Claiming His Princess: A Beauty and The Beast Romance (Filthy Fairy Tales Book 4)

by Parker Grey

  "There's a robin out there," she says.

  I look up from the dishes I'm doing, and Knox looks up from some electronic thing he's trying to fix.

  "Spring?" I ask.

  She nods, excitedly. I think the long winter has been getting to her, even though she's trying not to let on. But it's hard to be snowed in for a couple of months, no matter how often your boyfriends make you come.

  "Supposedly," she says. "I think some of the trees are starting to bud, too."

  "Good," Knox says. "It's about time."

  "It's the same amount of winter as every other year," I point out.

  "And it's always about time for spring right around now," he says.

  "Boys," Rose interjects.

  She walks over to Knox, giving him a kiss, then comes over to me.

  "How did we survive before you?" I murmur.

  "With either more surly silence or more fighting," she says.

  I think she's right, actually. Not that I particularly remember, because the years before we found Rose half-frozen on a dirt road feel like they've faded into the background, the past three months burning brighter in my memory than anything that happened before.

  "I picked up the mail, by the way," I tell her and Knox.

  She's standing at the sink, drinking a glass of water, looking out the window at the still-brown trees.

  "Anything good?" she asks.

  I know she means is there anything from my dad? The question still forms a rock in my gut, and I swallow, because there's not. No one's heard a peep from him since Rose left without saying goodbye, and while most of me thinks she's better off without him, I can't believe anyone would do that to their own child.

  God knows if I had a daughter, there's no way I'd ever let her drive across—

  You're getting ahead of yourself, I think.

  "The course catalog came," I say.

  Rose smiles, and she looks a little relieved.

  "Good, I was starting to think I'd forgotten to request it or something," she says. "I think getting out of the cabin and into town once a week will be good for me."

  I just laugh, because I know that living up here full time without much human interaction is... let's just say it takes a particular personality type. I think Rose likes it, but I think she also needs just a little more company than Knox and I can give her, sometimes.

  I can't blame her. I know I'm the weird one in this situation.

  "Study electrical engineering," Knox pipes in. "Maybe you can fix this damn radio."

  "I don't think an act of God could fix that radio," Rose says.

  "It was working the other day," he muttered.

  "You mean before you dropped it into a half-melted snowbank?"

  I have to force myself not to laugh. Knox just sighs.

  "Why'd you have the radio outside, anyway?" I ask.

  He glares at me.

  "Trying to get a better signal," he says, shrugging. "It's been on the fritz, so I thought maybe it would help if I took it outside, without interference or something."

  Rose and I just both look at him, eyebrows raised.

  "Yes, where I proceeded to drop it into a snowbank," he grumbles. "Like you two are so perfect. I know that burn hole in the rug by the fire is your fault, Rose."

  "We're not talking about me right now," she says, her eyes dancing.

  Now Knox is smiling too.

  "And you left the window open for it to rain on the storage room last week," he says, pointing at me.

  "Okay, okay, point taken," Rose says, walking over to Knox.

  She sits in his lap, her arms around his neck. He starts to look mollified.

  "I'd like an apology," he says, straight-faced.

  Rose laughs.

  "I'm sure you would," she says.

  "So would I," I interject, slowly walking over to them.

  "For what?"

  "I'll think of something," I say.

  Rose laughs. She kisses Knox, then me.

  And then we do dirty, dirty things to her, right there on the kitchen table.

  Epilogue

  Rose

  A little over a year later

  I can't believe you blindfolded me," I say, sitting in the back seat of the truck. "Am I being kidnapped?"

  "Yes," Knox says, his voice serious. "We're kidnapping you to the house we built you with our own hands."

  "I'm just saying."

  "We want you to be surprised," Logan says easily, as the truck slows. "And we're hoping it's a good surprise."

  "If this is two old singlewide trailers duct-taped together, that'll be a bad surprise," I say.

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat and hope we're close. It hasn't been all that long, but sitting in a car for much more than ten minutes at this stage makes my back start acting up.

  Also, I have to pee. Again.

  But then, the truck slows to a stop. I unbuckle myself carefully and open the door, trying to get out on my own, blindfold and all.

  "Whoa, what do you think you're doing?" Knox's voice asks as he catches me by the elbows.

  "I can get out of a car," I grumble.

  "You're blindfolded," he points out.

  "And whose fault is that?"

  He doesn't answer, just leans forward and kisses my nose, then guides me gently out of the truck. Actually, I'm glad he's there. It's further to the ground than I remembered.

  With one of them on either side, they lead me a few more steps, then stop. Logan puts his arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple, while Knox slides his arm around my waist. Or at least where my waist used to be.

  It's currently an enormous bump that kicks sometimes.

  "Okay, now you can open your eyes," Logan says.

  I blink, then gasp.

  It's a two-story log cabin. Both stories have balconies on the front, and the whole thing is perfect and rustic all at once, like it's from a country living magazine.

  "You like it?" Knox asks, anxiously.

  "You guys," I whisper, putting on hand on my belly. "I love it."

