The Billionaire & the Princess

by Katherine E Hunt

  “Yes,” replies Jen. “The sex though…”

  “Right? Jonny satisfies all of my needs, but my god that guy was a beast in bed.”

  Holly leans in. “So Chad’s single now?”

  “Ewww. Don’t you even think about it.” Becky squirms. “You’re my sister. Eww, no, just no.”

  Jen giggles. “Yeah, that would seriously tip our group of friends into some sort of partner swapping cult and the Hamptons just aren’t ready for that. Not publicly, anyway.”

  “And Caitlyn, how are things with you and your boss … uh … I mean Hank?” asks Becky. Oh, she’s on fine form tonight.

  “Great,” I reply. What am I supposed to say? That we can’t keep our hands off of each other, that just the thought of him gets me hot and bothered.

  “And the sex?”

  I look over at Jen, cringing. “Uh … great?” The flush rises in my face.

  “Because I think we can all agree that that guy’s playing with some serious equipment.”

  “He’d need a longer apron, if he was to play butler for you, that’s for sure,” says Claire, joining in with the teasing for once.

  I press my lips together. In my experience the only way to deal with people like Becky, unless you know them as well as these women do, is to play along. I don’t need to get her back up again, seeing as I’ve been given special permission to photograph her wedding tomorrow. “I certainly can’t complain,” I reply raising my glass. “Cheers to great sex.” Jen pretends to retch, but holds up her glass anyway.

  “That’s the spirit. Although, be careful, you don’t want to end up like Claire here, who hasn’t seen her feet since March.”

  The mood is playful and once we’ve finished with our feet, the butlers entertain us with a few party games. Their version of pin the tail on the donkey, with a life-size cardboard cutout of Jonny is inspired.

  A couple of hours later and we’re all sitting around, perfectly sozzled. Claire is lain out on the couch and the rest of us are sitting on the floor. All the special guests have departed and only a few bottles of champagne remain, accompanied by an untouched selection of cakes that would blow your mind. I’m dying to dive in, but it’s clear that neither an éclair nor a piece of sponge cake has passed these women’s lips since childhood … and even then.

  Someone knocks on the door. “More guests?” asks Becky.

  Everyone shakes their heads. Jen stands up to go answer it, but from the rowdy voices, our late-night guests have already decided to come in.

  The lads are here. Despite a strict ‘boyfriend ban’ imposed upon by Becky’s parents, they’ve snuck over from Ted’s house for a sneaky snuggle.

  From the sound of crashing furniture, loud giggles and then a collective ‘Shhh’, they are about as merry as we are.

  Three heads pop around the door. Jen and Holly look at each other and roll their eyes. “I’m going to need another drink,” says a sour-faced Jen.

  “I’ll join you.” The two of them grab a bottle each and head upstairs. There’s something so terribly comforting about not being the single girl right now. Not least that my drunken hunk of a boyfriend is looming towards me, arms open, lips puckered.

  I’ve only ever experienced drunk Hank once before, well, admittedly he was drunk and high, so it probably doesn’t count, but it hadn’t ended so well. Hopefully tonight will include less public nudity and more fornication in forbidden places.

  “Hey, Princess. You look so pretty.” He fingers the collar of my silk pajamas, his hand sinking down to my chest. “You wanna go sit outside?” That Southern slur is back. Hey, Cowboy.

  “Okay.” I grab a bottle of champagne and a whole frosted chocolate cake, stand and all. Well, I can’t let it go to waste.

  It’s a warm night. It has to be late, around midnight, but the moon is out and the garden is lit with pretty lights leading down towards the beach. An old wooden building stands at the end of the garden. At home we’d have called it a shed, in comparison to the size of Jen’s house, but it is in fact big enough for a British family of three.

  Hank’s tipsy retelling of the evening’s adventures as he ambled down the garden, my hand in his, is utterly delightful. The men have had just as much fun as us.

  “What is this place?” I ask as Hank fumbles around trying to find the hidden key.

