insinuated that I'd sucked his dick."

  Karen's mouth shapes a perfect O. Then her brow creases. “Have you?"

  “No!”

  Shrugging, she lifts her glass and tips it back. When she sets it on the table, there's a small line of foam on her upper lip.

  I stare across the pub at Alex, who every so often shoots me a sexy-as-fuck grin. God, I hate his horrible ass.

  “What date was this with Tom?”

  “Three.”

  “He was too…” Karen scrunches her nose like she’s caught a whiff of week-old fish. “Boring.”

  “Yeah. But he was nice.”

  “Nice guys are never nice. They end up being assholes. And the assholes usually end up being the ones who treat you like a princess.”

  I arch a brow at her before taking a swig of my drink. “And how did you come to this conclusion?”

  “I’ve dated both. Once the nice guys get you hooked, they turn into jealous knobs. The assholes end up putty in your hands.”