I’ve started to make it a habit to check the news before I leave my flat. You know, try to prepare myself for what shitstorm awaits me. This morning, however, I ran behind and haven’t had a chance. I’ve barely had a second to drink the coffee I picked up on my way over, and I’m praying that maybe the royal pain in the ass took a night off from his schedule of debauchery.

Just as I round the corner by Victoria Station, I catch sight of the newspaper bin, and I stop dead in my tracks. A stranger bumps into me, and I drop my coffee to the ground, splattering the leg of my white dress pants. “Motherfucker,” I whisper while staring at the picture of Alex, nude on top of a bright-red double decker bus, the iconic image of Parliament and Big Ben a backdrop behind him. Thankfully, his dick is blurred out, but from what I can tell, he’s grabbing it. The headline is enough to make me want to turn in my notice at this very moment. Prince Alex offers a taste of “England’s finest” to tourists.

I can hear him saying that while fisting his cock. “Want a taste of England’s finest, ladies? Step right up and put it in your mouth.” I swear, if a prince could get fired from the royal family, I would suggest that to the Queen. 

By the time I arrive at the palace, I’m getting push notifications about Alex’s little stunt last night. The New York Times. Washington Post. French and Italian and Chinese headlines. 

I’m sure I’ll log on to an inbox full of claims from people on the bus. Anyone who feels they can claim some type of mental anguish from being exposed to his genitals is going to come out of the woodworks. I’ll die trying to handle the lawsuits and NDAs for this fucking stunt. 

My computer is booting up when Meredith comes bursting through my office doors, bags under her once-bright eyes, her cheeks red, her hair oddly resembling a bird’s nest that’s been vacated for years. “Please.” She shakes her head. “Don’t make me go alone with him to Vegas. Please…”

She stops in front of my desk, sinks to her knees and lays her head on the smooth wood. “He’s terrible.”

It’s like the screeching brakes of a subway echoing through my head. Vegas. Vegas. Fucking Vegas! 

It will take a leash—possibly a stun gun—to manage this shithead in Vegas. 

There’s two days before he leaves. That doesn’t give me enough time to secure another job, which means, no matter what, I’ll be dealing with the fallout from Vegas on top of this! 

I’m going to kill Alex.

---

The dry heat envelops me when I step out of the cab, lugging my suitcase behind me. I weave through tourists with straw hats and sunglasses, grumbling. Half naked girls strut along the sidewalk and lean in windows, asses up in the air while they offer services to horny men.

Karen thinks it’s amazing that I was handed a first-class ticket to Vegas. I, on the other hand, find it nothing short of a sentence to some twisted form of hell where I want to fuck the devil. I repeat what was my mantra for the ten-hour flight: I am only here to make my job easier. The last time I came to Vegas, I was twenty-one. I got drunk, threw up, and lost four hundred dollars on the slot machines. I’d been there, done that, didn't intend to ever come back, and yet here I am, chasing after a man-child who wears a crown.

I breeze into the hotel lobby and check in, thinking only of the luxury bed I’m about to toss myself into. The bellhop straps my bag onto the cart, then heads past the massive water fountain in the middle of the overly ornate lobby. The foghorn sound I assigned to Alex blares from my phone. I’m tempted to ignore it, go straight to my room, and climb into bed to sleep off some of this jet-lag. But I don’t. I pull my phone from my carryon, dropping a half-rolled tube of toothpaste and my makeup compact onto the floor. After I swipe over the lock screen, I groan.

Alex: I’ve lost my room key.

Me: Come to the front desk and get a new one.

Alex: My passport is in my room. They wouldn't give it to me.

Me: You’re the fucking Prince of England.

Alex: They didn’t believe me.

Me: Where is Meredith?

Alex: I don't know. I’m not her keeper.

Great. I huff as I gather up my dropped belongs and shove them into the bag. Alex has been here for three hours and he’s already lost her. Or she's already quit. I contemplate that option but realize no matter how terrible he is, that girl is so thirsty for his dick she’ll wade it out until she either fucks him or realizes there’s no chance in hell. Shit. Maybe he’s already fucked her. A twinge of jealousy swells inside me, and I roll my eyes. Grow up, Lily. You are not a fourteen-year-old.  

 I hurry through the lobby to catch the bellhop. “I have to go handle something.” I toss the carryon to the top of the luggage in exchange for my purse. “Would you mind dropping it in my room?” 

