Prince Brock

by Xavier Neal

  They can have him like this. I get him without the thong on.

  All of a sudden in my ear, Sebastian’s voice says, “We have an issue ma’am.”

  The words cause my humored expression to shift. I don’t move my lips. “Mmhm?”

  “Fire Marshall.”

  What the fuck?!

  As if he can sense something’s wrong, Brock yanks me up, so our foreheads are smashed together and whispers, “We’ll finish this later, baby.”

  Afterward, he slides over to the table closest to us, and drops into the woman’s lap. She screams, runs her fingers down his arms, and nuzzles her face against his firm chest.

  Well that was fun while it lasted…back to business…

  I stand up and readjust my clothing. When I start walking towards the secret door that I used, I can’t help but notice the shit eating grin on Titan’s face. My scowl deepens and he instantly backs down, pretending to clean out a shot glass.

  The rest of what should be a smooth evening turns quickly into an unforeseen disaster. After dealing with the Fire Marshall showing up from an ‘anonymous tip’, security outside reports suspicious activities from a hooded individual, as well as a potential bomb threat left near the parking garage for employees. The routine checkout process is delayed and many of the Princes are displeased though they know better than to voice it. While Brock’s night is over at the same time everyone else’s is, mine runs later than normal because of the extra security measures and protocols that have to be handled.

  By the time I arrive in the penthouse, dawn is daring to dart its way through my blinds.

  Thank fuck it’s Sunday and I can work from the couch guilt free.

  I drag my exhausted body straight for the bedroom expecting to see Brock passed out in the bed. However, when I step inside he’s nowhere to be found.

  Maybe he didn’t feel like waiting any longer?

  My on-suite bathroom door opens and Brock gives me a warm grin. Behind him I can see flickers of lit candles, which encourages me to move forward to see what else he’s been busy doing. The candles are all over the counters, the floors and edge of the filled bathtub as well. Beside it happens to be a bucket of chilling champagne and two glasses.

  When I dart my attention to him he states, “Put up your hair. I know you hate it to get wet.”

  Still in disbelief over the setting, I ask, “Have you just been waiting in here for me to come home?”

  “Nah. I told Sebastian to give me a call when you were about ready to head up.” He motions his hand to my hair. “Pin it or I will.”

  With a soft smile, I use the hair tie around my wrist and do as I’m told.

  Often keep one there to pull it off the back of my neck when patrolling The Castle gets too hot. While I do spend most of the working nights watching from the office, I do make my face and presence known to instill the right amount of fear for the night. Though, obviously not enough if Q is still fucking with me. I hate that I’m going to have to ruin their friendship, but after the stunts he pulled tonight, he signed his own death certificate. We’ll just find a way for it to hurt Brock less. Perhaps force Q to end their friendship because he’s ‘relocating’. He’ll be moving to cell block six if I have any mercy left in my system.

  Brock takes a step forward and drops his hands to my waist. He leaves one on my hip to keep me secured in place while the other unzips the back of my black dress. With his eyes pinned deeply in mine he announces, “Bath. Then bed.”

  Instinct to argue cracks my jaw open.

  The tip of his finger swiftly closes it. “Not a debate, French.”

  Oh…Watch your yelling. Just because he’s trying to be sweet and romantic doesn’t mean you have to raise your damn voice at me.

  “You’ve been running off fumes for weeks.”

  I want to argue but can’t.

  “Three hours a night is not enough.”

  When you’re running multiple companies, hunting down your boyfriend’s lost brother, and trying not to kill his best friend for betraying you in multiple ways, it’s all you really get….

  “You may not need me to fucking take care of you, baby, but I want to.” He peels the dress off my arms. “So fucking let me.”

  A small smirk crosses my lips.

  Fine. You both win.

  It doesn’t take long for Brock to remove the remainder of my clothes along with his. The two of us settle into the deep bathtub where the jets are already running. My body leans itself between his parted legs and the stress from the weekend seems to instantly dissolve. His thumbs fall to my neck where they begin to rub, banishing all the tension that has made a home in my system. For over an hour, Brock selflessly pampers my body in a way I’m not accustomed to.

  What can I say? It’s more important to me the Princes are handled like this than it is I am. They have routine massage appointments, waxings, and facials. Pretty much anything and everything they desire or require. Hell, I even pay for Chance to go to yoga every morning and study under one of the ‘great masters’ as he calls him. Nothing is too good for them…

  Our conversation, between sips of champagne, primarily revolves around some of our favorite moments together from the past. We lightly laugh, poke fun at one another, and ultimately flirt our way down memory lane. Brock goes to extreme lengths to redirect the conversation any time it gets too deep or the recollections get too murky. During our talk, his fingers never stop expressing their dedication to easing away the pain. Once the bottle is empty and my eyelids are heavy, the two of us climb out to begin the process of drying off.

