The instant I lock eyes with the young princess, I know I’m in serious fucking trouble.

My dick knows it too.

From afar, Princess Charlotte was stunning.

But here, up close, within mere feet of her beauty, she is… indescribable.

Pure, wondrous perfection.

Mesmerizing green eyes that sparkle even without a light source, creamy skin, silky auburn hair, full cupid’s bow lips, and past her graceful neck, a svelte body with the right amount of curves, softness, and contours. Sculpted shoulders that invite my eyes down to the swells of her breasts. The tops of them peek out from under the already thin stretchy tube top that leaves little to the imagination, perky nipples and all. And where her sorry excuse for a shirt stops just above her navel, a perfectly delicious narrow waistline that flares out to thick, grippable hips. There lies the waistband of an equally sheer, flowy skirt now stuck to her skin, showing off the silhouette of a V that I should never have seen at the top of her thick thighs, the kind I love to feel wrapped around my hips when I fuck.

Fuck.

That body.

That mouth.

It’s as though she was built for nothing but sin.

Built just for me.

Except she was not put on this earth for a commoner like me.

Fuck no.

Hell, I shouldn’t even be this close to her, or casting even a passing glance her way. That ballsy, daring kind of shit tends to get shot down mighty fast around this here kingdom. And on regular occasions, I’m just as happy as the next guy to comply with the King’s demand that no one is to look upon his royal offspring.

But I was supposed to be alone here this evening.

Then she walked in.

I saw her the second she began to climb the wide marble double staircase, utterly unaware that I was watching on my way from one of the second-floor renovation areas to another, admiring her, lusting from afar.

As I looked on, I can see that deep-rooted air of royalty, a part of her as much as her physical appearance. I wonder how much of that is in her blood compared to her upbringing. The age-old question of nature versus nurture. But as it crosses my mind, a knot forms in my stomach and I try to shove other memories to the background. Like the fact that I never met my parents, never had parental figures to speak of, unless I used the term very loosely for the uptight, closed out nuns at the orphanage where I grew up.

Circumstances took something from me that tipped the scales out of my favor, created an unanswered question that I never could resolve. Unknown circumstances. Fuck, I don’t even know who my parents were. Not even a fucking name. I feel the threat of anger clench around my chest. Not knowing, well, it fucks up the best of us. Your brain starts to create a shitload of stories, both good and bad. Like, maybe they’re still alive somewhere and are coming back for you. Or they’re not. They’re never coming back because they’re six feet under and God is a wicked son of a bitch for taking them and letting you survive. Or on the flip side, that I must’ve been one worthless piece of trash in their eyes for them to leave me behind.

Top off that fucked up way of thinking with the realities of never having been adopted and never lasting more than a month or two in foster care, mostly of my own doing because I was mischievous, rebellious, and twisted as fuck. And you end up with me, a walking, talking, fucking, mindfuck of a dominant, controlling alpha male.

I didn’t go looking for trouble. I was trouble.

But fuck, at least I got a skilled trade under my belt to make an honest living.

At least I know what I am.

I’m not sitting around trying to fit a square fucking peg into a round hole.

Still, I also didn’t expect to have anyone walk in on me as I work all night to complete the finishing touches in her two palatial bathrooms—rooms that are each at least double the size of my little apartment on the outskirts of the kingdom.

I certainly didn’t plan to almost walk right into Princess Charlotte.

And my night did not include the suddenly urgent pulse of my cock that now strains the sturdy fabric of my overalls. Thank fuck for these overalls. Otherwise, there’d be some serious tenting going on. And not the kind that a pretty, innocent little princess should ever witness on her loyal subjects.

But that was all before she showed up.

That was before she looked up at me with eyes that betrayed not only her innocence but desires that stretch deep into the fabric of her being. I see it as clear as day. It’s not a maybe. It’s a certainty. I’ve seen the look many times before.

This little girl, this innocent princess, has something dark and sinful inside of her.

The need to be dominated.

To be possessed.

To be claimed and owned, taken and used.

Jesus fuck.

I am fucking screwed.

Seeing her up close is a blessing and a curse, all rolled up into one sinful reality.

I’m not supposed to want this woman.

But now, I have to have her.

“I didn’t… you’re not supposed to be here,” I hear her bashful voice whimper out to me on a shallow breath.

“Neither are you, Your Highness,” I say bravely, not lowering my gaze as I’m supposed to, but instead, pinning her in place with a brazen, penetrating stare that runs from her eyes, down every sultry inch of her body, and back up again.

