Dirty Prince

by Vanessa Waltz

  “That’s obvious.”

  My jaw goes slack as she insults me casually and tests my bed by throwing herself over the mattress. She splays her limbs across the mattress, closing her eyes. They flutter open when she hears my footsteps.

  “You know, the girls I usually bring up here don’t give a flying fuck about my décor.”

  “They’re too preoccupied with the fact they’re going to fuck a prince to realize you’re a jerk with bad taste.”

  “I’m glad you’ve finally realized how life-changing my cock can be.”

  She picks at her fingernails. “More like I’ve realized how dumb girls can be.”

  I let out a long sigh. “I’m getting a little tired of your cheek.”

  “If you’re tired of my cheeks why do you keep staring at my ass?”

  My hands twitch as she rolls over my bed, her shirt riding up just a little to expose a line of tantalizing skin.

  “Talking to you is like being slapped again and again.”

  “Forgive me for being a little crabby. I’ve spent a whole day on that concrete slab in the dungeons, freezing my ass off, and the only way out of breaking my back is to marry you.”

  “What’s so wrong with me?”

  The innocent question takes her off guard for a moment.

  “Are you kidding me? You’re the Dirty Prince!”

  “That’s right, love. All that title means is I’m talented with my dick.”

  “Please, that does not mean anything. All it means is that there are girls willing to sleep with you.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather find out for yourself?”

  “No thank you.” She glowers at me.

  Fuck me, but I want her. She looks up at me through long, black lashes. Her mouth looks like a tight rosebud.

  I sit down on the edge of my bed and tear the shirt from my back. I throw it across the room. It lands in a crumpled heap. I feel her gaze crawling all over my muscles, and her mouth loosens ever so slightly as I turn around, winking at her. The mattress hardly makes a sound as I lay down beside Daisy, who openly stares at me. She has the finest black hair I’ve ever seen, and it fans over her cheek so beautifully that I catch myself staring at it. Then I look at that god-awful t-shirt she wears. If it weren’t for that boat-neck t-shirt I’d be able to look at the rack she’s hiding. I don’t let her look away from me.

  That sullen mouth.

  Her bright, angry eyes.

  Her tantalizing waist.

  I’m going to have them all.

  “I’m going to take that stick out of your ass, and I’m going to replace it with my cock.”

  Her pale cheeks flush. “You’re disgusting.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m the opposite of disgusting.”

  “Talking about your cock to a woman you hardly know is pretty nasty. All you know is how to be dirty.”

  “I keep forgetting you’re American. Just because your ancestors were uptight puritans who just needed a good shag doesn’t mean you have to be like them. Break free from the mold.”

  Finally, I get a shadow of a smile from that rosebud mouth. “I’m not uptight—I just don’t want to fuck you.”

  “So are you one of those slutty American girls, then? Excellent.”

  “Have you ever considered that some women just might not be interested in you?”

  “No.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I really hate to break this to you, but I never even once fantasized about fucking a prince. Like, when the rest of the girls in school were going gaga over Disney movies, I was playing with action figures.”

  Suddenly her face falls. Her head turns and she bites her lip.

  “What is it?”

  Daisy moves herself to a sitting position and pushes a strand of hair out of her face. Haunted blue eyes stare at me. “This is never going to work. They’re never going to believe us.”

  “They’ll believe it when you’re wearing my mum’s engagement ring.”

  “How are you going to explain that we fell in love? Me—a tourist you’ve never met before?”

  “Well, maybe we were pen pals.”

  She winces. “No one will believe that.”

  “You snuck aboard a ship and used your Canadian passport to meet your beloved.”

  “What about the—?”

  “The people won’t care! We’re selling a fantasy. Once we send out invitations to a royal wedding, it’ll be real. It won’t matter why.”

  “I—I need to sleep. I can’t— Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and I’ll still be in the B&B.”

  She glares at me pointedly, and I roll off the bed, sighing. It’s not like I don’t have guest rooms.

