At six-thirty the next morning, I’m looking at myself in the full-length mirror provided in my suite, thanking all the gods above that Lorenzo, my valet, insisted that I bring tennis whites.

He didn’t come on this trip with me — it’s the twenty-first century, and prince or not, I prefer to dress myself — but he did oversee my packing, and of course, remembered things that I never would have.

Frankly, as long as I’ve got a few things to wear, several pairs of socks, and enough condoms for an army, I’m good.

But last night, while that fucking prick Sven was going on and on about polo fields across Europe, it came out that Princess Katarina enjoys playing tennis nearly every morning.

I don’t give a shit about polo. I was just disagreeing with the man because I can’t fucking stand him, but right now I’m thankful for this bit of useful intel that he gathered for me.

I don’t particularly like tennis either, but I know how to play. Of course I do. I’m a fucking prince.

When I walk into the courtyard preceding the tennis courts, Bruno’s there, wearing tennis whites as well. I’m not even surprised. We didn’t make plans to play tennis together, but I’d have to be a moron not to notice how interested he is in the princess.

My princess.

Our princess?

I shake my head, banishing the thought.

“I had a feeling you’d turn up,” he says.

“Same to you,” I say. “Shall we play a set, my good fellow?”

He rolls his eyes at me, but we proceed to the court. There are a few other people there, but none of them is the Princess, so I don’t give a damn.

We play a set. Neither of us is particularly good, nor is either of us trying terribly hard, so it’s a bit lackluster. I win, then Bruno does, and we’re tied, his serve, when I see two perfect, long legs in a white tennis skirt walking toward our court.

The ball whizzes right past my head. I don’t even move. The legs come closer, and then I see the rest of Princess Katarina, walking down a path, her short, pleated tennis skirt swaying as she walks.

“Match point,” Bruno says, his back to her.

I don’t answer. He frowns, follows my gaze, and then goes perfectly still as well. I’ve got a boner the size of fucking Everest, right in the middle of the tennis court, and I don’t care.

“Good morning, Princess,” Bruno calls out.

Katarina shades her eyes, then waves at us.

“Good morning!” she calls.

She looks around, scanning the courts. Bruno and I both walk up to the fence around our court.

I’m sure she can see my massive erection, but I don’t care. Hell, maybe she’ll like what she sees. Most women do.

“Meeting someone?” Bruno asks.

“I was supposed to meet my sister Josephine,” she says, still scanning. “But I think she’s stood me up.”

“Play with us,” I say.

I didn’t even mean for it to be a double entendre, but Katarina looks shocked for a moment, her cheeks blushing faintly pink. I bite back a grin.

If she’s embarrassed, she was thinking something dirty, too. There might be hope yet for this sweet, innocent girl.

“We’ll be an odd number,” she says.

Bruno shrugs.

“I’ll sit the first match out, then play the winner,” he offers.

Katarina smiles again.

“That sounds great,” she says, and comes around through the door on the side of the court, skirt bouncing.

She serves first. I manage to hit the ball back once, but when she darts across the court her skirt flies up and I can see the soft, white tops of her thighs and just a hint of white panties.

I don’t even come close to returning that ball. I don’t even see where it goes, because just about all I can do is stare at her, across the court, that skirt taunting me.

She calls out the score and serves again. I miss it, because I can’t take my eyes off her, and as I retrieve the ball I’m fantasizing. Katarina, up against the fence, me on my knees in front of her, one leg hooked over my shoulder.

I bite the inside of her thigh hard, suck on her until she bruises, just so she knows she’s mine. Then I tear her panties away, teasing her perfect little clit with my tongue as her hands clench in my hair while she moans my name.

“Dom!” she calls, her breath coming just a little hard. “Were you going to get the ball?”

I snap to attention, turn, and grab the ball from the court.

No fucking wonder Bruno volunteered to sit this match out, because he doesn’t have to worry about staring at the Princess while trying not to get hit by a tennis ball — he can just watch at his leisure.

Katarina serves again, and this time, through sheer force of will I manage to watch the ball, not her, and return it. But then I lose after she whacks it back neatly, no problem, and she wins the match.

We both approach the net. We’re breathing a little hard, and her neck and face are slightly flushed with the exertion, her red hair nearly glowing in the sun.

She smells like vanilla and roses, and it’s all I can do not to grab her right there and kiss her as hard as I can. Turn her around, bend her over the net. Her round little ass is perfect for spanking, and I bet she’d yelp and moan...

“Good match,” she says, holding out her hand.

I swallow hard, trying to will down my erection, even though it’s pointless.

“Good match, Princess,” I answer, enveloping her hand with mine.

She plays Bruno, and he has the exact same fucking problem that I’ve got: she’s distracting as hell in that outfit, and he hasn’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of returning any balls. He loses in near-record time, so then it’s my turn again.

Bruno and I trade back and forth. The princess wipes the floor with us. It would be embarrassing if the view weren’t so fucking delectable.

“I think you two are just trying to wear me out,” she says, breathing hard, after she beats me for the third time.

“And why would we do that, Princess?” I ask.

“Beats me,” she says, smiling. “But apparently, you and Bruno want me spent and exhausted for some reason, and I wish I knew why.”

I do want that, but not from tennis. I want to taste her honey, lick her until she comes twice, and then fuck her until she can’t come any more. That’s the kind of exhausted I want Katarina to be.

“We could go for a swim,” Bruno suggests, standing next to me. “Unless I’m mistaken, there’s a very nice pool on the grounds.”

Katarina clears her throat, and then looks from me to Bruno and back. I swear she’s checking us out, and my dick only swells in my pants.

“All right,” she says. “A swim sounds lovely. I’ll get my suit on and meet you there in twenty minutes.”