by Madison Faye
Royal Brat
Royally Screwed: Book 2
Madison Faye
Contents
Free Books Offer
Author’s Note
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Goodies
Double Daddies
Sugar & Spice
Claiming His Mountain Bride
Also by Madison Faye
Mailing List
About the Author
Copyright Notice
Copyright © 2018 Madison Faye
Cover: Coverlüv
Photography: Sara Eirew
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Author’s Note
This is a novella-length book of approximately 100 pages. I’ve included some extras in here as well, which may inflate the number of pages in your e-reader. So please be aware that this complete story of a book will end at ~30%.
Also, this book is exclusively available on Amazon.com. If you are purchasing this book from another platform, it is a pirated version! :(
Thanks so much for your support!
<3,
Madison
Blurb
She’s looking for trouble. Well, here I am.
Royal brat, meet royal hand of discipline.
And I’m going to teach that royal heiny a lesson she’ll never forget…
It takes a strong hand to be King. It takes discipline, and control. I may be rough around the edges, but as King, my rules will be followed, not challenged.
…That all goes to hell when she barges into my world. Duchess Riley Noles - blonde, blued-eye, and five-foot-four of pure f*cking trouble.
She’s wild, out of control and all sorts of challenging – a pretty little hurricane crashing right into me. And when I catch her red-handed screwing with my car, oh, there’s going to be hell to pay.
But then, this tempting little firecracker may have just found exactly the trouble she’s been looking for. And when her soft moans tease through my ears, and her sweet curves press against my hard body, the last of my meticulous control might just be broken.
She’s all sass and vinegar, but as King, I always get what I want. And with her, I’ll have it all – her body, her heart, and her sweet submission, over my knee and saying “yes please”.
You know what they say about pretty little rich girls who look for trouble: they always find it.
And Duchess Riley is about to find it with me.
…every inch of it.
Hear ye, hear ye! A Queen-sized helping of insta-love, kindle-melting steam, and a filthy-talking alpha, all for you. Hang on to your crown, and buckle up - this is going to get ridiculous real fast.
Ludicrously over the top, out of control, and pure dirty fantasy. As with all my books, this one is safe, with no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.
Chapter 1
Riley
“Motherfucker!”
I swore as my toe banged off the flagstone of the walkway, pain buzzing through my whole leg. I hissed, swearing again and flipping off the uneven stones of garden path. I whirled, storming deeper into the rose garden before my heel twisted on some other bullshit “weathered” stone, twisting my ankle along with it as I swore again.
“Goddamnit I hate this wedding,” I muttered to no one, since I was alone in King Milton’s gardens. I yanked my heels off, wincing as I rubbed my tender toe and sore ankle before I padded barefoot down the path some more.
I mean, it was one of my best friend’s wedding, and I knew I was supposed to be all fucking smiles and selfies and champagne. But yeah, no. Here I was giving the finger to pathway stones as I stole away to get a moment to myself. And really, Callie, the bride-of-the-hour, should’ve hated this wedding too. And she did actually, I mean she was marrying King Milton for God’s sake — this awful troll of a king, all so he would settle her parents’ debts. It was a pretty shit deal if you asked me. But then, I wasn’t one to talk much either. I had my own crap to bitch about.
Which is exactly the reason I was sneaking out through the side garden entrance of King Milton’s castle to sneak another drink and some alone time with my thoughts. I knew I should have been back there with Callie on her sham wedding day, and I would, later. But first, I indeed to decompress.
I glanced around, muttering another string of swears under my breath as I reached under my knee-length bridesmaids dress and snagged the little metal flask tucked into my garter belt.
Hey, this girl comes prepared.
The whiskey burned, but I swallowed it back, feeling the heat ease through me. I needed the burn — the escape from my whole predicament. And from him.
Ugh.
Welcome to the twenty-first century, where women of royalty were still expected to marry people they didn’t want to. In Callie’s case, it was to settle a debt and save her kingdom. That was actually pretty noble, even if it was a raw deal for her. But me? Nope, I just came from old fashioned, hard-ass, snob-nosed family, who’d “decided” it was time for me to get married. At nineteen. How shitty is that?
And even worse, they’d decided that my friend’s sham wedding was the perfect place for me to be formally introduced to my future sham husband. Fitting in a way, and I might have laughed at the irony if didn’t want to swear at it and drink instead.
Which is exactly what I was doing.
Prince Franklin Smothers, the fourth. I mean God, even his name was like a wet blanket. Smothers. I was going to be smothered by Prince Smothers. I really wish I could have laughed about it, but all I could manage was a pathetically forced chuckle. I’d always been a free spirit. Well, that's what my aunt called me. My parents called me a problem child — a hellion. And they were maybe a tiny bit right. But I just saw it as my duty to rebel against the bullshit they imposed on me, you know? Where they had rules like brick walls, I was going to be a damn wrecking ball. And even if I knew I had to meet Prince Wet-Blanket-McSmothers, I wasn’t going to do it with a smile on my face, that’s for sure.
