by Parker Grey
“Bruno, is there any chance you’ve picked that flower quite recently from these very gardens?” Dom asks me, teasing.
Katarina and I both glance at the ragged end of the stem, which was clearly torn, not cut
“It’s not up to me when inspiration strikes,” I say, teasing him right back. “I saw a pretty girl and wanted to give her a flower. It’s a rose from the heart, Dom.”
“Actually, I’m fairly sure I watched you take it from that bush over there,” he says, grinning.
Katarina is laughing quietly at our exchange, and even though I’m a little frustrated that he’s here, I have to admit that this is oddly fun.
“You don’t have to be so literal,” I say. “Where’s your sense of poetry, or haven’t you got one?”
Behind me, someone clears her throat.
Dom and I turn at the same time to see a young woman standing there, hand folded in front of her, dressed like one of the household staff.
“Princess, I’m terribly sorry, but it’s time to dress for dinner,” she says.
Katarina stands, and Dom and I both take a step back and bow.
“I’ll see you both at the banquet?” she asks, blue eyes dancing.
“Of course.”
“Absolutely.”
“Perfect,” she says, and then she follows the girl out of the gazebo and around the corner.
Dom and I exhale in unison, and I know we’re both watching her perfect, tempting ass as she walks away, her hips moving from side to side hypnotically.
“Goddamn,” Dom says.
“Holy shit,” I agree.
We don’t talk for the rest of the time we’re in the gardens.
Chapter Four
Katarina
Marianna pushes one last pin into my wild red hair, and then makes a satisfied noise, turning me so I can look at myself in the mirror.
Somehow, my normally-uncontrollable hair looks perfect. It’s half pulled away from my face, half loose in ringlets that fall past my shoulders. I don’t know how she does it.
“You’re a miracle worker,” I tell her.
“I’ve had practice,” she says, smoothing one last strand.
And with that, I’m ready for dinner. Normally, dinner isn’t such a fuss — not even diplomatic dinners with visiting dignitaries.
But I’m not normally being courted by several of the visiting dignitaries. Tonight, I’m under strict orders to look my best, so my hair is done, my makeup is done, and I’m wearing a long, flowing blue dress with a gold belt around my waist.
For at least the millionth time in the past hour, my gaze lands on the rose that Bruno gave me. It’s just sitting on my vanity, exactly how it was when he handed to me, broken-off stem and all.
Every time I look at it, I get the tingles. I can’t stop thinking about the two princes — Dom coming up, kissing my hand, giving me such a burning look in the gazebo that a shiver went down my spine.
And then Bruno, a few moments later, giving me this rose. I don’t care that he picked it from a bush in the gardens. I think it’s sweet.
Right. Sweet. That’s not exactly the word for how I feel about them.
It’s not like I don’t know their reputations. They’re both known for getting into the panties of nearly every eligible bachelorette in Europe. It doesn’t seem to matter how uptight, virginal, or well-behaved a girl is — if Prince Dominic or Prince Bruno sets his sights on her, it’s practically guaranteed that her panties will drop.
Really, I should count myself lucky for having met them when I was just a kid. If I’d met them as an adult, even a few years ago, I might already be ruined, a disgrace to my family.
There are even more salacious rumors — that sometimes they set their sights on the same girl.
According to those rumors, Dom and Bruno don’t mind sharing. They might even prefer it sometimes.
Another shiver runs down my back, just at the thought. Unbidden, I suddenly imagine being with both of them. Straddling Bruno’s lap, his hands all over me while I kiss Dom deeply, his tongue in my mouth.
“Princess, are you all right?” Marianna asks, and my eyes snap to the mirror.
I’m bright red, the color of a tomato.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice a high-pitched squeak. I pick up the rose from the table and hold it up, turning it. “Do you think I could pin this to my dress for dinner?”
She takes it from me.
“Certainly,” she says.
I meet my parents, along with my two younger sisters, in the antechamber of the dining hall. It’s a private room just for the royal family and their staff — no guests allowed, so we can talk freely.
As soon as I enter, my mother’s eyes move over me, scrutinizing.
“You look lovely, dear,” she says, a note of relief in her voice.
“Very royal,” my father agrees.
“Princesslike as fuck,” Josephine agrees.
Both my parents turn to her, frowning, and she holds up her hands.
“Sorry, I’m kidding,” she says.
“What’s that flower?” My mother asks, looking at Bruno’s rose pinned to my chest.
I touch it gently, the petals soft beneath my fingers. I think of him giving it to me, his lips firm and warm against my hand.
“Prince Bruno gave me this earlier,” I say. “I thought it would be nice to wear it tonight.”
My mother sighs. My father frowns.
“We can’t have you openly favoring Prince Bruno,” he says.
“It’s just a flower, dear,” my mother says.
He shakes his head.
“Take it off,” he tells me. “I won’t have you wearing gifts from one man while entertaining offers from several. You can’t have possibly formed an opinion of anyone yet, and I won’t let anyone else have his hopes dashed.”
I swallow, my fingers trailing along the stem. I don’t want to take it off.
“Go on,” my mother says.
