Dirty Prince

by Vanessa Waltz

  “No. I can’t be a princess. I’m not made for this.”

  He gives me a grim smile. “Too late, love.”

  Perhaps it would have been better to twist my back in the quarry and keep my identity whole.

  “I can’t be what you want me to be.”

  He sighs, the anger dropping from his face as he slides an arm around my shoulders. He pulls me into his chest, and my head pounds with the reassuring thud of his heartbeat.

  “I’m not welcome here.”

  “What did you expect, love? Our countries haven’t been the best of buds. I’m trying to repair that by showing the world that, no, Prince Liam is not above fucking an American girl. Prince Liam doesn’t give a shit about nationality when it comes to true love.”

  “Prince Liam needs to stop talking about himself in the third person.”

  “Smartass.”

  “I miss home.”

  He squeezes my shoulder.

  The car grinds to a halt in front of the B&B, where there are reporters waiting for us. Goddamn it. My stomach tenses at the sight of them.

  Liam grips my hand firmly as though afraid I’ll run off again. We quickly exit the car and dive through the mass of reporters. The B&B’s doors open.

  “The princess and I will retire to our rooms for now.”

  “Yes, of course, sir.”

  Shivering under Liam’s jacket, I follow him upstairs and moan when we finally walk inside our room. It’s a small bedroom with a vanity, bed, and attached bathroom. The furniture is feminine, white, and dainty.

  Only one bed.

  I sit down on the mattress to remove the heels. Deep red marks wrap around my feet. Liam sits on the chair, removing his shoes.

  “So the only time we’ll have privacy is when we’re indoors?”

  “Pretty much.” He leans over his knees, his lips pulling into a smirk. “You have to admit the thrill of getting caught is fun.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a thrill.”

  Goose bumps prick my flesh as he stands, darkness swirling in his eyes. He touches my cheek, and I realize how much I crave him. His fingers slide around, gripping my hair as he forces me backward with his weight. The buttons of his shirt dig into my skin as he leans over me, his mouth seizing my lips. He kisses me bruisingly. I’m stunned by the heat flaring across my chest. The hold on my hair loosens as he slips against my body. I arch myself into his touch, and he breaks from my lips, smiling.

  He grabs my ass before sliding underneath my dress and flipping it over my waist.

  “Thank God for dresses and easy access to pussy.”

  “I am not easy.”

  “No shit.”

  I gasp as he yanks my panties down, ripping them off my feet. Then he kneels on the floor, spreading my legs open. I jerk violently when his hot kiss touches my thigh.

  “What are you doing?”

  Oh my God. His tongue.

  He spreads his hand over my stomach, holding me down.

  “Lie back and think of America.”

  Prince Liam’s Gallant Rescue

  Liam

  My wife snores.

  It’s not a gentle, cute little sound either. It’s like a freight train, blaring its horn, shaking the very ground. I can forgive that minor detail, because she’s naked. Her tits are in my hands.

  Princess Daisy’s tits. They fit so well.

  She rolls onto her back, her snoring cutting off suddenly as she stretches her arms over her head, blue piercing me as she flutters her eyes. She may be an insufferable American, but I know I’ll have a hard time giving her up. We fuck like teenagers, and maybe it’s the honeymoon, but I’ve never had it this bad for a girl.

  Daisy smiles, rubbing her eyes.

  “When we get back to the castle, I’m fucking you on the throne.”

  “What?” she says in sleepy alarm. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  There’s something incredibly erotic about imagining those beautiful tits bouncing as she rides my cock on that throne. It would be the biggest disgrace—far beyond anything I’ve ever done.

  “Do you think about anything but fucking?”

  “You were the one who wanted a purely sexual relationship. I’m just trying to keep my word.”

  Her eyes roll into her head as she slides out of bed and opens her laptop. She scrolls through her emails. A small pang hits my chest when I see the smile fall from her face.

  “How long do you think it’ll be before I can go home?”

