We're about fifteen kilometers down the road in my brand new Maserati when I pop the bottle and pour myself a glass of wine. Erin does a slow turn, her eyes bugging out, and gives me that look like the stick up her ass has just wedged in deeper.

“What? This thing has all the stabilizing mods in the world. I'm not going to spill a single drop on the seats.”

“I don't know much about the laws here, but I'm certain every civilized country in the world has a very big problem with drinking and driving!” She stops, hissing pure frustration out her nostrils. “Jesus Christ, Silas. You really are insane.”

“Whatever.” I sip my wine gingerly, tapping the accelerator while I take my hands off the wheel.

“Silas!”

I'm laughing. I can barely even choke down the fucking wine when I see the look on her face.

We're heading right for a cliff. Her boring old life in the States is probably flashing before her eyes. It makes me smile because I know she's reliving our kiss, the one time I got my lips on hers, before all hell broke loose in the palace.

I never touch the wheel. The car jerks back to the road automatically and slows before we fly to our deaths.

She blinks, stunned for a moment. Then she shows her teeth and punches me in the bicep.

“What the hell?”

“The new model's self-driving, love. Isn't technology amazing? Won't be available for the other millionaire jackoffs who drive these things until next year. For me, they've made an early bird exception.”

She's shaking her head, relieved and awestruck as the car's steering wheel tilts in front of me, bending us around another hook in the road. We've got a ways to go, before we're heading straight down to the beach.

“The only rich jackoff I know is the one sitting next to me,” she says. “Jesus. You scared me shitless.”

“Sure did. Here, have some wine, I brought a couple extra glasses.” I turn around and fish into the little case next to me, producing a new crystal glass.

She doesn't protest while I pour her a glass, passing it over. She looks at it glumly before taking a sip.

“It's okay, Erin. Really. You won't find any traffic cops here on royal land, but if there were, I'd offer them a drink, too. The police love me. Grandmom's always pushing parliament to shore up their pensions.”

My perfectly uptight Princess rolls her eyes and sucks down half the glass. Finally.

I smile, relishing my triumph. It makes the rest of my glass taste even sweeter.

Erin is practically begging for a refill by the time the car begins its glide down to the beach. My finger taps the switch for the windows, pulling them down a few notches. The soft, rhythmic slap of the sea comes through, almost as comforting as hearing her purr.

Fuck. I've got to stop thinking like that.

It isn't easy when I've gotten her out here. Alone. My dick hammers in my jeans, emboldened by the fifty year old wine, thinking about all the places I want to lay her down out along the rocks and sands.

I won't return to the palace until I've fucked this girl. Or at least gotten her to laugh.

“You look very different today,” she says, her eyes rolling up my body.

Different? Has she noticed the hard-on about to rip through my fly? Is she thinking about how good it'll feel deep inside, stretching her pussy with royal cock, right this very second?

“Different how?” I ask, ignoring the hum of sex and the pleasant buzz building in my blood.

“So casual.”

I shrug. “It's the beach and the bluffs, babe. Do you expect me to show up there in a tux, wearing my royal medallion?”

She blushes. “No, of course not. You just look so...normal.”

“Newsflash – normal is my middle name when I'm having fun. You'd be shocked how many more scandals the tabloids have missed because they don't recognize me when I'm out in jeans and a t-shirt.”

“Oh?” Erin quirks an eyebrow.

Shit. I shouldn't have reminded her.

“In case you hadn't noticed, I don't enjoy the stuffy royal protocol and palace shit. I'll tolerate it because it's what I was born into. On my own time, I like loosening the fuck up, living my life to its fullest. I learned how to play hard years ago, and I can teach it, too.”

“Like I need a lesson from you.” That little motion when her big, brown eyes roll around in her head would be annoying by now, if it didn't make my cock throb harder. “Whatever. I'll try to have fun today, just for you, Your Royal Highness.”

Grabbing her hand, I refill our glasses, stopping to clink mine on hers. “Yeah, you will. There's no point in being Princess if you can't enjoy it.”

* * *

A couple hours later, we're back on the beach after a long hike up the tallest bluffs. Erin's tank top is practically soaked in sweat, giving me a fantastic view of those tits she carries around like the world's sweetest melons.

We don't talk much. I shut up for once and let her take in the scenery. And fuck, what a view it is up here, right by the abandoned lighthouse. My great grandfather personally broke a bottle of champagne across the walls as King, about a hundred years ago.

Erin and me, we do wine instead, a fresh bottle from the fifties I pulled from the palace's wine cellar before heading out. We talk history. I answer her questions, like why the island still has royalty when most of Europe shrugged theirs off before I was born, and why I'm adamant that I'm going to be King someday instead of a powerless pretender to the throne.

