Prince Brock: A Prince of Tease Novel (Princes of Tease Book 3)

by Xavier Neal

  You know, I can’t fucking remember a time when I’ve ever been this fucking happy? Maybe when I was a kid? Maybe before we were tossed into foster care. Maybe back when the only thing I had to worry about was building shit with Legos and blocking the belt from hitting both of us. What? I…I didn’t say both. No. I uh…I said me. No. I don’t wanna talk about my fucked up past. I wanna just enjoy my fucking beautiful future. Which is now that I have French in every way possible.

  French

  “This is bullshit,” Brock grumbles, fingers digging deeper into the arch of my foot. “That didn’t happen until the second half of the fucking book.”

  His foot rubs are amazing. He’s been giving them to me for years. Crazy thing is, they are more relaxing than the massage therapist I pay to remove the tension from my system twice a week. She says I would be more relaxed if I wasn’t answering emails on my phone during the session. I wanted to fire her for giving me lip, but Sebastian reminded me how much the men loved her. She got lucky…She also learned it is not wise to give me unsolicited advice.

  When I don’t reply, he snaps his head my direction away from the flat screen hung above my long, straight modern fireplace. “Why the fuck do I feel like I’m watching this movie alone?”

  I glance away from the potential private investigators Rhys sent over this morning.

  The first one he tried to set me up with a couple weeks ago was an immediate no. I knew more about him than he did about me and that was from a few simple searches online. The meeting, if you want to fucking call it that, was so short I almost called Rhys and ripped him a new one from tearing me away from kitchen sex. However, I refrained and realized he was testing me. Something no one should ever do. Finding Brock’s twin is not a game I am prepared to lose no matter how the odds are fucking stacked against me.

  “Why are you fucking working? I thought we agreed no fucking work at home after dinner.”

  Yes. He says home like he fucking lives here…No…Just because he has a key doesn’t mean he does.

  “An agreement is a conclusion reached upon by both parties. I never agreed. You merely stated a demand.”

  His eyebrows lower yet the massaging on my feet doesn’t cease. “Close the fucking laptop.”

  “I have shit to do.”

  “You always have fucking shit to do.”

  “This is…crucial shit.”

  He tilts his head in curiosity. “Crucial how?”

  Realizing my slip of the tongue, I swiftly close the open tab and turn the screen to show him. “Well as you can see I just sent next school year’s tuition check for Zane.”

  There’s no hesitation in his choice to smile.

  One of his other oldest and dearest friends, but him I actually like. Him I actually trust and still employ. And it is none of your damn business about his daughter or her unique needs. The only thing you need to know is I meant what I said about treating my Princes as such and having their needs covered.

  “I was taking care of that in between studying Wood’s new potential replacement.”

  Brock’s unpleasant expression reappears. “I thought this shit was done.”

  I spin the device back around to face me. “Due to the incident-”

  “What fucking incident?” My hesitation causes him to shut the computer. “What. Fucking. Incident?”

  Leaning back against the arm of the couch, I reply, “Technically there were two.”

  “Fucking two?!”

  “Stop fucking yelling.”

  “Start fucking explaining!”

  He’s only going to get worse…

  “Well first, there was the mysterious flat tire issue.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Someway, somehow, all four of my town car’s tires were flat when there was absolutely nothing wrong with them the day before.”

  Brock groans his disapproval.

  “That happened last week just two days before the second incident.”

  “Which was?”

  “One afternoon while Wood was escorting his wife to a doctor’s appointment, I needed to conduct an interview.”

  The second PI Rhys tried to connect me with. More experience, but buckled under the interrogation I delivered. Rhys keeps insisting he just wants it to be a good fit. I less than politely told him to fuck off and get serious or I will use the other contacts I am trying to avoid using. The files I was reviewing were the three I will be meeting as my schedule permits. My business does not run or protect itself. And trying to find someone who doesn’t belong in the Scooby Doo gang is consuming more time than I have, especially now that Brock has crossed a line I’m not too certain should’ve ever been crossed, even if it has made my vibrator obsolete.

  Brock’s expression darkens. “And?”

  “Wood’s replacement was on hand as he should be, so he went with me.”

  The sneer of disapproval is prevalent.

  “It was a midday lunch. It should’ve gone off without a problem, but shortly after he brought the car around and was helping me inside, I was attacked.”

  “What!” His deep voice booms.

  This is why I didn’t want to tell him and exactly why he has no idea about the unseen threat lurking. Pretty sure this was related to that…Oh believe me. When I find out who is trying to bully from behind the curtain, I will string their body up like Mussolini’s in the middle of the city as an example of why I am not to be fucked with.

  There’s no pause for my response. “What the fuck do you mean you were attacked!?”

  “Will you relax?”