  “It’s the boathouse, or at least it used to be. Jen wanted an office and reading room, so I did it up for her last year. It was one of my very first projects, just before I renovated the apartment.” Key finally in hand, he unlocks the door and ushers me in.

  “Oh my god it’s beautiful.” The inside is beautifully renovated, not at all the rickety spider filled cabin I’m expecting. The walls are lined with handmade bookshelves, just as he had done in his new property. To our left Jen has installed a desk, looking out onto her garden and to our right, there’s a large comfy couch.

  “Jen loves to read too, she’s the one who got me into books when I was a kid.” He walks over and opens the unfolding French doors, then pulls down a fitted mosquito net.

  From the couch you can sit comfortably, a reading lamp overhead, book in hand, view of the ocean. Paradise.

  Hank sits down on the couch and pulls me on top of him. “I have a confession to make.”

  “You do?” This doesn’t bode well. Drunken Hank is often synonymous with horny Hank.

  “Yes. Chad arranged for strippers at the party. I looked, and I tipped, but I didn’t touch.” He bows his head like a naughty schoolboy.

  “We had nearly naked butlers. They might have gotten a few tips too.” Head bent down, I peck him on the lips.

  “What?” His jaw drops. “And you didn’t…” He flashes a cheeky grin, but there’s a hint of angst in his questioning. Jealous much?

  “Touch? Maybe.”

  “Really?” His eyebrows shoot up.

  “Of course not. And not just because I’m spoken for, but also because that’s wrong. And you didn’t get a lap-dance, I suppose? I find that hard to believe.”

  He scrunches up his nose. “No. The other guys really wanted me too, but it’s never really been my thing.”

  “And?”

  “And all I could think about was you, obviously.” Two could play at the teasing game.

  “Obviously.” I thrust my pelvis forward, sashay my hips, swaying from side to side over his crotch. “I could give you one now if you like.”

  Arms raised above my head, I writhe around, grinding onto him until his cock is bursting to get out of his pants. I shimmy my breasts into his face, rolling back my shoulders and pushing the tips of my nipples against his mouth. He’s really getting into it, clumsily kissing my chest and opening my pajamas button by button.

  “I thought you didn’t like lap dances.”

  He looks up at me, gasping as I grind down into him. “I could get a taste for them.”

  Grabbing his curly locks, I pull his head back and kiss him hard, devouring him.

  The control arouses me, I’m in charge, for once, and that excites me to my core. The more he groans and writhes beneath me, wanting me, the wetter I get.

  I lean back, my hands grabbing his shoulders and inspect at the fine specimen of a man before me, taking a moment to enjoy the view. He lifts his hand and ruffled his hair back into place. “You got a new watch?” It’s flashy, like perfume advert flashy.

  “Oh this, it was a gift for the groomsmen.” That little gift must have cost the price of a family car.

  Becky had given a gift to her wedding party tonight too, jewelry, make-up, expensive lingerie. Basically, everything they all had free and easy access to at home. They’d opened them in front of me.

  It stings being left out in that way. Constantly reminded of my place. Tomorrow I will go back to being an employee and whilst they party the day away I’ll have to content myself with watching it all from thirty feet away.

  I grab Hank’s shirt and rip it open, leaning back and savoring his perfect pecs, the glisten of sw
eat on his creased up abs. I unbutton his pants and release his cock, grabbing the shaft and slowly swirling my thumb around the tip. I might not be in charge of many things in my life right now, but I am the captain of the boathouse.

  Stepping off, I drop my silk pants to the floor revealing a sexy little lacy thong. I’d like to say I’ve dressed for the occasion, but it was the last thing in my underwear drawer. I’d brought it with me to the US on a whim and I still hadn’t caught up on my laundry. It chafes and pulls at all the wrong places, but from the look on Hank’s face, it’s having the desired effect. I whisk it off and throw it in the air, standing naked before him.

  He pulls a condom out of his back pocket and I grab it, ripping it open with my teeth. This gets that little drunken chuckle out of him that I’d fallen for on the plane and my heart melts. If only he knew just how much I loved him.

  But that was never the goal, it can never happen. I bite my lip and my frustration turns up a notch.