  I unzip my trousers, not caring that Daisy has a perfect view of my ass.

  I’m a prince, after all. I have class.

  “Where the hell is the American girl?”

  I fix my face in an expression of feigned surprise as Father’s beady eyes swivel in their sockets to glare at me.

  “In the dungeons?”

  “She is not in the dungeons. I am told you took her for a nighttime stroll outside the palace.”

  It was far too easy to sneak Daisy into my private chambers. The guards never blinked an eye, even though they knew damned well who I was smuggling into my room. Getting away with it was never the goal, but finding an excuse to keep her out of my father’s grasp for a few days longer was.

  Even though it’s midday, the fire in Dad’s room seems to lick the ceiling. It’s fucking stifling, and the herbs he occasionally throws on the blaze fills the room with acrid smoke. I don’t know how his lungs handle it. He sinks into the chair next to hearth, trembling.

  “Dad?”

  “If you committed treason, I could have you beheaded.”

  “If I took her for a nighttime stroll, I would have brought her back.”

  “Aye. The stable hand said you returned with the girl. So where is she?”

  I fold my hands over my lap and shrug.

  “If she’s perhaps in your chambers—”

  “Dad!” I say in a high whisper. “Do you honestly think I’d fuck a prisoner?”

  “You will not use that coarse language around me, or I will have your tongue.”

  “Sorry, I meant: do you honestly think I’d have sexual intercourse with a prisoner?”

  His eyes narrow dangerously. “I do not like your cheek, son. Nor do I like your continued fraternization with that American girl.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I will give you a few days to fulfill your base desires, and then you will bring her back to the dungeons. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal, sir.”

  “Good.” Father reaches forward to pick up the poker, jabbing the fire with sudden violence. “You’re still here.”

  “Yes. I came to inform you that I have chosen a bride and would like to host the engagement ball immediately.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why so soon?”

  I smile humorlessly. “You told me I had a month to get married. I best get on with it.”

  “Who is this girl?”

  “Oh, she’s a girl from one of the Harronvale families. Good stock. You’ll love her.”

  “I should like to meet this girl.”

  “You will meet her at the ball. Her parents are traveling dignitaries. They’re only available for the next couple days, which is why the engagement must be announced immediately.”

  He frowns, as though searching for something to disapprove of, but he surprises me with a nod. “I will make the necessary arrangements.”

  “Good.” My lips curve as I turn away.

  “Son.”

  I wipe my expression blank as I face him again.

  “If you do anything to embarrass me, I will have your head.”

  Royally Peeved: Prince Liam Engaged to Yankee Girl

  Daisy

  It’s so fucking dark. I can’t see a damn thing. The list of “dumbest things I’v
e ever done” just keeps growing:

  1. Sneak into a hostile country.

  2. Get caught sneaking into said hostile country.

  3. Marry the prince of hostile country.

  Why am I sneaking around Liam’s room when it’s pitch-black? Because there’s no way I’m spending another minute in this madhouse. All I have are the clothes on my back, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out. I can’t marry him.

  He’s sound asleep in the guest bedroom. I watched him drop his pants and step out of them last night, his black briefs hugging his perfectly round ass.

  Stop thinking about his ass.

  I move my feet slowly through the darkness. The door’s just up ahead somewhere. As long as I don’t bump into anything, I’ll be fine, but Liam’s quarters are about as tidy as a frat boy’s.

  Something light bounces off my right foot and streaks across the room, and I close my eyes, wincing when it hits the front door.

  The fucking soccer ball.

  I hear it bounce away, release a breath, and take another tentative step forward. My hand flattens against the wall—no—it’s the door. Yes, I’ve found the wide, brass handle.

  A sudden burst of light at my side makes me scream. The brightness burns for a few seconds as a small porcelain lamp sharpens into focus. Liam sits in the leather chair, still only wearing his briefs, his fingers holding the golden chain of the lamp. He cocks his beautiful head to the side, fixing me with a dark glare.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “I wanted a midnight snack.”

