It’s always been a thing of mine, these poor, disenfranchised people, and my interest in them stemmed from my childhood, when I first saw a little Roma girl standing on a street corner in Andorra begging.
“Daddy,” I said, tugging my dad’s sleeve. “Shouldn’t we give her something? Maybe a lirah or two?”
And my dad, to my shame, turned his face away.
“They’re just gypsies,” he said, ignoring the child’s dirty face, the big eyes that implored us. “She’s probably faking it.”
I couldn’t believe it, that someone so young would fake destitution, hunger even, but as I got older I realized that a lot of Andorrans and Europeans shared my dad’s distaste. The Roma were rumored to be con men, petty thieves teaching their children the “art” of begging, one hand extended for food and alms while the other picked your pocket.
But I ended up getting involved because the Roma have a long history in Andorra and my interest in my country ran deep. So I volunteered last year with Roma Outreach, helping loan officers do outreach in the community, providing capital to appropriate borrowers. And I loved it, loved every second of working with the community, getting to know their hopes, dreams, and aspirations as legitimate small business owners, trying to make it in a society that was hostile to them.
And I was surprised when Prince Kristian evinced an interest. A lot of people will listen politely as I prattle on about my cause, make a plea from the heart, but he was more than that. He was genuinely interested and actually knew quite a lot from his experience patronizing charities and working on behalf of his country. So I was grateful when he offered to help.
“Maybe I can set something up for you,” he offered, his eyes looking me over.
And I hesitated because I’d just met him, unsure, biting my lip, but then took a deep breath. Beggars can’t be choosers and non-profits have to take whenever help is offered, especially from such a promising source.
“Yes, thank you, I’d appreciate it, I can put you in touch with the right people,” I said, smiling at him, grateful.
But it went further than that.
“Maybe I can set something up for us to do together,” he offered. “Work with the Roma people hands-on, figure something out.”
And it was then that my smile shone out, emitting ten thousand watts of pure happiness. Because most people would rather give money than actually work with their hands, put in the blood, sweat and tears, so I respected Kristian all that much more, unable to stop smiling.
“If you could set something up, I’d be so grateful,” I said softly. “Especially since it’ll give me a chance to get away from Miss Carroll’s,” I added mischievously under my breath.
And the big man threw his head back and laughed, the rumble deep and oh so masculine. God, the man really was gorgeous, everything about him was devastatingly beautiful … as well as kind and thoughtful, uncommon for a man of power.
“Sure honey, I’ll set something up,” he said with mirth dancing in his eyes. “Now we better circulate, otherwise everyone’s going to be on our cases,” he said mischievously, and with another kiss on the inside of my wrist, moved away.
But it was too late because I knew, just knew, that everyone had already noticed us, noticed the instant connection. And when I got back that night, Crikers actually congratulated me, the old lady knocking on my door around midnight.
“You did well,” she cackled, an old, tatty bathrobe tied tight around her waist, those rimless glasses perched on her nose.
“Oh really?” I asked slowly. I didn’t want to presume. I’d been doing better in the looks department, regularly getting mani-pedis, my hair professionally styled once a week although the curls were still unruly. So maybe she was referring to my improved appearance, the fact that I looked more like a “princess,” desirable, beautiful, stately, instead of my usual curvy, casual self. But no such thing.
“Prince Kristian of course,” wheezed the old lady. “He liked you, everyone saw.”
I nodded, that was true, but I wasn’t counting my chickens before they hatched. Maybe Kristian picked a girl at every event, making a certain someone feel special only to be forgotten the next day.
“Yeah, we talked about the Roma people, their unfortunate plight,” I said carefully. “He offered to help but I wouldn’t count on it,” I added. The prince had a lot of things on his plate, maybe he’d already forgotten me.
But the old woman just cackled and wheezed more.
“Yes, his office has already called to arrange a meeting with some local Roma who run a general store downtown,” she said. “Tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be meeting him there.”
