by Nicole Snow
“Fuck, love, don't fucking stop!” His palm moves against the back of my head, urging me on.
He tastes masculine. Like earth and salt and raw, royal power in one.
My pussy tingles, enjoying what I'm doing to him. I shouldn't like serving him so much. But I can't fight what feels good, what's natural, and this is magnificent.
It's only nature. His power, his arrogance, and what I think must be his heart of gold makes me enjoy prostrating myself to Prince Playboy, sucking and stroking his cock like my life depends on it.
No, maybe not my life, but definitely my next orgasm.
He's growling now, grinding in my mouth. His heavy balls swing up, clapping against the base of my hand.
“Shit, that's good. Too fucking good. You've got no business sucking like this when you're new.”
No business, huh? I answer him by moving my lips faster. I'm ready for anything, ready for him to explode in my mouth. He'll probably spill more come than I could ever hope to swallow inside, leaving it spilling on my breasts.
Filthy. Wrong. Yet, so, so predictably hot.
He's thrusting in my mouth, moving to match my strokes. I push my tongue up underneath his thick head, tasting more warm pre-come drooling into my mouth. Every time I touch that spot with my tongue, below his crown, his hips jerk.
He's holding back. Trying not to hurt me by ramming his cock down my throat like I know he wants to.
Jesus, what's happening? Am I really thinking like this with my mouth full of him? Imagining how hard he'll fuck me if he's between my legs, unimpeded, punching my V-card like he's been waiting to half his life?
“Fuck, fuck! No.” Growling, he pushes me away, pulling my face off his cock by the hair.
For a second, I'm worried I've done something wrong. But he rises, takes me in his arms, and flips me over. Silas pushes me into the sand, flat on my back, grinding his bare, slick cock against my slit.
“I'm not wasting this nut down your throat, much as I fucking want to. You'll taste my come later,” he growls, his fingers pressing into my chin, craning my face to meet his. “Right now, we're fucking, Princess. Fucking all damned night in front of this fire. I'm going to leave you so sore we'll need Vic and the boys to come tomorrow and carry us home.”
The idea fills me with horror. But I forget all about it a second later, when he moves his cock against my slit, pushing his fullness dangerously close to my entrance.
He barely remembers to stop, pull away, and reach into the bag behind him. I watch as he returns, tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth, then sliding the rubber over his length in one stroke.
It has to be extra large to fit him.
I want to tell him how much this means to me. How I'm still not sure what's happening, but I'm going to enjoy it, and trust him for this beautiful, furious moment. For one night, I belong to Prince Hung, and I'll take every one of those benefits he's offered me.
“Silas...I'm yours,” I say, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Take me. Take my pussy. Any way you want.”
God. It sounds like something from a bad romance novel.
Is this how people talk dirty, or am I totally blowing it?
He smiles, slides his fingers through my hair again, and jerks my head back. “Love, I want this pussy so many ways I couldn't do them in a thousand nights. We can get started, though. We can see what it's like when your hot little cunt sucks the life from my balls when I'm coming inside you.”
Yes, please!
My legs hook to his, trembling, begging to do everything he just said. Maybe I've screwed up this dirty talk because I can't form words at all, overwhelmed with the need to have him inside me, to feel his cock pulsing.
“Please,” I whimper. Yes, whimper.
No more delay. He locks eyes and pushes into me, filling my virgin hole with everything he has.
It's incredible. It hurts a little bit at first.
Mostly, it feels so fucking good, stretching to fit him, my body shifting at a physiological level to fit Prince Silas like a silk glove.
Nothing's stopping this. I'd probably die on the spot if it did after feeling my wet, craving pussy gliding around his cock, his fullness, his essence.
Silas fucks me slowly. He's careful, still holding back, even though the animal energy rolling off him doesn't feel like it understands what careful even means.
His thrusts dig deep. Mining for pleasure, marking me from the inside-out, reminding me in every single stroke who owns me now.