  He glances at my clothes. “I suppose you needed my jacket to do that?”

  “It’s cold out there,” I say defensively.

  Liam’s muscles ripple in the lamp’s glow, and are thrown halfway into darkness as he stands. I step back as he approaches me, not liking his predatory smile or the eyes darkened with lust.

  “I could have warmed you up.”

  He grabs my wrist and yanks me hard, and once again I’m surprised by his strength.

  “You know, it’s rude to just take off without saying good-bye after spending the night with someone.”

  Damn it.

  “How were you planning to evade the guards, I wonder?”

  His laughing eyes mock me as I struggle within his iron grip. I’m afraid of the way his hand feels on my skin. I don’t want to feel anything when he touches me.

  “I can’t marry you.”

  “But you will.”

  “You can’t make me!”

  “We’ve already been through the options, love. It’s either me or the quarry. You’d be a fucking idiot to choose the latter.”

  He doesn’t understand what this will do to me. I was supposed to walk down the aisle with Ben. He was the one for me, but he was taken away in a smoking, twisted wreck of metal before I could make that promise.

  Part of me wants to do the sensible thing, and part of me would rather die than betray him.

  “I can’t have any more of this wishy-washy shit.”

  Tears slip down my face. “I’m sorry, but it’s a big fucking decision.”

  “My father knows damn well you’re in my room right now, but he has no idea I’ll be bringing you to the engagement ball.”

  “T-there’s a ball?”

  “Of course.”

  I can just picture a grand ballroom with women in beautiful gowns, the men in tuxes, some sort of orchestra, and couples waltzing on the dance floor. Dancing.

  “I can’t do this. I don’t even know how to dance.”

  “My father will announce our engagement soon. I have no time to teach you how to behave like a royal, but you will have to learn.”

  “Learn what?”

  “Everything. How to walk, talk, eat, how to address other royals—”

  “Are you going to teach me to shit too?”

  “No, but I’ll teach you how to fuck a royal.”

  Liam moves his hands around my waist as my skin blazes with the contact, and I find myself against Liam’s warm chest. Suddenly overwhelmed with the sensation, my breath freezes in my chest. Pinpricks of heat spread over my cheeks before I remember that I can’t stand him.

  “You’re a royal pain in my ass.”

  “Not yet, but soon I hope. Princess Daisy,” he says, his voice rumbling through his chest.

  That’s right. I guess I’ll be a princess when we’re married. I’ll have to wear dresses all the time and learn how to talk like a princess, and will there be a crown?

  “Holy fuck.”

  I take his hands from my sides and back away from him.

  “Now she gets it,” he drawls.

  I don’t like being cooped up. Liam’s apartment is twice the size of any ordinary two-bedroom place in Berkeley. He has a state-of-the-art stainless-steel kitchen, a marble bathroom with heated tiles and a sauna, there’s a goddamn patio overlooking the deep green fields and the Harronvale village, and a little breakfast table. There are fifteenth century frescos on the ceilings. Cherubs and seraphs flying through white, billowing clouds. It’s a beautiful biblical painting with pale blue and pinks, but it’s ruined by a giant printout of Liam taped where God is supposed to be, grinning at the camera and completely stark naked. My gaze lingers between his legs, where a thick cock juts out proudly.

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Do you like my addition to the painting?” the real Liam says, standing next to me.

  Today he’s wearing dark, slim-cut jeans and a pale blue polo. His hair is carefully swept to the side, his sideburns immaculate, and his cheek smooth. His perfect appearance irritates me. His very presence irritates me.

  “You ruined a fifteenth century piece.”

  “I vastly improved it.”

  “How did you even—did you seriously tape it there?”

  “I did.”

  Oh my God. What an idiot.

  I turn my head sideways, glaring. “The tape will ruin the paint.”

  “I believe the addition of my body adds to the piece. Future generations will be able to look up and say, ‘Wow. He really did have a huge cock.’”

