Princely Passions: A Royal Romance
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Princely Passions
A Royal Romance
Alexis Angel
Naughty Angel Publishing
Princely Passions
A Royal Romance
By Alexis Angel
Copyright 2017 by Alexis Angel
All rights reserved
Kindle Edition
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
Join Alexis’ Naughty Angel’s Newsletter and find yourself in a world of sin. Open only for Naughty Angels who don’t mind getting their halo dirty.
Contents
Note From The Author
Description
Also By Naughty Angel Publishing
1. Derrick
2. Alicia
3. Abby Adams: Meet Prince Sin…
4. Derrick
5. Alicia
6. Derrick
7. Alicia
8. Abby Adams: A Sinful Sweetheart?
9. Derrick
10. Alicia
11. Derrick
12. Alicia
13. Derrick
14. Alicia
15. Derrick
16. Abby Adams: Sinfully Satisfied?
17. Alicia
18. Derrick
19. Alicia
20. Derrick
21. Alicia
22. Abby Adams: Sinfully Good?
23. Alicia
24. Alicia
25. Abby Adams: Wedding Sinner?
26. Derrick
27. Alicia
28. Derrick
29. Abby Adams: Let She Who Is Without Sin…
30. Derrick
31. Alicia
32. Alicia
Epilogue
Alexis
Daphne Vs. Daddy
33. Daphne
34. Dominic
35. Daphne
36. Dominic
37. Daphne
38. Dominic
39. Daphne
40. Dominic
41. Dominic
42. Daphne
43. Daphne
44. Dominic
45. Daphne
46. Dominic
47. Daphne
48. Daphne
49. Daphne
50. Dominic
51. Daphne
52. Dominic
53. Dominic
54. Daphne
55. Daphne
56. Dominic
57. Daphne
58. Dominic
59. Daphne
60. Daphne
61. Daphne
Carla Vs. Cowboy
62. Carla
63. Chase
64. Carla
65. Chase
66. Carla
67. Chase
68. Carla
69. Carla
70. Carla
71. Chase
72. Carla
73. Chase
74. Carla
75. Chase
76. Carla
77. Chase
78. Carla
79. Epi
80. Alexis
Lisa Vs. Outlaw
81. Lisa
82. Diesel
83. Lisa
84. Diesel
85. Lisa
86. Lisa
87. Lisa
88. Lisa
89. Diesel
90. Lisa
91. Lisa
92. Diesel
93. Lisa
94. Lisa
95. Lisa
96. Diesel
97. Lisa
98. Lisa
99. Epilogue
100. Alexis
Brittney Vs. Billionaire
101. Brittney
102. Kaden
103. Brittney
104. Kaden
105. Brittney
106. Brittney
107. Kaden
108. Kaden
109. Brittney
110. Kaden
111. Brittney
112. Kaden
113. Brittney
114. Kaden
115. Brittney
116. Kaden
117. Brittney
118. Kaden
119. Brittney
120. Epi
121. Daphne
Gisele Vs. Guitar Hero
122. Gisele
123. Stone
124. Gisele
125. Stone
126. Gisele
127. Stone
128. Gisele
129. Gisele
130. Stone
131. Gisele
132. Stone
133. Gisele
134. Stone
135. Gisele
136. Stone
137. Gisele
138. Stone
139. Gisele
140. Epi
141. Daphne
Ashley Vs. Boss
142. Ashley
143. Apollo
144. Ashley
145. Apollo
146. Ashley
147. Apollo
148. Ashley
149. Apollo
150. Ashley
151. Apollo
152. Ashley
153. Apollo
154. Ashley
155. Apollo
156. Ashley
157. Apollo
158. Ashley
159. Apollo
160. Ashley
161. Epilogue
162. Daphne
Alicia Vs. Billionaire
163. Alicia
164. Derek
165. Alicia
166. Alicia
167. Derek
168. Alicia
169. Derek
170. Alicia
171. Derek
172. Alicia
173. Derek
174. Alicia
175. Derek
176. Alicia
177. Alicia
178. Derek
179. Alicia
180. Epilogue As Told By Alicia
181. Daphne
Christine Vs. Professor
182. Christine
183. Anders
184. Christine
185. Anders
186. Christine
187. Anders
188. Christine
189. Anders
190. Cellular One Wireless
191. Christine
192. Christine
193. Christine
194. Christine
195. Christine
196. Anders
197. Christine
198. Anders
199. Christine
200. Anders
201. Christine
202. Epilogue
203. Daphne
204. Ashley
205. Christine
206. Daphne
Dirty Lil’ Angels
Note From The Author
This book was published in a prior life. But it was taken off sale and I always wanted to remake it as I wasn’t quite satisfied. I’ve made the necessary changes and I’m not super happy with it! I hope you like it too!
Description
I have wanted to do this book for a while now.
It was published in an earlier life, as I stated, but what makes this book unique is that its where I first began to move toward my writing style that I have today.
I started saying whatever to the rules and making my own path.
I hope you like it, and if so, please review!
That’s all!
Also By Naughty Angel Publishing
Wicked Lil’ Brat
Man Chaser (unpublished)
Red & Blue
Scandalous (unpublished)
Client 5 (unpublished)
Jailbait
Python
12 Inches
D.I.L.F.