  “Relax?” He pushes my feet off his lap and faces me completely. “Are you fucking kidding? My girl was fucking attacked and you want me to relax?”

  Hearing the term of endearment shifts something unfamiliar in the pit of my stomach.

  No. I don’t want to discuss that either.

  “I can handle myself.”

  “Not all the fucking time, French! That’s what you have them for! That’s their only fucking job!”

  “Stop shouting.”

  “Fuck no!” He counters, his voice now shakier than before. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner? You don’t think that’s something I’d wanna fucking know about!”

  “Because I handled it,” I maintain my composure despite the fact he is continuing to lose his.

  “French-”

  “Just because the two of us are fucking now doesn’t automatically make me some pathetic damsel in distress that needs her big bad wolf rescuing her every time there’s a hint of danger in her direction.”

  “French-”

  “It was taken care of. The faceless assailant got a hit to the throat and heel to the shin. He fled in fear immediately. The problem with Wood’s potential replacement was he did not act. There was no effort to put his life on the line. No chase after to discover who it was. He didn’t even raise his voice in an attempt to appear threatening. He froze. Completely. That’s unacceptable.”

  “That’s beyond fucking unacceptable,” he grunts. “He’s lucky I don’t-”

  “Enough.” I lift my hand to end a tirade before it can start. “He was fresh blood. New to the industry. It happens.”

  “You don’t need a fucking newbie protecting your ass, French.”

  “Fresh blood has potential to grow. You know how I feel about that.”

  Veterans at anything are fantastic, but they didn’t get there without being given a chance to succeed while being a beginner. I enjoy the best of the best, but I also take great pride in helping them get there.

  “Experienced only from this point forward.”

  “I didn’t ask your opinion.”

  “And I’m not giving it.” He lifts his eyebrows in challenge. “I’m telling you, Wood’s replacement is to be experienced.”

  I snip, “You don’t fucking make the rules, Brock.”

  “You’re not the one who would have to try to live without you, French.”

  The combi
nation of his forceful tone and sentimental words slumps my shoulders.

  “You find someone with at least four years of experience or I’ll be taking his place.”

  “Brock-”

  “This is not a negotiation.”

  My hands give my hair a ruffle.

  Don’t awe and side with him. He’s a pain in the ass. The last thing I want is his life at risk to save mine. Ugh. But this is Brock for you. Protective instinct 101. Started from the diaper age as far as I understand. According to his files and the few stories he’s shared, he was always first to take a hit to protect someone else…like a sacrificial punching bag.

  I rest my face in the palm of my hand. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” His rapidly ticking jaw slowly decreases in speed. “What the fuck do you mean okay?”

  “What else could I possibly mean?”

  He glares.

  “I mean okay. Fine. Four years of experience or more and if no one else can fill in Wood’s shoes before his wife has her baby then you can take his place while I continue my search.”

  “Permanently.”

  “What?”

  “I will take his place permanently.”

  It’s my turn to scowl. “Brock-”

  “I already fucking hate that it’s not me out there every day making sure your ass gets back here untouched. Knowing the high cost of doing business, knowing the higher fucking cost of keeping a vault of secrets, knowing the undeniable truth that you’re always one fucking bad mood away from being a target, keeps me on fucking edge. It took…years for me to trust Wood to bring home my whole fucking world safe and sound every time you stepped foot outside those doors. I’m not fucking risking your life, my reason for fucking breathing, to any run of the mill asshole who is licensed to carry a firearm and used to teach a self-defense class.”

  His proclamations and desire to self-sacrifice push me to crawl into his lap. Once I’m straddled there, he braces his back against the couch and I drape my arms around his neck. “Permanently.”

  He lets go of a heavy breath. “I mean it, baby.”

  “So do I.”

  See. Not completely uncompromising. Fine. Maybe I am agreeing because I know it’s never going to happen. I already have someone in mind who fits his criteria. Let’s not tell him that. Let’s just soothe the beast…He clearly needs it.

  “And if you ever fucking keep something like that from me again, I swear-”

  The sentence is smothered away by my tongue swiftly swirling around his. Brock groans in response and secures me in place by the nape of my neck. I whimper and increase the speed, hoping to guide his focus elsewhere.

  Best way to distract the monster is to give him something else to roar about…

  His lips abruptly tear from mine to state, “Fuck French. I’m serious. We don’t keep shit from each other. We never have. Don’t start now because you think I’m a fucking pussy who can’t handle hearing his girl’s problems.”

  I prepare to drop my mouth back on his when he moves his face to prevent it.

  The trepidation storming around his eyes sends a sharp pain through my chest.

  It’s insane to me the world only sees him as an anger based asshole with a chip on his shoulder instead of the devoted guardian he’s christened himself to be. All he wants is to shelter me. Why do I feel like the moment I truly let him, truly expose those weak spots I hide so well, everything is going to fall to shit? Or worse. What if I let him all the way in and he decides he hates it?

