Prince Albert Read online

  “Suck it into your mouth,” I instruct her, laughing. “Ironically, I have a feeling that’s what I’ll be telling you pretty soon.”

  When she laughs, a vapor cloud blows out her nose and she coughs. “If you’re implying that I might blow you soon, you’d be mistaken. I am so not blowing you out here.”

  “Oh, I didn’t say out here, luv.”

  “Shit,” she says, as two security guards walk down the side of the property in our direction. She turns and walks quickly toward the palace, while I amble slowly behind her. I don’t bother trying to remind her that I’m the Crown Prince – my family’s security has caught me doing worse things than smoking weed behind the palace.

  We take the long way around, away from the ballrooms and all the hoopla that surrounds our parents’ engagement party. Belle walks in front of me, her bare feet padding on the thick carpets that line the hallway. A piece of her hair falls out of its updo, and even though she doesn’t look completely disheveled, she looks undone.

  I’m responsible for that undone state.

  I have the irresistible urge to undo her completely.

  She looks over her shoulder at me as if she can read my thoughts. “Where are we going?”

  I look around at my choices of rooms. “In here,” I say, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the hallway.

  “What are you doing?” she hisses.

  “I’m not finished with you,” I tell her.

  “No,” she whispers, looking up at me with wide eyes. She might say no, but her eyes betray her. Her pupils are practically the size of saucers, and she runs her tongue along her lower lip.

  “No?” I ask.

  “The throne room, Albie?” she asks, noting the plaque outside of the room that labels it. “Aren’t there security cameras?”

  “I already told you, luv. My dad has a thing about cameras. They’re only in the public spaces,” I say. “This wing isn’t considered public.”

  I wave my key card over the door and the green light flashes when it unlocks. “Come on,” I say. “Don’t be a scared kitten.”

  “A scared kitten?”

  “Isn’t that the American phrase?”

  “You mean scaredy-cat,” she says, laughing. The door closes with a heavy thud, and I step close to her.

  I shrug. “Exactly.”

  “Not quite,” she says. She takes the edge of her lip between her teeth.

  “Scared pussy.”

  “That’s definitely not right,” she says, giggling, and I don’t let her keep laughing. I bring my mouth down hard on hers, harder than before. She moans as her tongue wars with mine.

  I’ve kissed a lot of girls, but this kiss is something else entirely. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you need more, and I’m not used to needing anything.

  “So you’re saying that your pussy isn’t nervous at all, then?” I ask when I pull away.

  “I’m not saying anything about my pussy.”

  “It didn’t seem nervous to me a few minutes ago,” I say. “I should refresh my memory, though.”

  I reach for her, and she backs away from my grasp, nearly catching her foot on the hem of her dress. When she doesn’t fall she just laughs. I reach for her again, and she runs, giggling, across the wooden floor of the throne room and down the purple carpet that leads up the stairs to the thrones.

  She stops short in front of the thrones. “We shouldn’t be in here,” she says. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”

  “We aren’t going to get caught,” I tell her. “No one is back this way. The room is locked. It’s not even one of the regular patrol stops for the guards.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve been sneaking out of the palace since I was thirteen, luv,” I say. “There’s not a part of this place I don’t know like the back of my hand.”

  Belle looks away, touching the edge of the throne gingerly and drawing her hand back like she’s afraid to touch it. “It’s the throne room,” she says. “We should leave. It’s just wrong to be in here.”

  “Why?” I ask. “God, you’re such a good girl.”

  “I am not a good girl.”

  “Says the girl who’d never smoked weed until tonight?” I ask, flopping down onto my father’s throne.

  Belle’s eyes go wide. “You can’t just sit there.”

  “Says who?” I ask. “Do you know how rarely this room gets used?”

  “Well, you can’t just barge in and lounge around on the throne like it’s a recliner,” she says.

  “Says who?” I ask, spreading my legs wide and putting my arms behind my head. “I’m a prince. I can do whatever I want, luv.”

  “You’re a cocky prick,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “In fact, I’m the Crown Prince of Protrovia. You should be kneeling in front of me,” I say, sitting up.

  “You’re hilarious.” She stands in front of me with her hands on her hips, looking so damn uppity that even though I was kidding before, I’m suddenly no longer joking.

  I want Belle to kneel in front of me, those lush lips parted, her tongue outstretched.

  I want her to kneel at my feet and take my cock in her mouth.

  I want to come in that perfect little mouth. Right here in the throne room.

  My cock hardens at the thought, and I don’t even bother to try to pretend differently.

  “I wasn’t joking,” I say, my voice thick. “On your knees, Belle.”

  Her eyes linger on mine, and then drop lower, down to the obvious erection tenting my tuxedo pants. “Oh,” she says, more of an exhale than an actual coherent word.

  “Oh isn’t an answer, Belle,” I say, slowly undoing my pants. “The right answer is Yes, Your Highness.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “I’m not ever calling you Your Highness.”

  “You need to be taught royal manners.”

  “Is that a threat?” she asks. She looks at me with a strange mixture of impish innocence and total deviousness.

  “It’s a promise that I’ll be the one to teach you, luv,” I say. “And you’re awfully cavalier, for someone who’s standing before the ruler of a country.”

  “You’re not the ruler of a country,” she says. But she steps toward me, her eyes going lower as I slide my pants down, take out my cock, and stroke it lightly, aware of her steady gaze.

  “You really are pierced,” she says, inhaling deeply.

  “You’re still standing,” I note. “I do believe I asked you to kneel.”

  Belle stands there unmoving for a moment, the expression on her face changing as she looks at me with unwavering focus. The lust in her eyes betrays her. “You’re such a dick,” she says.

  And she kneels.

  She grasps the sides of her dress, pulling it up daintily, and kneels before the throne.

  She kneels before my cock.

  Her dress billows around her on the floor, her breasts practically spilling out of the tightly fitted top. Her hair pulled off her shoulders and piled on her head, the dress she’s wearing…she looks like she stepped off the pages of a magazine.

  She looks like a doll. My own personal, slightly disheveled Cinderella.

  Her lips fall open, parting just enough so that I can’t help but picture her mouth wrapped around me.

  My dick twitches in response to the very idea.

  “And yet, the thought of my cock in your mouth makes you wet, doesn’t it?” I ask. I know it’s true. I know she’s soaked just by the look she gives me when I ask the question. “I know that underneath that dress, you’re throbbing at the thought of tasting me. Tell me.”

  “Yes,” she whispers. “I want your cock in my mouth.”

  I slide forward, the tip of my dick near her face, and her mouth falls open like a reflex, her tongue on the edge of her lips.

  But I don’t give her my cock. Not yet. I reach around to the back of her hair, to that ridiculously appropriate updo of hers, and grab a handful before it tumbles over her shoulders.