  I rip back the sheets. “I’ve no idea. I’m not God.”

  She lets out a frustrated sigh, gazing at the screen again. Why does it bother me that she misses home? Anyone would. But it does. It needles at my chest as I take a shower without her. When I step out, she’s still on that damn laptop, typing away.

  I want her to like this place. Fuck me, but it’s important. I can’t stand the thought of her going home and telling her friends how shitty it was here, how we’re all savages without the right to vote and how there aren’t cheeseburgers. I imagine their shocked gasps. No hot dogs either? Motherfucker! How do people eat?

  “Liam, look at this.”

  “I told you I don’t give a shit about tabloids.”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  I towel myself off and walk toward her, squinting at the screen. There’s an email from ACD News requesting an interview. Daisy turns in her chair, wide-eyed.

  “No.”

  “But it could—”

  “No interviews, Daisy.”

  I spin her chair around and pin her between my arms. Then I kiss the scowl between her eyes, which soften as I pull away. Her cheeks go pink as her gaze roves over my bare chest.

  She can’t get enough of my cock.

  “We’ve got one more stop before our amazing honeymoon tour comes to a close.”

  “Where to?”

  “To a fishing village on the coast called Puddleberry. The press will be there to photograph us.”

  Daisy nods, biting her lip savagely. I hate the fear on her face. I feel responsible for it.

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll be fishing.”

  She blanches. “That’ll be a first.”

  Oh God.

  “Fishing is a huge part of Anglefell culture. Just hold the rod and look pretty. You do just fine with mine.”

  This is a disaster.

  It’s a perfect scene for a photo shoot. Three small boats sit on calm water in the middle of high afternoon in perfect weather. There’s not a cloud in the sky, which is fucking rare in this country, and the temperature is mild. Daisy looks beautiful sitting in the motorboat in her white floral summer dress. Her hair is like liquid silk, pouring from her head to brush her white shoulders. The skirts from her dress splay over the wood as she sits next to a small can of bait. Her pretty red mouth is twisted into an expression of disgust as she holds a squirming worm next to the fishhook.

  “Oh my God. I can’t do this.”

  Her American accent grates my ears as I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

  It’s a fucking worm.

  Photographers sit in motorboats adjacent to us, wiping sweat from their brows as they wait for Daisy to smile and look like she’s having fun.

  She touches the worm against the metal and then screams when it wriggles violently. Then she drops it and yelps when it lands in her lap. I imagine myself reaching over to pluck it from her lap and throwing it in her cleavage.

  Too much. Even for me.

  “Good Lord, Daisy.”

  “I’m sorry!” she bursts out, picking up the worm with extreme distaste. “I find the idea of impaling a living thing and getting blood all over my hands absolutely disgusting.”

  “Then let me do it, Princess.”

  She glowers at the word but reluctantly lets go of the fishing wire. I ball the worm, shoving it through the barbed hook. Then I hand it back to her. She takes it gingerly.

  “You look constipated.”

  “Shut up,” s
he snarls. “This is really not my thing.”

  “You need to at least pretend to like the second most important industry in the country.”

  “All right.”

  I admire the view of her ass when she stands with the fishing pole in her hand, before I realize what a bad idea it is to sit behind her while she's casting. The boat rocks slightly as she aims the pole backward. The hook hovers dangerously close to my shoulder.

  “Careful, Daisy!”

  She rips the pole back. “Oh, sorry. All right. Here goes nothing.”

  “Just press the button!”

  She swings the pole like a baseball bat, releasing the wire so it sails to the left, right into the photographers’ boat. They yell, diving to the floor, and the hook sinks right into some bloke’s hat.

  “Oh my God,” she shrieks.

  “Don’t—”

  Too late. She yanks the rod, revealing the man’s bald head as his hat sails into the brilliant sunshine. It spins in the air gracefully before landing with a soft splash in the lake.

  I laugh my ass off as Daisy reels in the hat, apologizing profusely to the photographer, who takes it in stride. She glances back to send me a vicious glare.