And my cheeks colored. Tomorrow? So soon? Evidently, my chickens had already hatched and I hadn’t even been aware of it. My heart caught in my throat, going at a million miles a minute.
“So soon?” I said weakly.
“Tomorrow,” confirmed Crikers, cinching her belt even tighter before heading out of my room. “So look pretty! You only get one chance to catch a prince!” she cawed before stepping out into the darkness.
And it was true. My face flushed and I sat down slowly, hardly able to believe the changes in my life. I was going to meet with Kristian one on one again … and I couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kristian
The girl was beautiful, intelligent and practical. When my limo pulled up to Miss Carroll’s, she got in, decorously sweeping her skirt over her knees before looking up at me with those big brown eyes.
“Hi,” I rumbled, lifting her hand to my mouth for another inside kiss on the wrist. God, she was delectable, a whiff of perfume tickling my nostrils, those creamy, meaty thighs outlined under the soft fabric of her dress. I was ready to jump her right then, but stopped myself because of the look her eyes.
“What is it?” I asked, curious. The girl looked a little jumpy, almost nervous, and I had no idea why. She’d been lovely yesterday, curvy, funny, with a mischievous sense of humor. But the brunette looked around the car, surveying the interior, before turning to me with a big sigh.
“We can’t go in this,” she said.
“What?” I asked. I’d been traveling by limo since I was a kid, it was rare that I that I arrived in anything other than some sort of black car. “Why not?”
“Because,” she said, waving her hand at the leather interior, the bottled watered stashed in the side pockets, the warm nuts already set out on the entertainment console, “it’s too fancy. They have so little and this is beyond what they could ever afford,” she concluded quietly. “I don’t want to throw your wealth in their face.”
And I almost smacked my forehead with my hand then, cursing myself for being a dunce. Of course the limo was all wrong, what had I been thinking? But then again, I was so used to being chauffeured that I hadn’t questioned it, sliding into the car without a second thought, getting comfortable immediately.
“Of course not,” I said quickly, popping open the door and jumping out. The driver got out as well with a confused, “Sire?”
But by now Tina had gotten out too and we stood on the curb looking at each other. What to do for transportation? St. Venetia is a walking city but the Roma enclave was too far to walk, plus not exactly safe. So I looked around, spotting a little red Mini parked at a stop sign, sprinting over before it could zoom off.
“Stop,” I yelled, coming to a halt beside the driver’s side window. “Stop,” I repeated, a little more commanding than I meant to. A young man was inside, maybe about twenty or so, looking up at me with confusion.
“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his head, craning his neck to look around. Because by now, Tina had run up as well and stood next to me, panting with exertion, a beautiful flush running across her chest.
“We need your car,” I said peremptorily. “Get out.”
“What?” sputtered the young man, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “Make me,” he retorted.
I almost yanked open the door and hauled him o
ut right there, but Tina intervened.
“We just need to borrow your car for a half day,” she said breathlessly. “For children in need. Please,” she added.
But the guy wasn’t budging.
“No,” he said flatly. “I don’t know you, I have no idea who you are, this is crazy.”
It was then that I drew myself up, tall, imposing, fixing him with a stare.
“For the country,” I commanded, meeting his eyes, and something clicked. I think the man finally recognized me as Kristian, Crown Prince of the Kingdom, and got out of the car slowly.
“Sire, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, but I can’t just give up my car either,” he mumbled, looking down.
And it was then that I took a signet ring off my finger, handing it him.
“As security for your ride,” I rumbled, dropping it into his outstretched hand. “We’ll expect it back when your car is returned.”
And the man gasped because the ring was solid gold with a ruby flanked by two emeralds, clearly worth far more than his Mini. He gaped, unable to make any sound, his eyes glued to the ring.
“Sire, how do I find you?” he asked shakily.