  Brock promptly prevents me from doing it on my own by removing my towel from my capable reach. “Hey!”

  “Nope,” he denies. “I’m gonna fucking do that, too.”

  Teetering between being thankful for the overabundance of spoiling and annoyed that he suddenly sees me as some pathetic bratty princess who can’t do things herself, I press my lips together to remain silent.

  He instantly spots the hesitation. “Why the fuck is it so hard for you to let me be as fucking good to you as you are to me?”

  I don’t answer.

  Rather than continue to push, he takes my hand and leads me over to the mirror. He whispers in my ear, “You see that woman.”

  I allow myself to stare at my now make up free reflection.

  He gently helped me remove that between shoulder scrubs…

  “I fucking love her. I’ve never loved anyone in my whole fucking life as much as I love her. It doesn’t matter to me I don’t deserve her. That I never have. If anything, it’s probably made me try fucking harder to make sure she knows I’m worth the damn she gives…”

  My mouth twitches in an attempt to reply.

  “And that fucking woman you’re staring at? The fucking woman who would actually sacrifice her last pennies to protect someone she cares about…because she’s so fucking busy trying to save every asshole who walks through her front doors, she forgets to do shit like eat.” Brock gently begins to towel dry my shoulder. “And drink.” He drags it across my shoulders to the other side. “And sleep.” This time when he’s finished he drops his lips to the freshly cleaned area. “I’m not gonna let a motherfucking thing happen to her. So, when she won’t do her fucking job and take care of herself, then I will.” Brock delivers a soft kiss. “Understood?”

  Unable to do anything else, I simply nod.

  If I let him do shit like this for me, it doesn’t make me weak, right? Tell me it doesn’t…

  My boyfriend begins an oscillation of drying my body and bathing it with his tongue. His fingertips lightly skim my flesh, treating it as if it’s the most delicate thing that’s ever crossed his path. The mansuetude with which he’s handling me is equals parts a turn on and a nightmare. Fear of being shunned once he sees everything behind the wall forces my face down, but Brock immediately commands it back up.

  He stares at me from over my shoulder. In the faintest voice beside my ear he implores, “Don’t shut m
e out, French…I swear I won’t hurt you.”

  Thoughtlessly, I counter, “But what if you hate that part of me?”

  An unsuspecting smile crosses his face. “The part that lets me finally feel like a man? Like I’m actually caring for the fucking woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with? Like you fucking need me the same way I fucking need you?” Brock’s mouth grazes the back of my neck before he whispers, “Not a chance in hell.”

  A deep sigh escapes, as his teeth nip on the skin he was just teasing. I allow him to freely guide my body to the position he wants.

  Once my legs are spread apart and my upper body is resting on the counter, he commands, “Watch.”

  I glance over my shoulder at him with a sarcastic expression.

  “Watch me make your body shake…”

  He lowers himself to his knees while my eyes reluctantly relocate to the mirror being lit up by candlelight.

  Without warning, Brock buries his face between my thighs, mouth sucking the minor mess his touches created. Instinctively, I shut my eyes, lost to the first euphoric lick. He hums his starvation for more yet keeps his speed even. His tongue rolls around my clit. Laps up the juices like his entire body is suffering a drought only I can cure. The moment he cups my ass, my fingers fly to my hair and I rock back into the grip, gently grinding against his eager tongue. Moan after moan tumbles from my parted lips as I ride his mouth, but when my head bobs forward, I catch a glimpse of my surrendered expression. The simple way I’ve abandoned control to allow him to provide me with pleasure. How beautiful I look when I’m no longer a prisoner of my own thoughts or requirements about governing careers and guarding everyone I care because I know how much it hurts not to be cherished. To be loved. A wave of adoration whirls through me at the same time Brock slips two fingers inside of my soaking pussy. My breath begins to hitch yet quickly transforms into something louder when the heat of his tongue covers his other favorite hole. I whimper and push back against the lascivious licks circling the puckered part. Another mewl from being full echoes around the bathroom. I steal another glance of my heated, uninhibited disposition. Voraciously, Brock devours, pushing past the taut barriers until his tandem of pumping is too overwhelming and I come so hard on a sharp cry my knees threaten to give out.

  Before my body has a chance to stop singing its praises, Brock buries his cock to the brink with one sharp push. The intrusion receives an instant accolade of wet heat and the pleading from my pussy that his dick never leaves again. While my orgasm should be fading, the fulfillment of his cock seems to not only reignite it, but intensify it. A primal growl rumbles deep within his chest from the ceaseless pulsating my pussy is delivering, and I find myself more desperate than ever before to hear it again. I grip the edge of the counter for leverage as I bump my ass back into his hypnotic hip thrusts. Brock growls again from behind his gritted teeth. He digs his fingers deeper into my skin, his pumps now frantic and feral. Suddenly, I come again, the magnitude tearing through both of us. Brock winds both arms tightly around me and lets his orgasm fuse with mine. Raw roars fall from us both, like we’ve reached the gates of Heaven and never want to leave.