She moves to take a step back, but the back of her bare feet meet the wall where she just rounded the corner. “But I… how dare you speak to me that way?” she huffs out, but her voice is hollow, the words empty and meaningless. It’s as though she was trained to give such a reply by rote. And they’re thoroughly mismatched by the fire in her eyes, the look that tells me she’s excited to have stumbled upon the one and only commoner in the kingdom to dare defy protocols for engaging a royal.

Me.

And at the moment I’m the most reckless one too, so much so, that as she presses her back against the ornate textured wallpaper, and tilts her head up to me, I do something that no man has probably ever done to Princess Charlotte before.

I touch her.

I slowly run the back of my large, rough, dusty hand up her arm, skim it along her shoulder blade, graze it up her neck, and cup her chin.

“You can fool everyone else, Princess, but not me,” I growl low, my lips almost touching her earlobe.

“You bold-faced caveman… you crazy… stupid… unbelievable… I…” she says, each word softer and weaker than the last. “You’ll pay for this.”

“No, little girl. I believe it’s you who’ll pay with your sweet ass when I bend you over and spank you until you’re raw, then sink every inch of my big, meaty peasant dick into you after you beg for it.”

Her eyes widen at my suggestion, but she doesn’t reply, and she doesn’t move. I haven’t boxed her in or anything, at least not physically. But I can tell my words are enough. She’s not going anywhere until I tell her too. She’s here voluntarily, putting up with my crude, primitive behavior, and deep in my gut, I know she won’t leave until I follow through.

“Open your mouth,” I order her.

A puzzled look washes across her face, and she tilts her head to one side.

“Part your sweet lips for me,” I repeat, and when she does, I press my thick, dirty thumb past her lips. “Suck it.”

She bats her eyes in some sort of cheeky retaliation, but her lips obey, closing around the thick knuckle then suctioning with a force I didn’t expect.

Fuck.

My dick is rock hard and threatening to rip a fucking hole in my overalls from just that one movement of her lips. I feel her tongue swirl around the tip of my thumb without my asking her to, and I know right then that I was right about her.

The young princess has a closet freak lurking within.

Begging to be released.

Dying to blossom.

And I’m just the right village idiot to let it out.

“I’m Wes,” I tell her. “Wes Francis. I want you to know the name of the man who’s about to turn your world upside down, Princess. Sear that name into your mind because it’s the only name I want to hear from your sexy mouth when I take you. Remember that. Memorize is backward and forward. Forget everything else. Understood?”

She nods fearfully, but there’s a hint of excitement all over her face. She wants this as much as I want to give it to her.

As she continues to suck and tease my thumb, I run my other hand down to the seam of her skirt, then drag rough, callused fingers up her smooth, succulent thighs.

“Open for me,” I tell her, stopping about an inch from her hot folds and waiting.

Her thighs shake a little as she spreads her stance by stretching one leg away from the other. My one regret is not being able to witness the sight of her opening like a flower. It’s a regret I won’t have again, because my princess drags the skirt down past her hips, letting the light fabric cascade down around her feet.

Then I see that she’s not wearing any panties, and my willpower is tested and stretched to a whole new limit.

“See, I knew you had it in you to be naughty the second we crossed paths tonight, but… no panties? You’re a dirty little girl who’s begging to be punished, aren’t you, Princess?” She doesn’t answer, not with her mouth so busy, but her eyes flash with a thrilling look of enthusiasm.

“You can nod for me.”

And she does. And that’s when I slide two thick, meaty fingers along her naked folds, capturing her taut little nub between them.

“I’d make you beg me to finger fuck you hard, dirty girl, but as you’re so busy with what’s in your mouth right now, I’ll give you a pass.”

Princess Charlotte floors me before too long. I’m in awe. I barely touch her tight little hole with my fingertips when her breath catches. Her hips begin to buck, and her legs start to buckle under her from a quickly approaching orgasm. She’s so fucking sensitive, so responsive. But here, in the middle of the hallway, that’s no place to delight my Princess with her first climax.

Fuck no.

When that happens, I need to see her in full view and with proper lighting. Legs sprawled, the pinks of her inner lips spread for me, her bud on display, and her face as she looks upon the man who makes her come undone.

Slipping both my hands free, I give her a wink, turn on my heels, and nonchalantly mutter over my shoulder, “Sleep well, Princess. I’ll be back for the rest of you sometime.”

I don’t look back. I just keep walking, like a total prick, imagining the kind of shock that must be playing on her face, and the need I left unmet between her legs. She got a taste. As did I. I’m sure as fuck that it’ll leave her ravenous, not just hungry. Hooked, not just curious.

Because that’s precisely what I feel as I walk away.