  “Are you done?”

  I watch as the man extricates the hat from the hook, wringing it dry. I lose my shit again. I laugh so hard my chest hurts.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, wiping tears from my eyes. “It’s just—you’re hopeless at this.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell you. This is embarrassing me.”

  “Oh relax. I’m having a good time.”

  “I’m going to kick your ass later,” she mouths.

  “Good. You remembered what I said about foreplay.”

  She makes another small scream of frustration, and I stand. As much as I enjoy seeing her pissed off, we can’t be out here all day.

  “Be nice to me.”

  I take her waist, folding her body into mine. “I am being nice. I’ll show you how to do this. Now relax your joints.”

  I grab the fishing rod, intertwining my fingers with hers. My heart pounds as her ass brushes against my cock. I can feel the warmth of her stomach under my hand.

  “Loosen up, love. You’re way too stiff.”

  “You’re the one who’s too stiff,” she hisses back.

  She digs her ass against my hips to prove her point.

  “Stop being sexy and I’ll stop getting a boner around you.”

  Her cheeks blaze.

  “All right. I’ll swing your arm. Don’t press the button until I say so.”

  Maybe it’s the sun beating down on us, the smell of her hair, or the feel of her ass, but I feel dizzy, as though slightly drunk. I kiss the shell of her ear and swing her arm back.

  I swing it forward in a quick flick. “Now!”

  The fishing hook soars across the lake, and the photographers give a little round of applause after they take pictures.

  “Good job. Now slowly reel, and we’ll try again.”

  I’m enjoying being close to her, but I step back after we do a few more practice swings. Daisy casts the line, her face screwed up in concentration. The sun rises higher, and I watch her until—

  “Oh my God! There’s something!”

  The wire bends the fishing rod as Daisy reels in madly. Suddenly the boat drifts forward. The rod flies out of her hands and she loses her balance.

  “Fuck!”

  My hand closes on air as Daisy trips over the boat and crashes into the water. Can she even swim? Fuck it.

  I haul myself over the edge as the photographers paddle toward us, and I slip into the freezing water. Daisy surfaces just as I submerge myself. Her black hair is flattened against her face.

  “Oh it’s cold! So damn cold!”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Y-yes! How did you fall?”

  I swim toward her as the icy water kills my boner. “I didn’t. I jumped in to save you.”

  “Who says I need saving?”

  Daisy says it with a smile. Suddenly the sun hits her just right, as though there’s gold gleaming on her shoulders and the water behind her, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful. I loop my arm underneath her knees and the other around her back, and then I lift her. It’s shallow enough for me to stand, and as I lift her out of the water slightly, her dress clings to her skin, completely see-through.

  “Liam, kiss me.”

  Little droplets cling to her eyelashes. I see them as I lean in close, and then I press my lips to her freezing ones. She kisses me back, throwing her arms around my neck.

  “Liam,” she whispers in my mouth.

  Daisy.

  I’ve never done anything like this for a girl. When we break apart, I can’t stop smiling. She giggles and presses her forehead to mine, and suddenly I think of the day I’ll have to let her go, and a hole gapes inside me.

  “Are you all right?”

  The photographer extends an oar toward us, but I wave it away.

  I carry Daisy to our boat, and she climbs inside, sopping wet. Then I join her, wrapping a blanket around us both. She nestles against my chest.

  “We’re fine, thank you. My wife and I would like to explore the lake alone.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you for your time.”

  Daisy wheels her head around, teeth chattering. “What are you thinking?”

  I smile at her, reaching for the cord to start the boat’s engine. It sputters to life, and we launch forward.

  “Why ruin the surprise?”

  The lake is surrounded by soft, earthy sand. In the distance, I see another boat with something metallic winking in our direction. Fucking paps. I veer into a series of shallow inlets with a long sandbar, trees blocking both sides. The only sound is the water, gently lapping up the boat’s sides.

  This spot practically says, Please, fuck here.