I hand the man my spare room key and a fifty-dollar bill, not waiting for a response as I scurry back to the concierge desk where I chastise the clerk for not giving Alex another key. Swearing under my breath, I forge on to the casino. I catch sight of my reflection when I pass through the mirrored doors. I’m in the same sweats and ratty T-shirt I wore on the plane. What little makeup I had on didn’t make it through my mid-flight nap. I attempt to erase some of the smudged mascara with my thumb before I give up and go into the gaming room.

The electronic cha-ching of the slot machines. The flashing lights. The smoke-filled rooms. It’s sensory overload. An elderly woman sits nestled up to one of the penny slots, an army of rubber penises lined on top of the game. She rubs one with her fingertips before yanking down the lever and whispering, “Come on. Jackpot.”

I’m just about to text Alex when I spot him at the high stakes poker table with a woman I’m certain is a prostitute on his lap. Her dress is skin-tight with zebra print, and she has on enough bangle bracelets to make any 80s’ MTV star envious. 

With my game face firmly in place, I cross the room. The brunette on his lap glances up when I stop beside him. She smacks on gum.

“I’m not giving you the room key until she goes,” I say.

“You must excuse her. She’s celibate and angry.” He pinches Hooker Girl’s side.

She grins then blows a pink bubble through her slut-red lips. “Who are you, tuts?”

I don’t have time to diddle-dawdle with this bullshit, so I dole out the line that would make most women hate a man. Royalty or not. “The mother to the child he refuses to claim.” I frown. “I may only be a commoner, but my womb was good enough to carry his royal lineage. And now he denies him. He doesn’t want the throne tainted by his own flesh and blood.”

She gasps, lifting off his lap. Her bracelets clink together when she digs both fists into her hips. “Men like you…” She shakes her head then spins on her heel, patting my shoulder. “Fuck him up, girl.” She pops her gum, winks at me, then struts off, weaving between the slot machines.

Alex’s jaw is slack, his eyes narrowed. Bless him. He’s shocked. “You’re evil,” he says.

I hand his room key to him. “No, I just know how to work smarter, not harder.” Alex tosses several hundred-dollar bills onto the game table and the dealer shuffles the deck. “So Meredith just disappeared?” I ask.

“Something like that.” Both corners of his mouth curl. I know there’s more to this than he’s letting on.

“What did you do?"

He gathers his cards from the table, then places them facedown before tossing in some chips. “She's most likely in New York by now.”

“What!”

“There may have been some confusion with her layover.”

“Confusion is missing a flight, not ending up on the opposite side of a continent.”

The dealer flips over a card and goes around the table. Alex raises his bet. “I switched her tickets.”

All I can do is close my eyes and shake my head. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, I wanted to be here with you. Alone.”

My eyes flash open. I expect to be met with a sinister grin, but Alex isn't looking at me. He's staring at the cards on the table. He shoves every last stack of his chips toward the dealer.

“Why would you want to be here with only me?”

“All in or nothing, huh?” Then he winks at me.

My cheeks are on fire. My pulse clangs in my ears while my head swims in a sea of confusion. A waitress passes by in a short skirt, and I snag a random drink from the tray.

“Hey!” She glares at me, but I already have the glass to my lips, chugging what tastes to be watered-down bourbon. With a roll of her eyes, she shakes her head and disappears amongst the crowd. By the time I’m wiping the remnants of the drink from my mouth, Alex is collecting an insane payout.

“What in the…”

“I’m good at poker. Evidently.” He shrugs, polishes off his drink, then cashes out. When he stands, he wraps an arm around my shoulder, and I let him. Possibly because I’m tired; possibly because I’m confused. “Why do you think these people come here?” he asks.

“Same reason you do. Entertainment.”

He points at the lady with the rubber cocks stuck to her machine. “What about her?”

I shrug. He releases me and walks over to the lady. I watch as he gently places his hand on her shoulder and says something. She nods. He grins—a sincere smile. After a few minutes, he hands her his ticket. She holds it in her palm, staring before she leaps to her feet and throws her arms around his neck, leaving a bright pink lipstick mark on his cheek when she kisses him. 

He starts toward me and she frantically collects her penis collection and peels off, nearly trampling people on her way to the prize counter. 

I’m paralyzed with shock, wondering if maybe the jet lag has made me hallucinate. Alex’s arm comes back around me.

“Did you just give her all your money?”

“She wasn't here for entertainment. She’s trying to win money to cover her husband's dialysis treatments.”

My chest goes tight. I feel as though I'm tumbling down the rabbit hole after the White Rabbit. “You gave her your money."

“She needs it. I don't.”