  I have that condom on him in seconds, climbing back over him and sliding down onto his impressive cock. We’ve not yet done it with me on top, but any worries I have about being too shallow for him disappear as he fills me to my core.

  My arousal peaks and I pleasure myself with my fingers as I slowly ride up and down on him, making myself come with such ease. As I tighten around him, my body shivering in pleasure, he moans so loudly that I have to kiss it right out of him. No need to wake the neighbors.

  I increase my rhythm, placing his hands on my butt to help me as my legs grow tired. Faster and faster I fuck him, easing the nervous tension out of my body, turning my anger into something wild and liberated.

  My hands firmly gripping his shoulders, his moans intensify. I pump up and down, faster and faster, until his whole body stiffens beneath me.

  But still, I carry on, as he releases, riding and riding him, harder and harder.

  “Caitlyn stop.” He puts his hands on my hips and holds me to him. “You’re hurting me.”

  I look down at his confused, wounded face and slide back to release him from my grasp.

  “Sorry.” Fuck. “Oh my god. Shit, sorry.” I put my hand to my mouth, ashamed by my selfishness. Sex is a two-player game.

  The tears are a release. I sit there, balanced on his lap, and sob my heart out. Two strong arms pull me into him, holding my crying, naked body against his.

  He wipes a tear from my cheek and peers into my eyes. “What’s going on Caitlyn?”

  “I’m sorry; I just don’t feel like I’m in control of anything at the moment. This whole … situation, the lying, Becky and her biting remarks about us, it’s all too much. I’m so sorry I didn’t want to hurt you. I got carried away.” Lying to his family, lying to him. I’m constantly having to check myself.

  “It’s fine, it’s just, you know, you’ve got to stop when it’s over. You didn’t hurt hurt me, it just chafed a bit.” He pushes me up, removes the condom, ties it up and chucks it onto the floor, then checks himself before pulling me back to his chest. “I’m sorry you’ve got the rough end of the stick, if you’ll excuse the pun. But I’ve got some good news that might cheer you up. I think I’ve sold my house.”

  “You did?” I can’t help but grin at him through my snotty, tear-stained face. This is what he’s been working so hard for, my heart bursts with pride. “Did you get what you wanted for it?”

  “They didn’t even haggle. It means I can give up the magazine, on the agreement that you keep your job, of course, and start out on my own, with my own money. I’ve known for a week or so, but I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure. I sign on Monday.”

  I’ll keep my job? Not a hope in hell. As soon as he announces to the world that he is going into the hammer and nails business full-time, I will be out on my ear. I take a deep breath. Hank lives in his fantasy world where everything will turn out alright. It almost feels like this is a game sometimes, this war between him and his parents. And I’m a pawn.

  I throw my smile back on my face; I’ve already taken out enough frustration on this guy for one night. “That is so exciting. And here’s me being a Debbie Downer, when we should be celebrating.” I stepped off of him and slipped my clothes back on. “How about we open that bottle of champagne and do dirty things with chocolate frosting? Then we can sit here and watch the sun come up and you can tell me all about your next project.”

  He pulls me back down onto his lap and kisses me, so sweetly it makes me want to cry again. “I can’t imagine my life without you,” he says as he tucks my hair behind my ear. “Any woman who will happily let me talk drywall and drains, she’s a keeper.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Caitlyn

  Wedding Day. I’m up early to capture photos of the flurry of hairstylists, make-up artists and the battalion of beauty providers. The bride and her party are already preened and primped on a normal day; how could they possibly improve on that? From the looks of things it is going to involve temporary hair extensions and under-eye masks to try to make them all look a little less like they haven’t slept a wink all night.

  Becky rushes from room to room screaming I’m getting married today! whilst everyone queues for the shower.

  “You have a leaf in your hair,” I say, plucking half a tree out of the nest of hair on Claire’s head.

  “You have boathouse on your ass,” replies Claire, raising her eyebrows.

  “Sorry, what?” How does she know?

  “They don’t soundproof boathouses; I think everybody in the street knows what you did last night.”