And I'm okay with it. Really, really okay with everything he's doing.
My feet hook to the backs of his legs. He grabs my wrists with his free hand, pinning them above my head, pressing his mouth down on mine while the other hand pulls my hair.
The first time I come on his cock, I'm squealing into his mouth. He drowns my moans, my screams in his groaning, growling pleasure.
I think he's about to join me, adding his convulsions to mine, especially because his infuriating royal smirk has become a caveman's smile of teeth and lust.
No. Hell, no.
He fucks me right through my first orgasm, and doesn't let up. He's going faster, shaking my body like we're suddenly riding an earthquake.
Every curve ripples. Every drop of blood in my veins becomes fire, lapping at my veins. The ocean's roar behind us merges with our pleasure, our desire. Just one strange, inseparable fusion of earth and sex, sweat and muscle, bound to this cock that's filled me up to my womb.
“Never had anything this tight,” he snarls, when I'm on the verge of coming again. “Take it, Erin. Every fucking inch. Every thrust. Every way I want, when I want. I'm ruining you for taking any cock that isn't mine again. Oh, fuck!”
Everything I've feared is happening. The words coming out of his mouth while his defenses are down don't sound like pretend anymore. Not like something a Prince with benefits would say.
We're more than just two crazy people who've struck an unthinkable deal when he's balls deep inside me. More than just fiances playing a game.
We're lovers. Losing our hearts and minds in the ecstasy igniting our bodies.
I'm helpless, scared, and more confused than I've ever been in my life. But I'm also buried in pleasure when Silas rears up, slams his hips into mine, and swells deep inside me.
He's coming through his condom. I'm coming apart.
For the next five minutes, my brain loses the ability to dwell on any higher thoughts than yes, yes, fuck me! Fuck me more! Silas, fill me.
His royal seed nearly does. He explodes in the condom, growling louder than ever before. His fingers jerk my hair so hard it nearly hurts, but it tips my head back to the moon, and I scream.
My pussy won't ever be the same after tonight, if he's serious. I know he is.
We're just getting started. He's going to keep fucking me, coming in me, spilling everything he's got until he's empty, and I'm so spent I'll be lucky to walk tomorrow.
Tomorrow. That's a scary thought after the mindless, screaming, skin soaking sex we're having tonight.
I don't know what we'll be when we wake up. I'm not sure if we'll be royals with benefits, or totally ruined.
I'll be lucky to keep my own sanity after tonight.
“Damn it, love, you're going to kill me before we're through,” he growls, pulling out of me and tossing the condom aside.
We kiss. That's when I put my hands around his neck, scratching my nails against his skin, and deepen our tongues moving against one another. They're searching, tangled, and still so hungry.
Nothing else matters tonight except the flesh. I'm going to force myself to live in the sex, the pleasure, even if it means our dream is about to become a royal nightmare.
We don't get much sleep. Sometime near dawn, he wakes, nudging me out of our rum and sex fueled frolic.
My head hurts. My pussy aches so good, after taking him two more times, the last time bent over in the sand while he slammed into me from behind.
Silas passes me a water bott
le. I drink it down like it's ambrosia, straight from heaven, groaning angrily when he tries to get me to walk.
“Come on, love. You'll catch cold out here in the morning. Can't risk you getting pneumonia – how're we going to fuck then?”
Jerk. It gets a smile, though.
I watch him get dressed, summoning just enough energy to gather up my own clothes and slip into them. When I delay moving too long, Prince Silas the soldier emerges. He picks me up, takes me in his arms, and carries me up the steps to his high tech car.
Before I know it, I'm slumped in the leather passenger seat, watching as he starts the engine and puts it on auto-pilot. The car drives us back to civilization and the summer palace.
His guards nod politely on our way inside.
If any of them think our relationship is a sham, they don't show any signs. Or maybe they're just smart enough never to question their boss.
Soon, we're upstairs, skipping my room entirely and heading for his. He's got another one of those big, warm, and incredibly overbearing canopy beds like something shipped direct from 1820.