  I get out of the boat, my loafers sinking in the wet sand. Daisy ignores my outstretched arm, ripping off her heels to climb off the boat barefoot. She walks onto the beach.

  “What are we doing here?”

  Daisy’s dress is still drenched. I can see the outline of her G-string stark against her wet clothes. Even though my legs are freezing in my own soaking trousers, a stab of heat hits my cock.

  “We’re taking a moment to dry our clothes.”

  She looks around. “Here?”

  “Would you rather be photographed getting out of the boat with your dress stuck to your arse?”

  “I’m not taking my clothes off here!”

  “But you’ll take your clothes off in a public garden?”

  “The world doesn’t need more articles speculating about whether or not I’m a slut.”

  I grab her shivering body, peeling her dress from her ass, which is ice-cold. “Especially when the truth is very obvious.”

  I slide my fingers under her G-string, snapping the string against her skin.

  She narrows her eyes dangerously. “Careful, Dirty Prince. You’re within ball-kneeing distance.”

  “How do you know I’m not into that sort of thing?”

  Her eyes roll into her head as I continue lifting the dress from her body. Daisy shivers violently as I pull it from her head.

  “What about the paparazzi?”

  “I give them a couple hours before they find us. That’s more than enough time to play with my naughty princess.”

  She wraps her arms around her bra, shivering. I wring out the dress and drape it over the boat for it to dry, and then I strip.

  “I’m not fucking you on a beach. I’m willing to sit here and wait until our clothes dry, but I’m not giving the paparazzi another ‘Slutty Daisy Fucks Prince in Broad Daylight’ headline.”

  “Who gives a shit what those sexist cunts write? If I want to fuck my wife, I should be able to do it in public. I own these lands, for God’s sake.”

  Daisy wrings out her wet hair and stretches out luxuriously on the beach. She looks like a model posing
for a swimsuit-edition magazine that I used to jack off to as a lad. Her knees bend together as she lies back, resting her head against the sand. The thin G-string leaves little to the imagination, and somehow I find myself wanting to tear it off and run my tongue where it hugs her hips.

  My trousers and boxers drop, and a sliver of her eye peeks open to gaze at my nakedness.

  “I’m pretty sure the locals won’t see it that way. They’ll see it as their dirty prince doing something completely profane with his slutty wife.”

  “If I’m a dirty prince it follows that I should have a slutty princess.”

  Somehow it feels warm, as though the sun is directly overhead. I tear the soaked shirt from my back and bend down beside her, admiring her body. She has the perkiest tits I’ve ever seen on a woman, but they’re hidden behind a white bra that is almost translucent. She flinches as I graze my thumb over the wet fabric, rolling over the hard bump of her nipple. Her eyes flash.

  “Liam.”

  “Your prince commands you to lie back.”

  “Don’t give me that ‘command’ shit. It doesn’t work on me.”

  And yet her chest flutters with her heartbeat, and her cheeks sting with pink as I massage her through the bra. “I think it does. I think you’re more into fucking a prince than you realize.”

  Daisy raises herself on her elbows, her gaze trained on something in the distance. She lets out a small gasp of horror. I look in her direction and see a boat a hundred meters away with two paparazzi and a red banner painted across the side. Even from this distance I can read the obnoxious, white font easily: ROYAL EXPOSÉ.

  “They have boats now?” she asks.

  “Yeah. They are epic cunts.” Fucking bastards. I run, bent over at the waist as I grab out clothes. Daisy’s dress is still damp, but at least it’s not soaking. She pulls it over her head and jumps into the boat as I struggle with my trousers. The Royal Exposé boat drives into the little, secluded channel, getting closer.

  “Come on!”

  I jump in with my trousers hanging off my ass, and I start the motor. Daisy pushes me to the floor as she steers. The boat glides over the water, and I hear them screaming at us over the waves.

  “Prince Liam! We know you’re in there. Why don’t you give us a smile and a wave and we’ll piss off?”