  “The boathouse, huh?” said Jen, joining the queue. “Ah young love! I hope you tidied up after yourselves. What about you, Claire, what devastation did you do in my beautiful garden?”

  “That old swing-set will never be the same.”

  “Eww, guys, TMI!” says Becky, coming to see why there’s a traffic jam in the hallway. “Who’s in there? They’re taking ages.”

  “Well, unless it’s Holly, I think we have an intruder.”

  “Someone call my name?” asks Holly, as she walked out of the bathroom in only a skimpy thong.

  “Ugh, that woman is a masterpiece,” says Claire, watching Holly slink back to her room. “I used to look like that.”

  “Claire, you are beautiful, you are giving life to a child, now concentrate please. Five-minute shower, hair washed only if you’ve been instructed to have wet hair by the hairstylist. Go girls go, time is ticking!”

  By ten they are all in their matching wedding bathrobes, undies on, hair in rollers, getting their nails and make-up done.

  Claire and Holly are checking out the photos the boys have been posting on social media all morning, looking so gorgeous in their dark blue suits and ties.

  The dresses had been delivered first thing. The bouquets have arrived too, bunches of white flowers each tied up with a simple blue ribbon.

  The cars are due at eleven and by ten forty-five they are all standing in the living room, waiting for the blushing bride.

  Becky floats down the stairs, looking perfect. Not a hair out of place, not a pimple or a smudge.

  It hadn’t been easy, convincing everybody to accept that she wasn’t marrying Chad, but she is too excited about finally marrying the love of her life to let anything bring her down. I smile at her, bending down to take a full length photo. “You look beautiful; Jonny’s going to be so proud.”

  She heads towards her girls, arms wide open, for a group hug. But the wedding organizer, furious, runs over, ripping her from their arms. “No hugging!” The risk of make-up smudging has been elevated to a code red.

  As we enter Becky’s parents’ house most of the guests have already arrived and are seated. The groom is nervously waiting with his best men, checking that they have all remembered what to do and who has the rings.

  I swirl around discretely taking natural photos of everybody. I’m going to have some great shots.

  The wedding organizer arrives and informs Jonny that it is time to go a
nd await his bride by the altar. “Chad you will now be walking the bride’s sister down the aisle, so the order is, you and Holly, then Hank with Jen, then Ted with Claire. Everyone got that? Good. Remember, slow steps in rhythm, don’t fuck it up. Those are the bride’s words, not mine.”

  Jonny hurries off. They all stand in the salon which leads out to the garden, where the entire riches of The Hamptons are seated, starting to roast in the midday heat. I spot Hank and take a second to admire my man. He is adjusting his tie, trying to stop his wavy Italian curls from flopping in front of his face. I’ve never seen him in a tuxedo before, and I’m not disappointed. The way his trousers curve sublimely around his tight little butt and the jacket, how it flatters his broad shoulders, his biceps bursting to get out. Is it so bad that all I can imagine is ripping it off of him?

  He looks up, grins at me, sensing I am devouring him with my eyes, then he checks me out and nods.

  Are we both doing-it in our heads right now? Very possibly.

  The organizer grabs Chad and Holly, links her arm through his. “You start walking slowly when the music starts. When these two arrive at the altar the next couple leaves, got it? Good! As the bride would say ...”

  “Don’t fuck it up!” they chorus and the organizer blushes.

  “Quietly,” he adds, out of the side of his mouth.

  I rush down to the middle of the aisle, crouching down to avoid bothering anybody.

  The music begins, and Chad and Holly start walking towards me. “So I hear you and Jen didn’t work out,” says Holly. “So you’re, like single?” She flutters her eyelids and gives him her most seductive smile. Snake.

  Jen loops her arm into Hank’s. Off they go. “Seriously, the boathouse? Do you have no shame?”

  “The swing-set was already occupied,” replies Hank, winking at me as they drift past.

  They go left and right at the altar and Claire and Ted start waddling down. “Did you remember to feed Mr. Whiskers this morning,” asks Claire.

  “Yeah, you know he pooped right next to the litter tray again.” He replies, causing his wife to roll her eyes.