Now, I'm gathering wood for a fire on a nice flat spot on the beach. There's an overgrown fire pit that hasn't been used by the royal family since grandmom was my age.

Erin watches, chugging water from a bottle, splashing more wetness over her chest every few sips. Like I need another jolt to the dick.

I'm hotter than hell once the wood is stacked up, searching for a light. I kneel down near the bag next to her, peeling off my shirt. I hear her gasp.

“See something you like? Or did you just spot a Moorish beach skunk?” I growl, pulling out the lighter, without hiding how much I love her enjoying my body.

“No, no,” she stutters. Always so damned modest. “It's just...your tattoos. I've seen them before on the blogs, a few old photos taken from a distance. They're a lot more detailed in person, up close.”

“Yeah, they should be. This Russian guy I paid a small fortune to for my ink's supposed to be the best on the continent. Here, have a closer look.”

I step right in front of her. At first, she tries to hide how much she loves it, but her eyes betray her.

Sweet, wet, fuckable Erin looks at me like I just stepped out of her dreams.

“See this big one in the middle? The artist pulled it right off an old royal flag that's been in our palace since the Great War. We weren't so neutral in that war, just like the second, and everybody paid the price. Even my family. My uncles served. One died in a shelling, a hundred years ago. They used the flag to try to stem the bleeding.” I shift the lighter to one hand, banging my ribs with one fist. “Didn't work. That's why you're seeing red and black, love. The thorns going around the whole design were my idea.”

“That's surprisingly deep for you, Silas.” She's trying to stay sarcastic, but I can tell she wants to drag her little tongue all over the tapestry on my chest. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

Plenty of women have.

I want to pull her hair while she's doing it. Have her on her knees, face gliding down to my cock, both hands tied behind her back.

Fucking hell. No, control yourself.

“What do you know about deep, love? I'm not talking about the English literature you studied for your minor.” Her eyes pop angrily when I remind her how much I know about her. “I'm talking about fucking. How long has it been?”

I point the end of the lighter right at her pussy. She stands up, pressing her legs together, making a face like she's disgusted.

“Creep! Do you really think I'd tell you something so personal?”

“Well, obviously. We're going to be hitched, you know. Husband and wife. King and Queen.”

She does a double-take, and I stop myself from doing it too.

Fuck me. What did I just say? King and Queen implies we'll be spending a lot more time together than three years worth of sham marriage. It says I'll keep her until I'm wearing the crown myself, leading this nation into a brand new age.

“You know what I meant,” I growl, hating that I even have to acknowledge the slip.

“No sex,” she says, tucking loose chestnut hair back behind her shoulders. “I'm here to hang out and help you start a fire. We are not getting more drunk than we already are, and we're definitely not discussing my sex life.”

“So, it's been eons, right? Hell, you must've gotten laid last around the time the lighthouse opened up.” Smiling, I gesture toward the tall stone citadel towering above us, several cliffs over.

“Come on, Silas, that's enough. I'm hungry.”

She looks down like she's defeated. Christ, it was just a joke. More of the banter I've been laying on her since the day she tumbled into my arms, and I decided if I can't rip off this girl's panties, I'm damned sure going to tease them until they melt into a puddle at her feet.

I watch her grab her water bottle and head toward the firewood. It takes me a minute to join her, wondering why the fuck she's acting so wounded.

Surely, it isn't true? All the crap I've given her about not getting fucked?

Doesn't add up. I've had my fill from out-of-control college girls before. Never met one who wasn't wild, who hadn't bedded at least ten guys by the time she hit her junior year.

Erin can't be a virgin. She fucking can't.

Because if she is, I think my dick is going to explode in my Egyptian silk boxers.

We stack up the last wooden beams in silence. Then I pour on a little kerosene and give it a light. Doesn't take much longer to get the grill arranged, just a big slab of metal I brought up here years ago, balanced in the middle over the flame.

A couple minutes later, I'm pulling the steaks and boar sausages from the ice chest, plus a few big slices of squash and mushrooms. We'll do s'mores later for dessert, or whenever I think I can handle seeing her get sticky without having to run to the nearest bushes and empty my balls before I explode.

“Damn, that smells good,” she says, inhaling deeply behind me. “I've been starting to get sick of all the rich foods lately. It's nice to have something simple.”

“Simple? We've got nothing less than finest grass fed lowland beef and boar meat from Africa. My men used to flip when I got this stuff shipped in special to base. Only thing that kept us sane sometimes with the Taliban waiting to strike us from the hills, every damned night.”