Not this Duchess, thank you very much. Or at last, if it was a smile, it’d be one painted on there with alcohol. I ambled through the gardens, past roses and exotic plants. Callie might be marrying a troll, but his rose gardens were pretty amazing. So, she’d have that I guess.
I meandered past the bushes, through some stone arches into a side field. This one had been turned into a temporary parking lot for the various limos, town cars, and foreign sports cars of all the royalty here for the wedding. My eyes lingered on one drab grey, boring, old looking town car, and I wondered if that was Prince Franklin’s.
Yuck.
I mean, it wasn’t quite as horrible as Callie. She’d never even dated — meaning Milton was going to be her first and only.
Barf.
I wasn’t supposed to have dated either, what with my “position” and our family’s “reputation,” but that hadn’t stopped me. I’d even gone all the way with one guy. It’d been pretty lame, and really fast, but at least I’d gotten it out of the way. It’s not like I “didn’t get what the big deal with sex was.” I knew it was supposed to be amazing, it’s just that my one time had sort of suc
ked. But at least I’d had that on my own terms, and I wouldn’t be losing my v-card to Prince Franklin Smothers.
I meandered past limos and town cars, sipping on my flask until my eyes landed on something gorgeous.
Wow.
The vintage Rolls Royce was beautiful — gleaming chrome, shining black, exquisitely detailed. I wasn’t even a car girl, but damn was that thing gorgeous. It was the kind of car that just looked like sex on wheels — moneyed, exclusive, luxurious sex on wheels, that is. I took another sip of my whiskey, grimacing as my eyes lingered on the car.
And then I scowled.
Yeah, it was pretty alright. But then, it probably belonged to another Prince Franklin, or a King Milton. It was some other rich, snobby, entitled, weak, rich asshole of a guy who’d bought good taste. The thought made me scowl even further, and I narrowed my eyes at the Rolls. Pretty, but owned by a douchebag.
I took another swig.
A dickhead car for a dickhead royal.
I paused, the wicked thought teasing into my head. And slowly, I grinned. I glanced around. The guards and the chauffeurs were clear on the other side of the field. Slowly, I slipped my heel off, hefting the shoe in my hand and holding onto the metal buckle between two fingers. I brought it to the side of the car, and as the giggle started from in my throat, I started to draw.
…A dick, naturally. A full shaft, a big, thick head, and two heavy balls, scratched across the side of the priceless car.
I giggled again as I added some pubes above it, snorting at how hilarious I was. And I was just finishing with the last little touches, when suddenly, the voice behind me made me scream as I dropped my shoe.
“The fuck are you doing?!”
I gasped, heart in my throat as I whirled. My pulse skipped a beat, my whole body froze, and slowly, my eyes dragged up every single inch of his huge, imposing, muscled body. They landed on a pair of glinting blue eyes, and my heart stopped for a second. Gorgeous blue eyes, thick dark hair, a scruff on his chiseled, perfect chin, and a regal jaw clenched tight. The older, beautiful, powerful looking man towered over me, and there was fury behind his face.
“I—”
The fight or flight impulse took over, and I whirled. I even started to just make a run for it, but his hand shot out like lightning and caught my wrist fast. I gasped as he tugged, spinning me around and slamming me back against the car as he moved into me. My pulse roared through my ears, the heat from his large body sizzling into my skin.
“I’m going to count to three, you little brat,” he growled. And then I want to know exactly why you just scratched a cock on my fucking car.”
Chapter 2
Sven
My muscles tensed. My skin tingled. My eyes narrowed at the tempting, teasingly sexy little troublemaker squirming under my grip.
…And my cock throbbed.
“Brat,” I growled
Her jaw dropped, and her brows knit together. “Uh, excuse me?”
I gritted my teeth. No apology, no trembling or mumbling out any sort of excuse. Nothing. I was six-foot-four and two twenty of pure muscle, and this little waif of a blondie standing in front of me didn’t even flinch. She just set her jaw, narrowed her eyes right back at me, and sneered.
“What did you just call me?”
My anger flashed as my eyes darted past her at the car — the vintage fucking 1962 Rolls Royce Phantom. I’d rebuilt the thing by hand, by myself. Yes, kings can do that sort of thing. Not all, and not many, I’ll grant that. In fact, most men of my means and position would just buy the car and pay someone else to make it nice so they could drive it once and claim it was their work.
But nah, not me. When something needed doing, I did it my damn self. In politics, in running my kingdom, and in fixing up a dream car. And this little brat had just keyed a fucking dick into it. My gaze shifted back to her, and I felt my blood run hot.
Fuck.
