“Make it happen. Mark it high priority, or whatever. I want that file.” Dismissing him with a wave of the hand, I stand up and head to the shower.
This bathroom is bigger than most people's homes. I've taken a couple dozen girls underneath the mock waterfall and the marble benches. Just last week, I fucked a brunette with fake tits here, pressing her against the wall, stretching her hair so tight in my hand the water sprayed her in the face when my cock took her over the edge. She took it without complaining, all for me.
Fuck. My dick wakes at the memory, pulses next to my belly button when I lather fine soap and water across every rock hard inch of me.
They all love it, this body.
The eagle tattoo crisscrossing my chest, wings spread wide, eyes set like a bird about to tear any lesser man's eyeballs out. The mad, dark stripes going up my arms, tapered like the royal flourish.
I'm a living tapestry. Something the press has always screamed about when they've caught little flashes of my tattoos sticking out my collar, or coming out the cufflinks near my wrists.
A million men would laugh all over the continent if I came out on the front pages shirtless.
Their wives would get wet, guaranteed, imagining what this wild, royal, unforgiving body could do to them.
And their nasty little fantasies about me – every last one of them – would be right.
I've got nasty on the brain, too. I grab my cock, all ten inches, and start stroking it like a demon.
It isn't that nameless brunette I fucked last week in this shower I'm thinking about. Isn't even the supermodel from Poland I sent home with a sore pussy several weeks further back, the one who's shared beds with half the billionaires and royals left in Europe.
I'm thinking about the girl I'm going to pretend to love.
Erin, Little Miss Warwick, with her soft American accent and hips begging to be wrapped around a good man's waist. Too bad for her there's nothing good about me.
I'll fill her anyway, fuck her, take her in ways she's never seen with those sweet, innocent eyes.
I want to corrupt her. Bad.
Even more than I want to use her to get my personal bullshit off my back, once and for all.
Christ, I'm a bastard.
Doesn't stop me from leaning into the wall, grunting like a bull, when I finally bring myself off, thinking about how she'd convulse on every inch of me.
I'm straining for precious breath by the end of it. Then I finish washing up, a sour frown pulling at my lips.
“Fuck you for thinking this'll be easy,” I tell myself, staring into my own ripped reflection while I towel off.
I'm sure she'll take the offer, when I find her weakness, and throw it in her face. They always say yes to me, every woman who isn't related by blood, or wearing a thousand year old crown on her head.
No? That's a word I can't imagine.
Erin's going to be the perfect cure for all my woes. If only I can go several months without sinking my dick into her, making things complicated.
She'll either save me from the vultures who won't stop picking at me and the entire royal line, or else.
Yeah...or else she'll ignite the biggest scandal the monarchy has ever seen.
By the time I've got the towel wrapped around my waist and I step up to the huge mirrors to comb my hair, I'm smiling.
Whatever else I am, I love a challenge. I love a high. I'm the richest, most famous adrenaline junkie in the world.
Prince Hung is officially on the prowl, and he never comes home empty handed.
This whole wicked situation promises excitement. Sexual, emotional, scandalous, glorious excitement.
And that irresistible risk is the reason she's in my sights. I'm making Erin Warwick the hottest fake Princess the world's ever seen.
3
Make Believe (Erin)
I'm downstairs in the lobby, waiting in line to check out. Dad's finally well enough to travel, and we're about to get the red eye flight home.
It's going on midnight. Honestly, I can't wait to get the hell out of here, to leave behind this miserable, evil island that's shattered both our dreams and given us nothing but tragedy.
“Checking out,” I say, stepping up to the counter.
The man behind the computer nods politely, takes my card and info, and begins typing away. Just before I think he's about to print out a receipt, he frowns, deep lines crossing his forehead.
“Miss Erin Warwick, right? Hmm. I'm terribly sorry, I can't process this request.”
I blink in surprise, wondering what kind of new complication is about to bite us in the ass. “Huh? What're you talking about?”
“There's a hold on your account, madame. VIP request, you understand, from someone in the government. I need you to step outside near the front, Miss Warwick.”
The government? I resist the urge to turn around, wondering if I'm about to be arrested and detained.
Anger takes over. My fist comes down, banging loudly on the wood. “I don't have time for this crap. My father's upstairs, very sick, and we can't be late for our flight. I have to get home. If there's some kind of hangup processing his credit card, just bill us later.”
“No, no, nothing like that,” he says, slowly looking through me like I'm a ghost. “I need you to step outside and meet with the party waiting for you. Please.”
He talks like a mouse. Practically begging me to do what he says. A chill runs up my back, and I slowly turn, sensing the five big men in their perfect suits before I even see them, standing next to the door.
“Are you done yet? You've scared the poor man enough,” a voice that shouldn't be here says.
It's a voice I recognize. Regal, cocky, and completely in love with his own power.
No way. It can't be him...can it?
Oh, but it is. Prince Silas steps out from behind the guards like he's here for a stay, and annoyed with me for holding him up.
“There's the lady I'm looking for. Hello again, Erin,” he says, that trademark smile forming dimples on his handsome face.
“Prince Silas?” Total shock rips through my core as he closes the distance between us, grabs my hand, and pulls me forward.
“My driver's waiting for us. If you'll come along kindly, there's something I need to talk to you about.”
He's pulled me through the door, and I'm halfway down the stairs when I start to completely lose it.
“No, no! I can't go now. I have a flight to catch soon. I need to get my father to the airport...”
“Nonsense. I'll make sure he's personally helped to the gate by my aides.”
“I need to be on that plane, Your Highness.” I bite my tongue when I use his title. I say it the same way I want to call him a jackass to his stupid, smug, mysterious face. “What's this all about? Have I done something wrong?”
He doesn't tell me until I'm in the car, plopped back in the wide leather seat with him. It's a big SUV, and the back feels a lot like a limo, with a cool black interior and more leg room than any vehicle should have.
“You'll be fine. My promise, love.”
Love? Is he fucking kidding me?
“I really don't think so. It's going to take at least an hour to get through security. I ought to be bringing dad down right now, heading for the gate.”