  I'm tearing up. I tear up at everything these days, but I think I'd tear up at this even without the hormones.

  I knew they were building it, but I was picturing a bigger version of the cabin where we live now — nice enough, perfectly functional, cozy. It's nothing spectacular, but it's home.

  But this. This is spectacular and jaw dropping, even if they finished it a month late. I'll admit that I was worried we'd be moving when my water broke or something.

  "Come on, we'll give you the tour," Logan says, and takes my hand. Knox's arm is still around me, protectively.

  They've always been protective, but it's ramped up in the past six months. When I first realized I was pregnant — and yeah, I'm one of those girls who never kept very good track of her periods, so I was almost two months in before I finally figured it out — I was terrified to tell them. True, we hadn't exactly been using protection, but a baby?

  It's big. Huge. Crazy huge.

  But they were ecstatic. I think Knox nearly cried with happiness, and I was more relieved than I could even say, because the second the pregnancy test showed positive, I was already in love with it.

  And, because there was no way we could have a baby in the cabin, they built a house. Not to mention that ever since the moment I started to show, they've both been completely crazed with lust, and the bigger I get, the hornier they are.

  Even though right now, eight months in, I'm so gigantic that I can barely roll over in bed, so I don't think I'm all that great at sex.

  "This is the living room," Logan starts, showing me a room with cathedral ceilings and tall windows. "Those are double-paned, so it'll keep the heat in during the winter, and through here is the kitchen..."

  They show me the whole house, room by room, pointing out the little things they added that they think I'll like. We head upstairs — slowly, in my case — and the very last room they show me is the master bedroom.

  "We have a su
rprise," Logan says.

  I raise my eyebrows.

  "We got one piece of furniture already," Knox admits.

  Logan pushes the door open, and inside is the biggest bed I've ever seen. Knox stands behind me, one arm around me, one slung protectively over my big belly.

  "You up for trying it out?" he asks, his mouth close to my ear.

  My entire body sparks to life.

  "We should definitely make sure it works," I agree.

  He grins, then picks me up and carries me to our bed, putting me down very gently. Logan's already there, and he sits behind me, nuzzling my neck, his hands on my belly as well.

  "I can't fucking wait to be inside you," he whispers, still dirty as hell, pulling the skirt I'm wearing up my legs. "I love you, Rose."

  I kiss Knox slowly, his hands gentle on my sore, swollen breasts.

  "I love you too," he murmurs.

  "I love you both," I say.

  Then they take me at the same time on our new bed, and everything is perfect.

  Finding His Princess

  Filthy Fairy Tales, #1

  Chapter One

  Ella

  I close the back door to the diner as softly as I can, glancing at the clock on the wall as I do.

  7:03. Crap.

  Holding my breath, I tiptoe along the back hall to the tiny break room. My white sneakers just barely squeak on the tile floor, but even that noise makes me nervous.

  Three minutes wouldn’t be a big deal at any other job, but my boss Kyle is a total jerk. And worse, he’s a total jerk who lives to brown-nose my stepmother — and catching me doing something wrong is a great way to score points with her.

  The lights are on in the break room, but there’s no one there, and I exhale, pushing my blonde hair out of my face as I hang my purse on a hook, grabbing my apron. It’s kind of gross right now, since yesterday morning I had a table with two kids who got into a mustard fight, and I really need to take it home to wash it but just forgot yesterday, I was so tired.

  I grab that, tie it around my waist, and pin my name tag on my Tremaine Diner t-shirt.

  Then I take a deep breath, wind my hair into a bun, and head out to see whether we’ve got customers yet.

  “You’re late, girl,” Flynn calls the moment he sees me.

  “Barely!” I protest.

  He puts one hand on his hip and tilts his head back so he can look down his nose at me.

  “Three minutes late is still late,” he says, making his voice high-pitched and nasal. “That’s another demerit.”

  “Kyle’s going to catch you doing your impression of him one of these days,” I say, typing my apron strings around my back.

  Flynn grins and turns his attention back to flipping pancakes.

  “Not today,” he says, and winks at me. “But you owe me. I covered for your pretty little butt a few minutes ago already.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’m sorry, Peyton couldn’t find her mascara this morning, and then Slade had a zit and broke a coffee mug, so I had to clean all that up before I came.”

  Flynn purses his lips and looks at the grill disapprovingly without saying anything, and I sigh.

  “I know, I know, it’s ridiculous,” I say.

  “They’re ridiculous,” he says. “Grown-ass women who pitch hissy fits when they can’t find their shitty drugstore mascara and it’s somehow your fault? Girl, you have got to get yourself out of there.”

  “You can say that again,” I mutter.

  “I’d take you up on the easy joke but you’ve already got a table waiting,” he says. “The four-man hangover party at table seven.”

  I lean back, away from the window, and catch a glimpse of a few guys who look like they’re still wearing what they wore to last night’s black-tie event. I raise one eyebrow. People who attend black tie events aren’t exactly our usual clientele.

  “They must be hungover to eat here,” I tease Flynn.

  “Hey now,” Flynn says. “I am a damn expert in hangover cures, especially for hot men who know how to dress.”