It doesn't matter. I crash on it like it's a silk cloud, safe in his arms, and sleep like the dead.
Silas' heartbeat guides me to my dreams.
If this is what being a Princess with benefits is like, count me in. It's a comforting thought, one that hangs with me through the sleepy morning, until I wake up.
Silas sits on the bed's edge, a phone in his hand, muttering angrily to someone on the line.
“Fuck. Fuck! It's a goddamned disaster, is what it is. Okay, okay, just give me a couple hours. Yes, we'll take the damned helicopter. We'll be back in the capital as soon as we can. You tell them to do every fucking thing they can to save her!”
Forget dreams. I just woke up into a royal nightmare.
10
With Bated Breath (Silas)
“What? What is it?” Erin sits up, the silk sheet wrapped around her, threatening to tease my cock awake after it's fucked itself into a coma for several hours.
Any other time, I'd be ripping that thing off, throwing her on her back, and having my way.
But after the asshole from the palace gets off the phone, sex is the last thing on my mind. First time that's ever happened, and I hate it. Almost as much as I hate having to tell her the news.
“Her Majesty's in the royal hospital. They think it's a stroke,” I say, feeling another blow to my guts when I repeat what I heard. “Those fucking muck raking, gutter swiping plebes...they must've pushed her over the edge. She's eighty years old, for Christ's sake – too old for the media's shit.”
“Don't worry about the why,” Erin says, laying her hands on my shoulders, rubbing them gently. “We just need to get back there, like you say. We'll have time to sort out everything else later.”
“We need to get our shit together. Now.” I'm growling every other word, and I can't stop myself.
I yank her up from the bed so hard she drops the sheet. “Let's shower and get dressed.”
“Shower? Together?”
No shit. Normally, it'd be the perfect opportunity to bend her over in the wet, balmy bath, hands against the wall, and fuck her pussy until I can't think straight.
Today, it's just a time saver. We step into the huge marble shower stall together, and I slam the glass door shut.
Just seeing her naked has a calming effect. Thank fuck.
I need it right now, anything that prevents me from thinking about the thousand and one hells waiting if grandmom doesn't pull through.
I've got my Princess, but it doesn't mean the island will accept me as king. The jackals in the media will have a field day. The Republic First assholes will raise holy hell, circulate a million petitions calling for my crown, and they'll probably get it after the nastiest referendum campaign this country's ever seen.
Hell, I'll have to address the bigger, uglier jackals in parliament. One wrong move there, and the populists will pounce for political points, ending our fifteen hundred year old crown forever.
“Silas...relax.” She's lathered up, smiling softly, running her hands up and down my chest.
I've never let a woman touch me like this before. Erin looks like an angel, and I can't refuse, even though she's seeing more cracks in my armor than any girl has business seeing.
I let her little hands glide down my body. She lathers me up, giving me a questioning, hungry look when her palms graze my thighs, next to the hard-on raging between my legs.
“Later, love,” I tell her, cupping her ass with my hands. “Turn around.”
She listens. I squeeze out a dab of thick, fragrant shampoo and lather it through her hair.
She's perfect. She's real. She's magnificent – even when I'm keeping myself from fucking her like I want to.
Erin backs into me, letting the water roll over us from the spigot above while I rinse her hair. It's strangely soothing, like some zen meditation I've been waiting half my life to discover.
I hate it like hell when I have to shut the water off. We step out together, ignoring the rock hard cock I've still got swinging near my belly button, and start toweling off.
Whatever happens, I will take care of myself later, and Erin, too. These royal distractions, this is the part of being a Prince I really fucking hate.
When we're back in my private suite to dress, the balcony door is cracked, letting in the fresh breeze. That's when we hear the thunder coming from one more floor above us. Erin turns around, her eyes wide, fixing the summer dress she's wearing.
“Jesus. You weren't kidding about the helicopter, were you?”