Dirty Daddy
Mr. President
Stories From The 6 Train
The Biggest Licker
Cindersmellya
24 Inches
100 Days
Lust Muscle
Abby Angel
Men of the House
Woman of the House
Mergers & Acquisitions
Profit & Lace
Harem
Dark Angel
The Virgin Market
Gambling For the Virgin
Buyer’s Market
Two Beasts
Dr. Single Dad
Mona Cox (all unpublished)
Alicia Vs. Billionaire
Ashley Vs. Boss
Natalie Vs. Prince
Christine Vs. Professor
Kim Vs. Stepbrother
Lisa Vs. Outlaw
Carla Vs. Cowboy
Fiona Vs. Football Player
Becca Vs. Biker
Gisele Vs. Guitar Hero
Rory Vs. Rockstar
Daphne Vs. Daddy
This book is dedicated to Lana Angel
1
Derrick
I own the motherfucking world.
Seriously, sometimes it just feels like I am the fucking prince of all fucking creation.
Never more so than when I'm looking out the fucking window of my condo in the fucking clouds high above New York City.
I live in One57. That's right. Right in the center of Manhattan on a street they call Billionaire's Row. You don't get much more fucking materialistic and pretentious than this.
"Your Highness," Pressly, my manservant says to me, coming into the large living room with floor to ceiling windows of the sky. "Your motorcycle is ready. Are you quite able to ride today?"
That's just like Pressly. Always watching out for me. Ever since my mother died when I was thirteen, he's become more like my primary guardian than anything else. He gives off the look and feel of Alfred from Batman, but I know Pressly's had his fun in life. He used to fight for my Kingdom, St. Livy, when we gave forces to the Americans in Vietnam. He lost his wife to cancer - same as my mother, only earlier. I guess we have that going for us. But the number one thing that makes him invaluable is that he doesn't fucking judge me like the rest of the world.
And the world would be fucking judge me right now if they could. I feel like shit. I only got in about fifteen minutes ago - around 5 am. I was at my nightclub in the Meatpacking District, having a fucking orgy with three Russian models in town for one night. Try drinking a bottle of vodka with some Russian birds and then cumming countless times on their eager faces and you'll understand what I mean when I say that I’m fucking tired enough to go mental.
"I've prepared some breakfast for you, Sire," Pressly continues, "It'll help you get some energy for the day ahead."
I turn to look in the mirror. Even for a night of heavy drinking, you’re going to think I’m a cocky fucking asshole when I say I look fucking good. My ice blue eyes are soulfully distant. They can look right into your soul. I have a strong as fuck jawline and a sculpted face. That’s the product of 2000 years of royal fucking blood flowing through me. My chest is cut. My shoulders are fucking broad. I may be a prince, but I look like a King. My arms are the product of over a decade of working out. And my abs. Fuck. Let’s just say that I’ve defined them so well that even if you’re blind, tracing your finger along them will get you fucking hot.
I’ve gotten you fucking hot now too, haven’t I?
Admit it. You’re fucking smiling.
No?
How about now?
Whatever. I’ve never let a bird get me down if she wasn’t feeling me.
Why am I calling girls ‘birds’ you’re wondering? I don’t fucking know. The Brits do. And St. Livy is close enough to them that I guess that shit rubs off.
But enough about me for now. Breakfast sounds like a very good idea after the night I’ve had. I pad over to the breakfast room and sit down at the clear and sleek glass table - a present from my brother in arms, Silas D'Avington. We fought together for St. Penares in Afghanistan - I was in his group and we were trapped in the mountains near Kandahar for close to a week, surviving on our own. Everything I learned about being a fucking badass came from that fucking guy. After Afghanistan, I came to New York, determined not to lose a single day of my life. My goal - simple - indulge in everything that I ever desired. Whether that was liquor, women, or anything else -- it was all fair game. Never really did any drugs though - it would have made it hard to keep my physique. That's right. My fucking body. What drives the birds fucking wild. 6 feet 4 inches of cut, ripped, and sculpted muscles and sinew. A set of abs that was chiseled by fucking Apollo himself. But let’s not forget the raison d'être of this marvelous body - it was all for the 11-inch cock that was swinging between my fucking legs. People call it an organ. I call it a fucking muscle for what I'm able to do with it. For the absolute bliss that I'm able to inflict upon the female population of this fine city.
And right now, I'm wolfing down my eggs and bacon, washing it down with some hand squeezed juice and running out the door. The Royal Press Secretary, a woman named Samantha in St. Livy, had booked a spot for me on Today, USA. I fucking hate Samantha. I know she’s fucking my Dad. But I don’t say anything because she’s the mother of Alicia. And Alicia…Fuck, we’ll talk about her later. Anyways, Samantha has me on some fucking morning show for people who slept well enough the night before to be up and at 'em at 6 in the morning. My interview is scheduled for 6 on the dot, and if I ride fast, I'll be there in fifteen minutes.
I bound out of the elevator and out of the steel and glass superstructure that I live in and hop on the motorcycle that the valet had brought out for me. It roars to life and I take off down 7th Avenue heading south to Rockefeller Center.
But first, I have to get through fucking Midtown traffic. Lucky for me, I'm on a bike. Not in a cab or on two feet like the pathetically weak pedestrians.
"Hey buddy, watch where you're going, will ya?" a Bangladeshi cabbie yells at me as I skirt by between two lanes and zip past him. Whatever. I give him the middle finger and dive forward. The light's yellow, but I put my foot to the gas. I'm going to fucking making it.
A fucking MAC truck blares its horns at me, just barely missing me as I zoom down 7th Avenue. I laugh to myself and yell as pedestrians get out of my way. Oh yeah, I may be driving on a sidewalk now.
"Fucking asshole!" some guy in black hoodie yells at me.
I stop the bike. Did I just hear what I think I heard? I'm maybe twenty feet past him but I get off the bike and turn around. I look at him. Wannabe gangsta. Thinks he Jay-fucking-Z.