“Leave your address at Miss Carroll’s and my office will find you later,” I growled before holding the passenger side door for Tina. “My lady,” I said with a slight flourish and the brunette smiled at me, dazzling, before slipping into the car.
“Thank you,” she breathed when I got into the driver’s seat. I fingered the car keys before shooting her a grin. This was going to be tougher than it looked because I wasn’t exactly an experienced driver, I’d ridden in the back my whole life. But her words and those beautiful brown eyes pumped me up and I revved the engine, suddenly energized.
“No worries,” I said, glancing at her mischievously before testing the accelerator, the little car springing into the intersection with a jolt. Tina’s answering laughter rang in my ears, the peals melodious and sweet, and I knew we were going to have a good time … even as we made our way into the ghetto.
CHAPTER NINE
Tina
Ghetto isn’t the right word because the Roma are people with pride, even if they don’t have much. They took care of their enclave, sweeping the streets clear, making sure that houses got a coat of fresh paint even if the roofs were saggy, the porches blown through in some places. I liked it, I liked the homey feel, like people were actually neighbors.
“Here we are,” rumbled Kristian, slowing to a stop in front of a corner bodega nestled between a house with a chain link fence and a deserted lot. The place wasn’t much to look at, a sad little sign outside proclaiming “Fresh Produce and Meats,” neon lights in the window selling different brands of cigarettes and the latest lotto games. But a burly man stepped out as we stopped the car.
“Prince Kristian, Lady Christina,” he said, bowing at the waist. “Welcome to my business, The Aleatro.”
And we were whisked inside. The interior was dingy but I could tell the merchant did his best. Florescent lights lit up the interior and the store sold everything from laundry detergent to corned beef sandwiches. A cat skulked in the corner, purring, and I pointed to it.
“Are you allowed to have one of those?” I asked hesitantly. “I thought city regulations prohibited cats on premises.”
Alonzo chuckled, his big belly shaking.
“Ah no, not exactly,” he admitted, “but I need a cat to keep the mouse problem at bay. You’re not going to tell city officials are you?” he wheezed, looking at us worriedly. “About the mouse problem or my cat?”
And I understood the dilemma. Either way he cut it, there was no good solution. His bodega was either overrun with mice, violating city regulations, or he kept a cat, which violated a different set of regulations. So he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I shook my head, saying nothing.
But Kristian intervened.
“I’ll get an exterminator here, courtesy of the Palace,” he said. “They’ll need to look around, make sure there are no holes in the walls, that kind of thing, but you’ll be able to keep your cat at home without worrying about the mouse issue.”
And the big man grinned.
“Highness, I appreciate it,” he rumbled. “The Roma people are a clean people, we just need a hand here and there.”
And that was it exactly. As we continued the conversation, Alonzo explained how he needed just a bit of capital to spruce up his store, do some renovations, maybe buy a little inventory to take sales to the next level.
“But where am I going to get the money?” he asked plaintively. “No one likes to lend to my people, we’re regarded as untrustworthy, the equivalent of thieves. No one wants to deal with the Roma.”
And Kristian nodded thoughtfully.
“I guess that’s why the microfinance sector is so important, isn’t it?” he ruminated. “Providing loans to an underserved population.”
And I nodded, so happy that the big man had made the connection immediately.
“Yes, it’s deserving merchants like Alonzo who benefit from our work the most,” I explained, smiling ear to ear. “It’s why I find this work so meaningful.”
“I see,” rumbled Kristian thoughtfully, looking around once more before ushering me back to the Mini. We’d left Alonzo in tears of joy, promising to put him in touch with an outreach officer immediately upon our return, he’d get a loan in a few short weeks.
And as we zipped down the highway once more, I stole a look at the big man’s profile. Kristian was deep in thought, staring at the road, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, those big, sensitive fingers sensual and adept at once. What would it feel like to have them on my body, caressing my curves? My body was humming with his closeness, the big frame taking up all the space in the small car.