  “Yeah, like you didn’t photoshop it to look bigger.”

  The thing’s the size of my arm, for God’s sake.

  “Do I look like the kind of guy who sits around on his computer trying to make my cock look bigger?”

  “Yeah, you kind of do.”

  Looking extremely offended, he digs his thumbs behind the waistband of his jeans and pushes down.

  Alarm shoots through my chest. “What are you doing?”

  The jeans slide a few inches down his thighs, exposing a patch of dark hair that immediately makes my legs clench.

  “I’m proving you wrong.”

  “I don’t need to see your dick!”

  “Yes, you absolutely do.”

  I hold out my hand, stalling his movements. “Save it.”

  Three sharp raps at the door make his hands pause at his waist. Liam’s eyebrows knit together in a scowl as though he’s actually annoyed. I have to keep reminding myself he’s a prince, an actual fucking prince with real power.

  “It’s Marcia, Your Highness. The seamstress you requested.”

  Liam drags up his jeans over that small inch of thigh. I watch his pants slide over the swell of his ass. The fabric wraps around his waist, and then he grabs the tiny zipper. The sound slices the air, and my heart is inexplicably pounding.

  “Come in.”

  A woman looking to be about fifty years old walks inside. Liam gives her a warm smile.

  “You’ve worked for my family for how many years?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  So that must mean she watched him grow up. I wonder what she thinks of the picture attached to the ceiling.

  I take Marcia’s offered hand and tentatively smile back. “I’m Daisy, nice to meet you.”

  “Lovely to meet you.”

  “Marcia has made gowns for all my girls. She is very talented.”

  She smiles a
t him in a motherly way. “Can you at least tell me the occasion?”

  Liam shoves his hands in his pockets and grins. “Can’t. Sorry.”

  Marcia buries her hand in the leather purse hanging from her shoulder and produces a measuring tape. “It’s a secret?”

  “Very much so.” He walks behind her, staring at me, and takes her shoulders. “I need you to make her a gown fit for a royal.” He grins at me from behind her back. “And don’t be afraid to show some cleavage.”

  Marcia doesn’t even blush. “You’re a naughty boy, Liam.”

  From: Professor.Sandusky@berkeley.edu

  To: Daisy_Walker@gmail.com

  Subject: Write Back Now

  Where are you? You haven’t been answering your phone or email. Are you okay? Please call me at your earliest convenience.

  From: Daisy_Walker@gmail.com

  To: Professor.Sandusky@berkeley.edu

  Subject: Re: Write Back Now

  I’ve decided to stay in Anglefell and marry a prince. I will be writing articles about the superiority of this country compared to America instead. Good-bye.

  From: Professor.Sandusky@gmail.com

  To: Daisy_Walker@gmail.com

  Subject: Re: Re: Write Back Now

  Daisy, if you can read this, I’m contacting the American embassy in Scotland.

  From: Daisy_Walker@gmail.com

  To: Professor.Sandusky@berkeley.edu

  Subject: PISS OFF

  Dear Professor Dickweed,

  The Scots have no jurisdiction here. Kindly remove your abnormally sized head from out of your ass and browse Wikipedia’s article about Anglefell. Also, PISS OFF!

  I’m going to kill him.

  It’s not enough that I have to marry this jackass, but he had to go through my email and insult my professor. I look through the flood of concerned emails from everyone, overwhelmed. He left my phone on his nightstand, almost as though he wanted me to find it.

  I start an email to my parents before biting my lip hard. How the hell am I going to explain any of this?

  Hi, Mom and Dad, I got arrested by the prince here and sentenced to ten years hard labor, but it’s okay, I’m marrying him.

  Yeah, that won’t exactly put their spirits at ease.

  So what then? Lie? They’ll find out when the ceremony is broadcasted on live television. I stare at the tiny screen, searching for words that would explain my situation that don’t involve arrested. Dad’s voice booms in my head.