Sighing, I unpin the stem from my dress and remove the flower. My father nods.
“Much better,” he says. “And it’s high time we entered dinner.”
He pushes the big doors open, and the room full of people beyond hushes. We stand in the entryway for a moment as everyone stands and a herald comes up to us.
“Announcing the royal family: His Highness, King of Tomassia, Edward the Fourth; Queen Carolina; and Princesses Katarina, Josephine, and Florentina.”
That’s our cue to walk toward our big, ornate chairs, right in the middle of the hall. Since we’re a thoroughly modern royal family we don’t eat sitting on a dais or anything — we just get the best chairs at a regular table.
Instantly, I notice that I’m seated across from Sven. A murmur of disgust moves through me, and I try not to make a face.
“How are you this fine evening, Princess?” he says as I approach my seat.
God, there’s something slimy even about the way he says that. He’s already having trouble making eye contact, his eyes leering down at my bosom. I can practically feel a cold, gross trail on my skin as he looks at me.
“I’m well, thank you,” I say. “And you?”
“I’m quite well,” he says. “We were just discussing where the best fields for polo can be found. I know it’s an unpopular opinion, but I quite like the fields in America. Their grass is unparalleled.”
“That’s nonsense, of course,” says a voice from the other side of Sven, and Prince Dominic leans forward. “Pleasure to see you again, Princess. You look stunning.”
Even though I’m pretty used to compliments — everyone compliments a princess no matter what, it’s simply done — I blush again, the words suddenly drying up in my mouth.
Dominic thinks I look stunning.
“Thank you,” I say.
My father sits, and then everyone else follows suit. I catch a glimpse of Bruno, sitting on Dominic’s other side, two seats down from me.
I try not to think of my brief fantasy from earlier, of both of them. It
’s completely ridiculous, of course — I’ve never been with one man, let alone two.
But just the thought makes me feel warm, makes my insides feel like sticky syrup. I imagine Bruno’s lips on the back of my neck, Dom teasing one nipple, then lifting me by the hips, sliding Bruno’s thick, fat erection into my tight entrance—
“Yes, simply delectable,” Sven agrees, knocking me out of my filthy reverie. I try not to make a face, because when he says it, it’s like nails down a chalkboard.
I clear my throat, praying I’m not bright red again, but both Dominic and Bruno are looking at me, almost like they can read my thoughts.
“Thank you,” I say meekly to Sven, and take a delicate bite of soup. “Tell me, how was your journey to Tomassia?”
Chapter Five
Dominic
At six-thirty the next morning, I’m looking at myself in the full-length mirror provided in my suite, thanking all the gods above that Lorenzo, my valet, insisted that I bring tennis whites.
He didn’t come on this trip with me — it’s the twenty-first century, and prince or not, I prefer to dress myself — but he did oversee my packing, and of course, remembered things that I never would have.
Frankly, as long as I’ve got a few things to wear, several pairs of socks, and enough condoms for an army, I’m good.
But last night, while that fucking prick Sven was going on and on about polo fields across Europe, it came out that Princess Katarina enjoys playing tennis nearly every morning.
I don’t give a shit about polo. I was just disagreeing with the man because I can’t fucking stand him, but right now I’m thankful for this bit of useful intel that he gathered for me.
I don’t particularly like tennis either, but I know how to play. Of course I do. I’m a fucking prince.
When I walk into the courtyard preceding the tennis courts, Bruno’s there, wearing tennis whites as well. I’m not even surprised. We didn’t make plans to play tennis together, but I’d have to be a moron not to notice how interested he is in the princess.
My princess.
Our princess?
I shake my head, banishing the thought.
“I had a feeling you’d turn up,” he says.
“Same to you,” I say. “Shall we play a set, my good fellow?”
He rolls his eyes at me, but we proceed to the court. There are a few other people there, but none of them is the Princess, so I don’t give a damn.
We play a set. Neither of us is particularly good, nor is either of us trying terribly hard, so it’s a bit lackluster. I win, then Bruno does, and we’re tied, his serve, when I see two perfect, long legs in a white tennis skirt walking toward our court.
The ball whizzes right past my head. I don’t even move. The legs come closer, and then I see the rest of Princess Katarina, walking down a path, her short, pleated tennis skirt swaying as she walks.
“Match point,” Bruno says, his back to her.
I don’t answer. He frowns, follows my gaze, and then goes perfectly still as well. I’ve got a boner the size of fucking Everest, right in the middle of the tennis court, and I don’t care.
“Good morning, Princess,” Bruno calls out.
Katarina shades her eyes, then waves at us.
“Good morning!” she calls.
She looks around, scanning the courts. Bruno and I both walk up to the fence around our court.
I’m sure she can see my massive erection, but I don’t care. Hell, maybe she’ll like what she sees. Most women do.
“Meeting someone?” Bruno asks.
“I was supposed to meet my sister Josephine,” she says, still scanning. “But I think she’s stood me up.”
“Play with us,” I say.
I didn’t even mean for it to be a double entendre, but Katarina looks shocked for a moment, her cheeks blushing faintly pink. I bite back a grin.