She was gorgeous. Sinfully, temptingly, very inconveniently gorgeous. And not in some tarted-up overtly sexy way either, though she was sexy as fuck. No, she was gorgeous in this natural beauty way. I wished it was the former though. If she was some trampy little princess in high heels and a too-short dress, like some of those tabloid-hungry club-girl type royals, it’d be easy to chew her out. I’d have her in tears running for daddy in seconds, attitude or not. And I’d be in the right too, for the fuck-up she’d done to my car.
But something told me this girl was different. Very very different.
Those sharp blue eyes stared right back at me, defiant, full of fucking sass and piss and vinegar. Her full, pouty lips pulled tight with that little petulant scowl on her face, like I was the asshole here. And she was young. Not too young, but nineteen? Twenty? Certainly younger than my thirty-six.
Certainly too tempting. Certainly getting too far under my fucking skin.
“I called you a brat,” I growled, watching her tongue dart out to wet her lips.
Fuck.
My cock twitched, thickening and hardening as my balls swelled and my pulse thundered. My eyes dropped to the flask in her hand, and my brow raised.
“Drinking along with keying peoples’ cars?”
She shrugged. “So?”
“You seem rather fine to have carved a fucking cock in my Goddamn car,” I snarled, moving towards her as my anger flashed. This time, she did shiver — just a little bit before she hid it, but enough for me to grin to myself.
Got ya.
Not as stone-cold as she wanted to pretend she was.
“This car is basically a dick, so...” She shrugged, smiling sweetly. “I think I just added to it, really. You should thank me.”
“What I should do is teach you a fucking lesson.”
The words growled out before I could even think them over. But fuck it. I guess part of me may have censored something like that, but in that moment, I didn’t care. I did care though when I watched her cheeks go pink and her bottom lip catch between her teeth. Oh, that got my attention.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I growled.
Fuck it, she wanted to play this game? I could go much further than her. We’d see how long she kept up this tough girl act when I stopped playing nice and soft like most of the royal dickheads she was probably used to.
“I said I should teach you a fucking lesson,” I muttered.
“Like?”
“Like how not to key peoples’ fucking cars.”
“Oh, am I getting a stern talking to?” she shot back.
“How about you get a stern bent over my knee while I spank that bratty ass of yours?”
Silence descended, her eyes going wide and her breath catching quietly.
…And my cock aching.
The thought of that visual — her over my knees, that little dress pulled up, that tight young perky ass under my palm, her warm skin tingling after I spanked her? I growled to myself, shaking my head.
“Who are you here with?”
“I’m here with myself.”
“I mean who did you come to this wedding for. Which side of the aisle are you on?”
“Which side are you on?”
Goddamnit. She was infuriating. And enticing. And making me hungrier for her by the damn second.
“I want to know so that—”
“So that you can what?” she tossed back. “Rat me out like a tattle-tale?”
“Which part of my car are you not getting?” I growled.
“I have to go.”
Astoundingly, she started to walk away. Yeah, fuck that. I grabbed her wrist, pulling her back as she gasped loudly.
“Let go of me!”
“Listen to me you little princess,” I hissed.
“Do you know who I am?”
I smiled thinly. “I don’t give a shit who you are.”
Lies. I wanted to know every-fucking-thing about this girl.
“Riley Noles,” she said curtly. “Duchess of Irin.”
I smiled. “And is
that supposed to impress me?”
She scowled at me. “And who are you, someone’s chauffeur?”
I kept smiling.
“A butler? A manservant? Bodyguard?”
But I just shook my head, holding her firmly.
“Let go of me, I’m in the fucking wedding party and I have to get back.”
Interesting.
“Oh are you now?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “I’m one of Princess Callie’s bridesmaids. Who are you here with?”
“No one.”
“Then let go of—”
“My name is Sven Arding,” I growled.
Riley suddenly stopped struggling, and her face went bright red as her eyes went wide.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” I growled. “As in King Sven.”
“This is your car.”
“I think we’ve said that,” I purred, my blood pumping hot like fire. Fuck, just being near her like that had my skin tingling and my brain chemistry firing wildly.
“Just like we said you’re in some fucking trouble.”
She swallowed thickly, her face reddening.
Good.
Looked like I’d just found a way through the little brat’s armor. I growled, moving closer, watching her back into my scratched up car.
“Look I’m sorry, okay?”
“You don’t really sound that sorry.” I was messing with her, toying with her now that I had her caught like this.
She glared at me. “Well maybe I’m not.”
“Maybe you will be,” I growled.
“You still gonna punish me?” she said with an overly sweet, sarcasm-laden smile.
And I don’t even know what snapped or clicked or whatever inside of me, but it did. Her tempting body. Her snide little looks. The teasing way she was defiant of me, so ready to break the rules. That way she got under my skin and got my blood pumping hot. I wanted her and I wanted to teach her a lesson in manners all at the same time.