And as if hearing my thoughts, Kristian swung to look at me, those blue eyes piercing, making my heart beat faster although he hadn’t said a word.
“What is it about you?” he ground out, more to himself than me. “What is it about you especially?”
I didn’t know what to say, flushing in return, the air in the small car heating up a million degrees instantly.
“Maybe it’s my …?”
But I didn’t get a chance to finish the question because Kristian was already pulling off, guiding the car to a shoulder on the highway.
“Wha-what’s going on?” I asked shakily. As far as I could tell we hadn’t had a flat tire, there was nothing wrong with the car. So why were we stopped all of a sudden? Kristian had pulled us next to a copse of trees, cars whizzing by about thirty feet away.
“This is what’s going on,” he rumbled before covering my mouth with his in a deep kiss. And it was so good, so tasty that I immediately opened, breathing him in, giving myself up to the heady, sensuous pleasure.
“Ohhhh,” I moaned, twisting in his arms. It wasn’t comfortable, the big man on me in the tiny space of the front seat, but Kristian had a solution for that. He pulled off me momentarily, jumping out of the car before opening my door, tugging me by the arm.
“What?” I asked, “Where are we going?”
But I didn’t have long to wait because he pulled me into the bushes, pushing me down onto a small, soft patch of grass behind some greenery.
“I can’t wait,” he said tightly, dark streaks of color slashing his cheeks. “You’ve been making me hard since last night,” he ground out.
And I glanced down, gasping, because it was true. Kristian was erect, and not just a little bit. Not semi, not halfway, but completely, totally, rock solid, his pole punching out at his pants, creating a giant tent that I couldn’t stop staring at.
“Is that?” I breathed, my small hand reaching out to touch.
And all I got in return was a low, strangled growl from the big man the instant my fingers hit the denim, tracing the steel rod. He was so hard, so rigid even through the material that I gasped, positively stunned. How massive was he? As big as Karl and Kato? And I flushed
again, thinking back to my last sexual encounter. God, it’d been so good with the twins, and I was probably never going to see them again. Why not enjoy myself with this gorgeous, hungry prince who looked just like them?
So I threw myself into it, unzipping his pants with trembling fingers, dropping to my knees as his cock popped out, waving gently in the air, the tip already drizzling pre-cum. And despite my hunger, my desperation to have him in me, I gasped again, sitting back on my heels. Because he was absolutely unbelievable. Fifteen inches, the base of his shaft as thick as my wrist, fifteen inches of pure, pounding power, gorgeous veins pulsing up and down his length, thick pink and ready to ream. I couldn’t wait to taste it and leaned forward, licking tentatively at that dripping cockhead.
“That’s right,” Kristian groaned, his head thrown back, eyes closed as I tasted a few drops of salty cum. “That’s right, keep going.”
And I sampled, reveling in the sweet saltiness, smacking my lips hesitantly. Oh god, he was thick and virile at once, tangy without being bitter, and I couldn’t get enough. Hungrily, I began sucking at his pole, my tongue inserting itself into his slit, scooping out more of that jism before tracing his glans, running lightly around the pink flare.
“Oh god,” he grunted, lighting grasping the back of my head. “Oh god,” he repeated, thrusting his hips forward a bit. And obligingly, I opened my mouth wider, forcing my lips to surround that massive shaft, stretching obscenely, even choking a bit as his dong made its way in.
“Ummmph!” I grunted, my voice muffled, stuffed full with cock meat. “Ummph!”
“You okay baby?” panted Kristian, holding stock still although I could tell it was killing him. “You able to take more?”
And I looked up at him from my knees, my eyes wide, drool running off my chin. I only had a few inches in, but I knew I could take him because I’d sucked Karl and Kato successfully. Oh yeah, from prior experience, I knew I could do it so I nodded as best I could, making a small moaning sound while wiggling my hips.
TRIPLE PRINCES: An MFMM Menage Romance Page 6