Prince Albert Read online

  bastard who thinks he’s so funny.

  Got your gifts. Using them now. How did you know pink is my color?

  I’m barely finished sending the text when he responds.

  Pictures or it didn’t happen.

  That text is followed immediately by another message:

  Unless you want to show me in person. Just ask me to come down and help.

  I think for a moment, before replying.

  You’re a smart prince. Use your imagination.

  I lay back against the bed for a second, before sending another message to him.

  What’s with the horse tail? Does the Prince of Protrovia secretly have a pony fetish? Are you a Brony?

  It’s a few minutes before he texts back.

  Sorry, I was…busy. Using my imagination, you know. Thought you might like it. Weren't you a big equestrian when you were in high school? I read that somewhere.

  I toss the toys back in the box and put the lid firmly on the top, as if by closing it up I can shut out the inappropriate thoughts I’m having about Prince Albert. It would be so easy to just say yes, to ask him to take the secret passageway between our rooms and show up here to finish what he started that day in the village.

  That’s not going to happen, I tell myself.

  On principle.

  I’m not begging him for anything. The spoiled smug bastard is used to women throwing themselves at him, to people jumping just because he says jump. He thinks I'm going to be completely embarrassed by this little present, or that I'm going to giggle and blush at his inappropriateness. Well, two can play this game.

  I text him back.

  I’m sending you a gift.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Albie

  I set down the phone, lying back against the bed. My cock is hard as a rock, rigid as hell thinking about Belle and the box of toys I sent her. I can picture her right now, her hands sliding over the sides of the box, pulling the lid from the top, and peering inside. She'd pause, not sure whether to be embarrassed or turned on.

  Definitely turned on. I know she is.

  Belle might act like Little Miss Perfect, but she’s wild. That afternoon in the alley taught me that. She was mine then, totally at my mercy, with her back against the wall, wetness nearly dripping down my hand when my fingers were inside her sweet pussy.

  Fuck. The thought of her legs spread, sliding the dildo inside her, makes me so hard I think I might explode. Unzipping my pants, I pull out my cock and slide my hand up and down the length of it.

  Before I can continue, there’s a knock on the door.

  “Your Highness?” One of the staff asks.

  Damn it. Talk about a boner killer. “I’m busy,” I call. “Could you come back later?”

  “There’s an envelope from Miss Kensington,” the voice says. “Should I slide it under the door?”

  “Please do,” I call.

  I lay there for a second, cock in my hand, waiting for the staff member to walk away and wondering what the hell Little Miss Perfect’s gift is.

  I lie there in bed, sliding my hand over the length of my cock, and close my eyes. Immediately, an image of Belle pops into my head – Belle on her knees in front of me, those plump glossy lips of hers hanging open, her eyes wide as she gazes up at me.

  I’m not sure there's anything else in the world that would be hotter than that sight.

  Damn it. Curiosity overwhelms my fantasy, makes me have to know what the hell that girl put in the envelope.

  Yanking up my pants, I walk to the door to get it. Reaching inside, I pull out Belle’s gift.

  Black lace panties.

  Black lace panties that are still warm.

  Black lace panties that are still warm and damp.

  Bringing the panties to my face, I inhale deeply. My cock jumps in response. Sweet and light, I’d recognize Belle’s scent anywhere.

  Well, hell. I was wrong. Maybe I can imagine something hotter than Belle on her knees in front of me. And that's Belle on her bed, her legs splayed open, sliding her fingers inside her pussy covered in these little black panties.

  Thinking of me the whole time she does it.

  Coming as she thinks of me fucking her.

  I strip off my clothes, depositing them onto the floor forcefully, my thoughts completely consumed by her.

  The girl is screwing with me, giving back as good as she gets. And that fact makes me harder than anything else.

  I pick up her black panties again, their silky soft smoothness cool in my hand. I stroke the length of my cock, picturing what Belle just did in those panties.

  Belle lies against the pillow in her room, wearing that light blue suit from tea -- that powder blue, so very appropriate suit -- except that the jacket is unbuttoned, and she's wearing nothing underneath it. The lapels of the jacket hang down, just barely covering her nipples, but the mounds of her breasts are exposed. She runs her hand down the middle of her chest, her fingers lightly trailing over her breasts until she reaches the side of her jacket and opens it, revealing her perfect tits. Her head lolling back against the pillow, she lightly closes her eyes as she runs her finger over her nipple, bringing it to attention immediately. Her lips fall open, and she lets out a quiet moan as she caresses her breasts, her fingers playing with her nipples until she's ready.

  I stroke myself, my movements regular and rhythmic, as I think about Belle and her panties. My cock is rigid to the point of practically exploding at the mere thought of Belle in bed, touching herself as she thinks about me.

  I wonder if she fantasized about me with my head between her legs, my tongue flicking over her clit until she's breathless.

  Until she's wet.

  Until she's at the point of no return.

  Until I thrust my tongue inside her and she comes on me, her legs wrapped around my head, hands pulling at my hair as she cries out my name.

  I stroke my cock as I picture her fantasizing about me, her hands sliding up the sides of her thighs, pulling that skirt up around her hips to reveal those lace panties. I bring them to my face again, inhaling deeply her scent, knowing that just a few minutes ago, she was wearing these.

  She was touching herself in these, reaching down the front of her panties to roll her finger over her clit, with that appropriate skirt of hers bunched up around her waist. I imagine Belle sliding two fingers inside her pussy, her wetness soaking the fabric of her panties. She fucks herself with those fingers, stroking herself the way I did, imagining that it's me inside her.

  I stroke myself faster, more furiously, as I picture Belle finger-fucking herself until she's at the brink. No longer satisfied with just the scent of her, I palm her panties, running the silky fabric down the length of my cock until I'm jerking myself off with her panties in my hand.

  When I come, shooting my load into those lacy panties of hers, it's Belle I picture, Belle that pushes me over the edge. It's the thought of her fucking herself as she thinks about me, her orgasm soaking the little black panties that are in my hand now.

  I'm barely satisfied when I'm finished. I'm still hard as a fucking rock, not nearly satiated, still wanting her.

  I should be disgusted with myself for jerking off into Isabella Kensington's panties. Coming all over my stepsister's panties is a new level of filthy, even for me.

  The problem is, I'm not disgusted at all. I'm more turned on than ever.

  I slip the panties back into the envelope she sent them in, and seal it up before I put on a robe and lift the receiver on the phone on my desk. "Yes," I say, into the phone. "I have an envelope that needs to be delivered to Miss Kensington's room, please."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Belle

  I adjust my dress, smoothing the knee length skirt. It's a breezy material that moves with me, swinging around my legs at a respectable knee-length. Paired with nude heels and a jacket, it’s a perfectly appropriate outfit from my giant walk-in closet filled with perfectly appropriate clothing.

  What’s not