  Flynn winks at me.

  “I thought you and Thomas were a thing now,” I say, prying.

  “Can’t I have a little fun?” Flynn asks, monitoring some eggs. “Go get their order, I’ve got work to do.”

  “They have menus already?”

  “Sure do.”

  I walk over to table five — the darkest table in the place, which they probably requested — pulling my notepad out of my pocket as I do.

  “Hi there,” I begin. “I’ll be your server this morning. Can I start you off with—”

  “Coffee,” the first guy on the right side of the table growls. “Make it fast and just leave the damn pot.”

  I glance down at the rude bastard, making sure I don’t let annoyance register on my face. He’s slouching in his chair, one hand on the table and the other slung over the back, wearing a tuxedo that he’s clearly had on since last night.

  It’s untucked and wrinkled, his bowtie undone around his neck. The shirt is unbuttoned just far enough that I can see the curves and contours of his thick, muscled chest.

  I stare for just a moment too long, because even though he’s obviously kind of a hungover jerk, he’s also kind of hot in a jerk way.

  Then he finally looks up at me, one eyebrow raised.

  “Well?” he asks.

  Oh my gosh, he’s good-looking. Even though he clearly had a pretty rough night, he’s got deep slate-gray eyes, mussed hair, and exactly the right amount of stubble on his square jaw.

  Not to mention, he looks kind of familiar. I could almost swear that I know him from somewhere, except I’d remember anyone this incredibly handsome. Right?

  My mouth comes slightly open, and it’s a moment before I remember that I’m supposed to answer.

  “Of course,” I say.

  He’s a total jerk, I think. A complete and total jerk. Don’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s hot.

  “Could I get a Bloody Mary?” his friend says, finally snapping me out of my hot-jerk induced reverie.

  “Sorry,” I say, finally remembering to smile. “We don’t serve alcohol.”

  “No alcohol? None at all?”

  I shake my head.

  “The cook doesn’t even have a bottle of vodka stashed somewhere for the really tough mornings?”

  I’m sure Flynn does, but I’m not offering it to these guys.

  “I don’t think so,” I say as sweetly as I can, tilting my head to one side. “Orange juice?”

  “Fine.”

  I turn to the third guy.

  “I’ll just take the coffee and hope for the sweet release of death,” he says.

  I nod.

  “Same,” the last guy says, not even looking up at me.

  “I’ll be right back with those,” I say, and turn.

  “Make sure it’s strong,” says the first guy — the hot jerk — and I glance back at him. “None of this usual diner coffee bullshit.”

  We lock eyes for a split second, and then his gaze travels down my body, from my head to my feet and back up as he smirks.

  A jolt of electricity slams through my core, my nerves crackling with sudden heat while this jerk looks me over, up and down, like I’m something he can have.

  I stand my ground, notepad in hand, even though I can feel my face getting red.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I say, and walk back to the kitchen.

  Chapter Two

  Grayson

  I lean forward as our waitress disappears, tracking her ass with my eyes until she disappears around the corner.

  It’s a nice ass, the kind of ass I can just imagine bending over a table in front of me as I slide my cock along the cleft between her cheeks. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time I went for breakfast after a big night and had a side of pussy with my eggs and toast.

  And this girl? Blonde and blue-eyed, lush red lips, and she’s got this rosy-cheeked innocence thing going on that I’d f
ucking love to ruin.

  “Earth to Grayson,” Beckett mutters. “Could you stop staring at the waitress for one fucking second?”

  “I’m sure you were saying something really important,” I say, my eyes still lingering on the spot where she disappeared.

  “More important than you thinking about getting your dick wet,” he says, glaring at me from his chair. “Give it five minutes off, man.”

  My head pounds, and my mouth feels like it’s being scrubbed with cotton balls dipped in acid, but I grin at him anyway, even though I’m pretty sure I look like hell.

  “No rest for the wicked,” I say.

  The three of them all roll their eyes.

  “This weekend,” Beckett’s best friend, Kieran, says. “The World Cup. In Florence. You two coming or what?”

  Next to me, Declan groans and rubs two hands over his eyes.

  “After last night, I’m taking up a life of baking cupcakes and watching soap operas,” he says, and we all laugh.

  “Hell yes, we’re coming,” I say, sneaking one more glance at the corner where the waitress disappeared. Now I’m thinking about the way she just barely pursed her lips when I told her to make the coffee strong.

  And I’m thinking about how those lips might look wrapped around the head of my thick cock, sliding down my shaft. Fuck, it’s a good mental image, one that gets me hard as a rock sitting here at the breakfast table.

  “Jesus,” Kieran says, waving one hand in front of my face. “Hey, your royal goddamn highness.”

  I snap out of it.

  “What?”

  “If you want to head over Friday, we’re taking the private jet straight from here,” he says. “Otherwise, you can find your own goddamn private jet.”

  “I have got one,” I point out. “Two, if you count the little jet.”

  “Yeah, but ours will be way more fun,” Beckett says, grinning through his hangover. “Our staff has been interviewing stewardesses for days.”