  “Fine, but don’t start treating me like I need you to fucking fight my battles for me.”

  “With you.” He gives me a crooked smirk. “I wanna fight them with you.”

  Helplessly, I grin in return.

  “We good?”

  I run my hands down the front of his t-shirt covered chest and nod.

  Brock’s hands firmly cup my ass as he teases, “Good. Now…make a note. More head. Less headaches, baby.”

  Yeah…He really just said that shit out loud.

  He lightly chuckles at his comment, which encourages my teeth to latch onto a known hot spot on his neck. The growl of approval is met with a light lick and my hand slipping under the edge of his shirt. I drag my tongue up to his strong jaw line and nip. “Should I start that now?”

  Brock groans again while his cock thumps itself between my thighs. “Later.”

  Pulling back to allow our eyes to meet, I state, “Now it is.”

  He grumps, “Then why the fuck did you ask?”

  Pleased with his sexual frustration, I simply smirk at the same time I slip off his lap onto my knees. “Because I can.”

  Brock begins to bite back but immediately replaces the sounds with a long, blissful moan from the feeling of my hand tightly wound around his gym shorts covered cock. Our battle for the last word ends as he assists in the process of removing the barrier between us. The moment his pierced cock is sprung free, my mouth anxiously waters in anticipation.

  The world’s best dildos should be jealous…

  A small, impatient grumble lingers in the back of his throat while he watches me admire his dick. Knowing how much he hates to wait for anything, I slowly curl my fingers around his swollen length and gradually lower my mouth closer. Brock humphs louder to voice his irritation. Ignoring his desire for my haste, I use my tongue to swipe away the pre-cum glistening on the top of his jewelry.

  His strained voice growls, “Stop fucking with me, French.”

  I smirk to myself. “Say please.”

  There’s another grunt of hesitation, which prompts me to repeat the action. A fit of inexplicable words fumble out of his mouth before he caves, “Motherfucker. Please stop fucking with me.”

  See. Manners are important.

  In one flawless motion, his cock is plunged to the back of my throat and swimming in the scorching suctions he craves.

  “Fuck…”

  The sound of his favorite word hits my ears like encouragement. Leisurely, I roll my tongue around in tantalizing circles, completely enthralled with the way his breaths are becoming increasingly shorter.

  Brock’s fingers attempt to anchor themselves into my hair causing me to instantly release the tight hold I had on his dick. I shoot him a mischievous smirk. “Touch me and I stop.”

  A hostile, flustered sigh falls from his lips.

  Aside from his obsession with my ass, he loves nothing more than the ability to put his hands on me all the time. My guess, after a decade of having to suppress the urge, he’s trying to make up for lost time. Oh, don’t take his side! He tortures me all the goddamn time! Remind me to tell you about the elevator incident…

  He tucks one hand behind his head and leaves the other to linger on his shirt.

  With the same alacrity I had before, I capture his cock, except this time I allow my hand to join the fun. I abandon the agonizing speed from before and feverishly suck, loving the sound of his jewelry clinking against my teeth. While one hand profusely pumps as if feeding me my body’s life source, the other busies itself with lightly rolling his balls around. Brock’s boorish moans of gratitude begin to reverberate throughout the penthouse. Eager to hear him come apart as well as taste it, I force him deeper and deeper until he’s damn near tickling the back of my throat. At the change of depth, his body tenses, clearly battling his instinctive need to hold onto me. I suck harder and his cock begins to swell, warning me of its inevitable surrender. All of a sudden, my nails clench against his nuts just enough to ignite the dash of pain he loves twisted with his pleasure. Brock’s entire body quakes in response. A gut-wrenching bellow of satisfaction stuns me at the same time blistering bursts splash against the back of my throat. His overwhelming attestation of having become fully sated steals a long, sweet moan from my occupied lips.

  Proof he absolutely loves when I’m in control…Now if you’ll excuse us. There’s a round of couch sex to be had and a shitty movie to be critiqued.

  Brock

  “Could you please help me
out here?” Little Sami begs from behind her long wooden desk. “I know how much you hate your big sets. I swear I do. But it’s that time of year, Prince B. We have to come up with something.”

  The stern expression on my face doesn’t waiver.

  Samantha Potts, or Little Sami as we’ve always called her, primarily due to her short stature, is basically the creative director of all our shows. She helps collaborate on ways to improve or freshen our regular routines as well as develop the big shit that takes The Castle to the next level experience. Each normal Prince has one headliner every couple of months or so. It’s on a steady rotation, with one exception. Me. You’ve fuckin’ caught on by now I am not just another average Prince. Somedays I actually hate being one at all. But keep that fucking shit to yourself…