If she’s embarrassed, she was thinking something dirty, too. There might be hope yet for this sweet, innocent girl.
“We’ll be an odd number,” she says.
Bruno shrugs.
“I’ll sit the first match out, then play the winner,” he offers.
Katarina smiles again.
“That sounds great,” she says, and comes around through the door on the side of the court, skirt bouncing.
She serves first. I manage to hit the ball back once, but when she darts across the court her skirt flies up and I can see the soft, white tops of her thighs and just a hint of white panties.
I don’t even come close to returning that ball. I don’t even see where it goes, because just about all I can do is stare at her, across the court, that skirt taunting me.
She calls out the score and serves again. I miss it, because I can’t take my eyes off her, and as I retrieve the ball I’m fantasizing. Katarina, up against the fence, me on my knees in front of her, one leg hooked over my shoulder.
I bite the inside of her thigh hard, suck on her until she bruises, just so she knows she’s mine. Then I tear her panties away, teasing her perfect little clit with my tongue as her hands clench in my hair while she moans my name.
“Dom!” she calls, her breath coming just a little hard. “Were you going to get the ball?”
I snap to attention, turn, and grab the ball from the court.
No fucking wonder Bruno volunteered to sit this match out, because he doesn’t have to worry about staring at the Princess while trying not to get hit by a tennis ball — he can just watch at his leisure.
Katarina serves again, and this time, through sheer force of will I manage to watch the ball, not her, and return it. But then I lose after she whacks it back neatly, no problem, and she wins the match.
We both approach the net. We’re breathing a little hard, and her neck and face are slightly flushed with the exertion, her red hair nearly glowing in the sun.
She smells like vanilla and roses, and it’s all I can do not to grab her right there and kiss her as hard as I can. Turn her around, bend her over the net. Her round little ass is perfect for spanking, and I bet she’d yelp and moan...
“Good match,” she says, holding out her hand.
I swallow hard, trying to will down my erection, even though it’s pointless.
“Good match, Princess,” I answer, enveloping her hand with mine.
She plays Bruno, and he has the exact same fucking problem that I’ve got: she’s distracting as hell in that outfit, and he hasn’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of returning any balls. He loses in near-record time, so then it’s my turn again.
Bruno and I trade back and forth. The princess wipes the floor with us. It would be embarrassing if the view weren’t so fucking delectable.
“I think you two are just trying to wear me out,” she says, breathing hard, after she beats me for the third time.
“And why would we do that, Princess?” I ask.
“Beats me,” she says, smiling. “But apparently, you and Bruno want me spent and exhausted for some reason, and I wish I knew why.”
I do want that, but not from tennis. I want to taste her honey, lick her until she comes twice, and then fuck her until she can’t come any more. That’s the kind of exhausted I want Katarina to be.
“We could go for a swim,” Bruno suggests, standing next to me. “Unless I’m mistaken, there’s a very nice pool on the grounds.”
Katarina clears her throat, and then looks from me to Bruno and back. I swear she’s checking us out, and my dick only swells in my pants.
“All right,” she says. “A swim sounds lovely. I’ll get my suit on and meet you there in twenty minutes.”
Chapter Six
Bruno
“You’re welcome,” I tell Dom as we head from the lavish dressing room to the pool area. At a place this extravagant, it would be completely uncouth to change in your quarters and then walk to the pool in your bathing costume — instead, there are dressing rooms available.
“For what?”
“For getting the pr
incess wet,” I tell him, smirking.
He looks over at me, one eyebrow raised.
“You sure that was your doing, grunting out there on the tennis court?”
“I suggested the pool, didn’t I?”
“I wasn’t talking about the pool.”
I chuckle, and Dom grins. Somehow, suddenly, the atmosphere shifts and instead of being awkward and uncomfortable between the two of us, it’s... friendlier.
We both want her. We know that. But now it feels like we’ve got a shared interest, instead of something we’re fighting over.
I’ll see how long it lasts.
We get in the water. It’s a little too late for the people who swim for exercise, but since it’s still morning, it’s too early for anyone to be having drinks by the pool, so we’ve got it to ourselves. I do a few laps while Dom does a few showboating dives.
Then the door to a private changing area opens. Dom pauses on the diving board, and I tread water as the princess steps into view.
God in heaven, she’s stunning.
Katarina’s wearing a white one-piece bathing suit with halter straps, but it’s got a plunging neckline that goes almost to her sternum, the curves of her full, perky tits just barely on display. I think my jaw drops, and for a moment I forget to tread water until I start sinking.
“Hi again,” she says, walking to the edge of the pool nearest to me. “Is it cold? I haven’t been in for a while.”
I swim over to her, and I hear the diving board sproing behind me as Dom jumps off again.
“Come on in, the water’s great,” I say.
She dips one toe in and makes a face, her hair a halo around her head.
“I think it’s fed by a mountain creek or something,” she says. “I don’t know. My father’s always going on about it, sometimes I don’t listen.”
Dom swims up next to me, and we both grab the side of the pool.
“You gotta just jump,” he says. “Come on, Princess. Be brave.”
She tilts her head, putting her hands on her hips.