I wait until dinner's half done before I reach for a new bottle. This time, it's rum, imported to the palace from the finest distillery in Martinique. Even after hundreds of years, the French are still trying to kiss our asses, especially when it involves access to our fishing waters and the new tech development we've got springing up in the capital. The palace gets about a hundred of these every year, with a personal note from the French President.

“It's almost ready. Here, have a shot.”

She cocks her head. “Uh, we don't have any glasses, and I'm not pouring that stuff in my wine glass. We're royals, remember? We're supposed to have standards.”

I laugh. She watches as I tip the bottle and pour the amber liquid straight into my crystal stem glass. Grandmom would probably have a stroke if she could see me now, and so would the elderly royal etiquette tutor who drilled me like a beast when I turned five.

Sweet, fiery warmth floods my throat and goes off like a bomb when it hits my empty stomach. I tip my head up, suck in the fresh ocean air, and start peeling down my jeans.

Won't make hiding the raging hard-on any easier, but fuck if I care.

“Hey, hey, I don't need to see that. Is it really that hot out here?” She's protesting like crazy, holding a hand over her face, but I can see her looking at the bulge in my shorts through the gaps in her fingers.

“Give it up and join me. I've got a feeling you're wearing a bikini under that thing. Don't tell me you're a commando kinda gal.”

“Am not!” She clucks her tongue, one more sign that she might be.

Fuck it, I'm going to find out.

I take the risk of burning the meat to walk over and grab her. Screaming, slapping at my hands, she squirms in my arms. Music to my ears, her loud yelling echoing on the cliffs, turning into nothing but giddy laughter by the time I get her tank off.

“Ha, am I ever wrong? You're yellow like a goddamned hornet.”

“Fuck you! I wish I could sting. I'd do it in a heartbeat – anything to get you off me.” Lies, every single word coming out of her mouth.

It's no joke, the yellow bikini. I'm impressed.

I expected something less bright and flashy from Little Miss Modest. Maybe she's got a few surprises left, a couple mysteries I'd love to unravel, sure as I'd love to get her naked.

Erin keeps wriggling in my arms while I grab the bottle. I pop the cap, take a big swig, and pass it to her, running the rim dangerously close to her lips. I have to keep my hips off her ass, or she'll feel how hard I am, fighting the urge to grind my hard-on right into her lush skin.

“What's the problem, love? Don't I taste good?”

She takes a mouthful before I step away, laughing as she spits it out, fuming. “I'll never understand how you're going to be king someday! You're less mature than a twelve year old, Silas. God!”

“Funny. I remember being that age. Never hung out with any boys packing anything like this.” I grab my cock through my shorts, twisting the fabric around it in my fist, letting her see the full, magnificent outline. “They don't call me Prince Hung for nothing.”

I'm ten inches, and proud of it. I've had my share of models who laugh about my big dick when I hint about it. Plenty of jealous little bastards have raged from the sidelines when they hear the rumors.

By the end of the night, nobody's laughing, because their girls are on my arm and they want to fuck.

God gave me a winning lottery ticket. Every woman I've ever bedded knows the numbers after it's been inside them. They learn to count their lucky stars fast for a chance to ride this royal scepter.

They scream. They worship. They beg for a third, a fourth, a fifth lay, when I just want to get the fuck away the next morning.

I want to do it all with Erin, except for the morning part.

Yes, the urge to fuck and stay, that's new.

It scares me. More than the expression on her face when she takes a good, long look at this dick. She wants me bad, but she doesn't want to cross the line because she's wondering what that means.

Unfortunately, so am I. Why?

“Gross! You'd better not let that thing out, or I'm going to scream,” she says, shaking her head, lying her sweet ass off.

“Suit yourself, Princess,” I tell her.

For once, I'm going to take her advice. Truth is, I'm half-freaked out by the time I turn around, walk back to the grill, and tend the meat, letting the rampaging hard-on die between my legs.

She's putting on a front. It's as weak as it is needy. I know how to deal with that, but everything storming up inside me, I'm clueless.

No, it won't take much to have my way. One more little push and I'll be between my fake fiancee's legs all night.

Why the hell does that have me so worried now? It's everything I've wanted for days.

Shit, I've never backed off pussy before, much less one that puts up a fight and makes me chase it.

I focus on dinner, pushing the thoughts away, plating up the steaks, sausages, and veggies. When I pass her plate, she's sitting on a rock, half a wine glass filled with rum in her hand.

“You finally cracked.” Smiling, I join her on the little boulder nearby, my own plate in hand.

Erin shrugs, forcing me to look at her cleavage again. “When in Rome...or Saint Moore, I guess. Besides, I've all but given up hope I'm going to survive the night without something strong enough to handle your antics.”