  Only him….I’ll only let myself feel this...exposed…for him.

  Brock

  I lean back in the patio seat and let myself grin at the sight on my phone.

  Fuck, she’s perfect. Nah. I don’t wanna hear shit about no one being perfect because she’s perfect for me. That’s the same as being a perfect person. Every fucking time I look at her, the way she smiles, the way her eyes light up when I enter the room against her own volition, the sass that soars off her tongue…makes her fucking perfect. And mine. And if you ever tell her I took a picture while she was sleeping I’ll end you right before she kills me. But come on. Look how sweet she looks with her eyes shut and hair messy. I took that Sunday morning. You know she’s naked under that sheet…Would you believe this was the first time in probably eight years she slept past noon?

  The table unexpectedly bumps against me shooting my eyes up.

  Q’s appearance drops my jaw in disbelief.

  Do you fucking see him?

  “What the fuck happened to you?” I put away my phone in my pocket and observe his bandaged nose as well as the bruises littered across his face. “And who the fuck do I need to help you bury to correct it?”

  He slams a file on the table. “Your so called fucking girlfriend.”

  His accusation ruffles a rumble. “Don’t fuckin’ go there, Q.”

  “You fucking asked.”

  “I wanted the fucking truth.”

  “The truth?” He chuckles condescendingly after telling the waiter he’ll have a shot of tequila. “Oh now you want the fucking truth?”

  Who the fuck has tequila shots in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon?

  “The truth is that bitch you work for and happen to be currently fucking, is a manipulative fucking slut who gets off on fucking other people’s lives up.”

  Instinctively my fist twitches in preparation to reach out for his neck. “I’ll add to those fucking bruises. Watch. Yourself.”

  He shrugs and shoves the folder at me. “Sure. Finish up your bitch’s handiwork, but before you do why not look at the shit she’s been keeping from you.”

  I glance down at the object.

  “Look at it.” Q doesn’t bother waiting for me to do it myself. He tears it open and starts shuffling pictures around.

  My eyes land on French having lunch with various men. Some have the distinguished gentleman look I never will. Others have the country club rehearsed smile. However, in the majority of them there is the same nerdy looking man I know I could break in half with little to no effort. They are leaned in close but not touching. She looks engaged, but not necessarily like she’s flirting. I let myself scan the others. The two of them at a bar without Wood nearby. The two of them sitting on a park bench. The two of them beside her car, faces and bodies too close. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, but I shake my head in denial. “These don’t fucking mean anything, Q.”

  “Are you fucking kidding?!”

  “She’s a business woman. She…meets with many people in many fucking places. You fucking know that.”

  “Man-”

  “Everyone fucking knows that!”

  Q shakes his head in return. “Don’t be fucking naïve, Brock! You know that bitch better than anyone!”

  “Call her a bitch again, and I’m gonna lay your ass out!”

  He heeds my warning. “You know French always takes Wood to that shit or whoever she’s going to get to replace him. French doesn’t do business alone! Doesn’t fucking matter if it’s a senator or a fucking arms dealer! She is always fucking protected! The only times she isn’t are for personal reasons.”

  I dart my eyes at him in suspicion. “How the fuck do you know that?”

  “Know her business habits? You just fucking said it! We all do!”

  “No. I meant…about Wood being replaced.”

  His mute response causes me to growl.

  “How the fuck do you know that, Q?”

  “Been following her for a while now...” He downs the shot. “At first, I just wanted proof she was doing dirty shit like having those tests altered or worse, fucking stealing from us. I thought that’s what the meetings with Mr. Glasses were about. The others? Obviously potential candidates for real husband material.”

  He’s wrong…He has to fucking be. She doesn’t like assholes in suits or that would force her to go to wine tastings for ‘fun’. That’s not French. That’s not….that’s not what she wants in a fucking man. That’s not who she fucking needs. Those men were just…I don’t fucking know…But they weren’t dates!

  “But Glasses? Ha. Look at the asshole. He looks like the rich accounting type. More respectable than Mr. Money Bags, but still possibly a little shady. It made complete sense to think he was the one helping her funnel more funds away from all of us…Well…until I caught her with him at the bar�
�” His head nods at the photo. “Then in the back parking lot against a dumpster.”

  No…There’s no fucking way…

  “Guess the nerds packin’.”

  My stomach twists.

  “Or fuck, maybe she just likes someone she can dominate in the bedroom, ‘cause that damn sure ain’t you.”

  Not all the fucking time…We…Equal adversary…Why the fuck can’t I think straight?