To say I'm speechless is an understatement. Maybe Karen was right, maybe the assholes are the nice guys after all.

We leave the casino and head up to our rooms. Nerves fire through me at full speed when we stop at my door. I’m going to invite him in, and I'm going to fuck him and hate myself tomorrow because of it. Just when I go to open my mouth, he sticks his room key into the slot. The little light flashes green and the lock clicks.

With a sly grin, he shoves the door open. The moment I’m inside, he grabs my waist and pins me to the wall. His lips crash over mine, hard and brutal. Demanding. If I had any strength left at all to deny him, this kiss would break it in two. 

I paw at his shirt, snapping buttons loose. His tongue brushes mine. The kiss deepens and our teeth clash against each other. When he grabs the waist of my sweatpants, he pauses. “Let me have you. Please”

My answer: placing my hands over his and shoving my sweats down in one fluid movement. With a growl, he sinks to his knees, wrenching my legs apart.

The second his warm, wet mouth touches my clit, my legs feel weak. I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling as his lips work over me, ratcheting my need for him higher and higher. Back and forth, round and round his tongue flicks over me. I’m like a bomb ready to detonate at any moment.

My muscles tense. I’m ready to fall over that edge, and then he stops. Alex pushes to his feet, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, and I'm left plastered to the door and panting, my pussy throbbing. He closes the small gap between us, reaching down to pinch my swollen clit between his fingers, and I gasp at the painful release.

“Are you going to let me fuck this pretty, pink pussy?” He leans down to my neck and gently nips at my skin. 

“Only if you make me come now.” 

Chuckling, he squeezes my clit again, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. “Oh, I’ll make you come, kitten.” He nips at my ear. “But not until my cock is buried to the hilt in you.”

My stomach flutters when he grabs behind both my knees and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around him, his hard cock evident through his jeans. I can't help but grind over it, seeking release. 

Alex’s fingers dig into my ass. “Don’t you dare come.” 

“I’m about to." I smile and circle my hips. I’m right on that brink again, the hot sensations of my pending orgasm forming in the pit of my stomach.

We make it three steps before he lays me down. The cold glass of the coffee table presses against my ass at the same time as his lips covers mine. I feel him reach between us, unfastening his pants, and then seconds later, his tip is right at my entrance. Hot and hard and nudging.

My thighs fall apart. I grab his ass, pulling him toward me, but he won't budge any closer. “Alex. Please.” I breathe against his lips, and I feel the bastard smile.

"Please what, Lily?"

"Fuck me like a dirty whore."

“I thought you'd never ask.” With that, he slams into me. My breath catches in my lungs from the sudden brute force, the feel of him pushing into me. Stretching me to fit only him. With each hard thrust, he dominates me, coaxing soft mewling sounds I'm ashamed I’m even making.

“Do you like the way I fuck you, Lily?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and throw my head back while he pounds into me. “God yes.”

“I like the way your pussy feels gripping my cock." He picks up his pace like he's desperate for release. “Squeeze me.”

I tighten my muscles, moaning when the head of his dick rubs the perfect spot. “Are you on the pill?” he asks, pushing deeper and harder.

“Yes.”

“Fuck,” he bites at the crook of my neck. 

The tension inside releases like a coiled spring, snapping and buzzing through me like a wildfire through a forest. It consumes me. He consumes me, until I find myself panting for air. Just when the pleasure morphs to pain, Alex goes rigid on top of me. His expression grows hard, his brow furrows, and his mouth forms the perfect O when he groans. “Shit.” 

He collapses on top of me and we both lay here, breathless and silent. I’m wondering what the hell I just did. I screwed him—well, he screwed me—and I work for him, covering up sordid little trysts just like this. The irony is about to kill me.

One would hope getting the sexual frustration out of the way would clear the air, but the second he rolls off me and stands, he lends me his hand and I’m afraid nothing’s going to get better.

I wince as I follow him into the master suite. Through the window, the Vegas strip sparkles against the dark sky, the looming hills in the distance mere shadows. 

Alex flops onto the bed, his hair tousled and messy. When he grins at me, I don’t see an arrogant prince; I see the guy who gave a stranger his winnings. I see the part of Alex he tries to hide. 

He stretches out on the bed. “Come lay with me. Please.”

The little tug I just felt in my chest tells me I’m more than screwed. I hesitate. But when his eyes go soft and he pats the empty sheet beside him, I can't help but cave.

I crawl onto the mattress and snuggle into his chest, and instead of focusing on how good it feels to be so close to him, I concentrate on how this can never happen again.