“No more bullshit. You're enjoying yourself,” I tell her, stabbing into my boar sausage and taking a big bite. It's good on its own. Better because I made it. “Admit it, love.”

“I'm enjoying this dinner. I wish I could say the same for the company, but, you know...we couldn't be more different, Silas.”

“That's what makes it so exciting. I'd have never asked a girl I found boring to marry me.”

“No? I thought you wanted one who would just lay down and accept all the teenage crap that seems to be your specialty.”

“Try the steak,” I tell her, pointing with my fork.

She blinks in surprise. I wait until she listens before I say anything else. Her face lights up when she tastes the garlic rub. My cock stirs for the hundredth time since we got here, imagining the same expression on her face when she takes every inch of me.

“That's my specialty, beautiful. I've got a few more to my name, but you'll have to wait until later tonight to find out.”

Her fork crashes on her plate. “When are you going to stop? No sex.”

Who knew I could hate two short, simple words so fucking much?

I glare at her, chewing my food. Okay, I'm back to wanting to close her sassy little mouth with every stroke of my dick.

“Soon as you learn to have some fun, Princess. You were doing great earlier this evening. Now, you've pushed that stick back in, deeper than before. I should've brought more rum for this job...”

“Yeah, that's exactly what we need. More booze, so you can act out even more, and I can be a babysitter instead of your wife.”

My gaze on her tightens. Her cheeks go brilliant red, and it's not just the fire. It's the only thing that tells me she really just said what she did.

Looks like I'm not the only one slipping on rum tonight.

“My wife,” I say softly. “That's what this is all about, isn't it? Look, I know what you think about me from the tabloids. You think there's no depth, nothing past the parties and the sluts I take to bed. You're worried you've agreed to a pretend marriage with a boy – not a man.”

“Have I?” She's asking honestly. No sarcasm this time.

“I never told you why I signed up for the Royal Marines, did I?” She shakes her head while I grab a stick near my feet, tracing lines in the sand in front of me. “I wanted an adventure, sure, same as every other red blooded kid does once his balls drop. But I wanted to give back, too. It was a trip to Africa that did it, this little war-torn country run into anarchy...I must've been seven or eight.”

Erin's watching me intently now. “Dad was there on charity, and he let me come along. Said it would be good to see what a future King handles beyond the stuffy bullshit back home.

“He spent about an hour talking to the elders in this village before security hauled us back to our luxury compound in the hills. I watched my father and his latest side bitch stuff themselves on caviar, expensive wine, and then head off to bed early. They slept in a handcrafted bed from the old colonial days. Me, I barely ate. I couldn't stop thinking about those people in the village. Their pain, their horror. Too many human skeletons missing limbs. Landmines did the damage, or so I'm told, and the chemical waste left by the war did the deformities. Hell's got nothing on what they went through. Just dragged through shit I couldn't even imagine, especially with my wealth and fame.”

I don't say anything until she nudges me. Everything's gone silent around us except for the distant, peaceful churn of the ocean and my stick skimming the sands. “Well, what happened?”

“Next day, we had to go through the village again, on our way to the landing strip to get back home. Our motorcade stopped a little ways outside it. At first, nobody knew what was going on, until the UN soldiers showed up with the Royal Marines. They said we'd have a bigger escort because the whole fucking village had been raided, burned to the ground, and every last person executed overnight by a few rebels who hadn't agreed to the truce.”

“Jesus.” Erin looks at me, her eyes big and wide, like she might be seeing something different for the first time.

Fuck, what am I doing? I've never opened up like this to anyone, much less a girl I want. Whatever the reason, I'd might as well finish the story.

“We made it home, obviously, without any further hitches. But we drove through the village. I'll never forget the burned out homes and the smoking piles of what must've been the poor, miserable people we'd visited the day before. They'd gone down easy after suffering so much. They were defenseless. I never forgave those rebels – I had Royal Intelligence hire hit men to murder what was left of them a few years ago. They hunted them down in the jungles like dogs, and they deserved every goddamned bullet.”

Erin's eyes are flickering now, and I watch the fire, letting the flames feast on my anger. “It wasn't just the rebels, though. I also never forgot what my father did – he covered up his bawling mistress' eyes and turned the fuck away.”

My muscles twitch. The stick snaps in my hand. Clenching my jaw, I lift it from the sand and fling it toward the fire, listening to the crackle and pop.

Even after all these years, I'm pissed. I'm not sure why I decided to tell her this shit, but it's definitely a bad idea.

Only thing that calms me down is when I feel her little hand on my shoulder.

She's comforting me. Erin, my Princess, the girl who's been looking at me all day like I'm something she found stuck to her damned shoe. I might as well double-down because this story is doing something.