“Do I ever kid about anything?”
She sticks her tongue out. Something that makes me want to smile. Too bad the shitshow waiting for us across the country doesn't let me.
Victor joins us near the exit upstairs. We all climb aboard the huge converted military chopper. It's all mine, complete with the double-headed black eagle on the side.
It's too loud to speak until the doors are sealed shut. Even when they are, I don't say anything, lost in all the dark possibilities waiting at the palace.
We're leaving paradise. We're only in the air for a few tense minutes when I feel her hand on mine. Grabbing her fingers, I squeeze them tight, telling myself this isn't going to be the end.
I don't give a damn how fucked up things get with the kingdom. Nothing's changing my mind about my woman.
Soon as we're on the palace's landing pad, Vic and I slip off. I kiss Erin goodbye, and straighten my tie, ready to take on everything that's keeping me from her.
A long walk down the hall and several flights of stairs later, we're in the throne room. It's weird as hell to see it empty. Unoccupied.
That chair has never looked so imposing because I might be in it sooner than I ever expected. Worse, it could up a museum piece, never to house a royal ass in it again.
“How is she?” I ask sharply, seeing Patricia waiting for us by the window.
The Queen's valet is there, along with her personal emissary to parliament, a big man named George. There's also Serena – the last bitch in the world I want to see right now. She flashes me a huge, man eating smile. I don't even acknowledge her, focusing on Patricia instead.
“Stable, Your Highness. The symptoms began this morning. She woke in a state of confusion, and had great difficulty sitting up. We had her rushed to the hospital immediately. The medical team says she's in good spirits, resting, while they wait for a few more scans.”
“My God. What if there's brain damage?” One sentence from George gets everybody's nerves going. “I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm worried about the inquiries from parliament, Your Highness, nothing more. They won't like this uncertainty, particularly after the recent upsets in this very palace.”
“Fuck the politicians!” I snarl, pacing in front of the window.
They know to give me my space. All of them except Serena, who creeps up next to me, mustering her most soothing voice.
“My Prince
, I'd advise against that kind of tone. We need our PR working to unify the country. The last thing we ought to risk is more division.”
“Didn't ask for your advice,” I snap, pushing past her. “The country's already divided down to its roots. It's going to take weeding to bring it together again, and everybody in this room knows it.”
Vic clears his throat. “Sire, if you'd like us to put a cap on this, and head for the hospital, I'd be more than willing to summon a car.” He speaks slowly, trying to diffuse the walking bomb I've become.
“No, we have to talk this out,” I mutter, hating what I have to admit next. “Serena's right, damn it. I'll be there immediately if grandmom's condition changes, for better or worse. It's our job to make sure the whole kingdom doesn't go to hell in the meantime. I want her on black out – anything that isn't absolutely necessary doesn't get through. No politics, no drama, no jackals buzzing around her room. We can't risk upsetting her while she's being treated.”
Patricia gives me a sour look. She's never liked me very much. Her first and last duty is to the Queen, sure, but her distaste is personal, too. The prim, proper woman is probably about to lay a load because there's a risk I'm about to become King far sooner than anyone expected.
Including me.
Christ, King. My gaze drifts to the throne.
I can't imagine myself up there, wearing my grandfather's crown, wrapped up in robes made from mountain lions, wild bears, and gold. I see myself surrounded by guards and valets, Victor in Patricia's place, and – of course – Erin at my side.
Then the others vanish. I'm imagining myself on the throne in just my robe. Erin is on her knees, her sweet, smooth skin reflecting the fire's glow. Naked for me, ready to sit on my raging cock and take the sovereign's seed, pump my dick with her luscious cunt until we're dripping all over thousand year old gold.
Fuck. Patricia's talking, but I've been too busy thinking about filthy, ridiculous things to listen.
“We'll take it day by day with her condition. That's all I'm asking, Prince. We needn't consider anything rash, much less any assumptions of royal power, unless it's clearly necessary.”