“Yeah, so after all his lectures about royal duty, charity, and shit, he can't be bothered to look at what's happened to the people he's been pretending to give a damn about for a day. I realized speeches and lofty promises in front of the cameras won't solve shit. That's why I signed up to serve in the Marines. It wasn't about Queen and country, or some medieval fantasy about leading my boys into battle like my ancestors did. I had to do something, however small, to prevent a massacre like that from happening again. Nobody deserves to be defenseless, or stamped out like fucking ants. I'd like to believe we stopped a few executions in Afghanistan, but some days, I just don't know...”

“Wow.” Erin whispers softly, giving me the most predictable look in the world. “Well, you did everything you could, Silas. Don't beat yourself up.”

I ought to roll my eyes at this fairy tale fucking ending. I've just spilled my guts, one of my deepest, darkest secrets, and now she's seeing beauty behind the beast.

Beauty. Do I even have that?

Does it get any more cliché than this? Fuck, I don't care.

I won't tell her the rest. There's another reason I paid my dues to the crown in my uniform.

That's because I'm scared shitless of ending up like my father, who took his scandalous life one step too far. He paid with his life and died with nothing to show for it. Nothing but a drink in his hand and another nameless slut on his arm when his party ship sank.

I can't end up like him. I won't.

“My life's a lot of fun and games, but that's not all it is. I don't care what the tabloids say, what grandmom thinks, or what you see, Princess,” I whisper. “There's more to me than fucking, drinking, and fast cars. I've done my time in the service, but damn if I'm going to stop doing whatever I can to help the people so far down on their luck they don't have any. I'm giving back to my kingdom and the world. It's the only thing I think about when I'm not drinking or screwing.”

“Giving back,” she repeats, looking past me in the fire. “I think I see now. That's why you chose me, isn't it? You could've had anyone, but you picked a girl who doesn't have wealth or fame or royal blood.”

Has she lost her damned mind? She couldn't be more wrong. I reach for her hand and pull her up, refusing to say anything until we're both standing in front of the fire.

“This isn't charity, love. You're as crazy as you are gorgeous, if you believe that.” She can't hold my gaze. Doesn't stop me from setting her on fire with my eyes. “This isn't real, we both know it. Doesn't change the fact that I'm a picky son of a bitch. I want a Princess who isn't afraid to sling it back at me. A woman who does more than just strike my cock like lightning every time I'm looking at her, feeling her, thinking about how hot and wet and sweet her lips taste on mine.”

Goddamn, I'm going to lose it. I can't stop myself anymore. Erin trembles in my arms, and I jerk her closer, holding her against my chest while I reach up with one hand, and cup her chin.

“Silas...”

“Enough. I don't want to hear my name coming out of your mouth again unless you're screaming it,” I growl, moving my lips to hers.

Fuck, fuck. She tastes incredible – better than the day I kissed her with the cameras watching.

It's not just the ridiculous, romantic setting out here, with the sea, the fire, and the sun sinking below the horizon, surrendering to the rising moon. It's her.

It's Erin. She wants this. I feel it in her kiss, the way she moves her tongue against mine when I take control of her mouth.

My dick turns to steel, ready for conquest, hungry to be in her. I won't let the greedy bastard rule me.

I'm taking this slow, savoring it, relishing her in a sweeping, slow moving conquest like a fire sweeping through the forests.

“No, Silas. No sex,” she whimpers, one last gasp from the rational, scared side of her I'm about to fuck into oblivion. “The ink's barely dry on what we signed...”

“Contracts change, love,” I whisper, closing my fist behind her head, taking those long, silky brown locks I've been dreaming about fisting for a solid week. “We can fuck. We both want this, we're alone, and there's nothing in the world that's going to stop us.”

“Yeah, there is.” She looks at me with those soft, dark eyes, so scared and so horny all at once. “If we do this...it won't be pretend anymore.”

“Bullshit,” I say, smiling. I'm going to kiss her again in about five seconds, whether she fights it or not. “Time for an amendment to the deal, effective immediately. Let's do this like adults, like lovers, and then go our separate ways when the time comes. It's just sex, love. There's nothing saying you can't be my fake wife and a fuck buddy simultaneously. I'm your Prince with benefits, starting now, and you're going to love it.”

She doesn't have an argument because I've already won. So has lust.

Our mouths do the talking when I crush my lips down on hers again. Then I reach for that little bikini strap behind her back, my cock throbbing ten beats a second, craving what I've been denied.

I'm owning every last inch of Erin Warwick tonight, and as long as she's wearing my royal ring, I'm not stopping.