Chapter 21

David

Now, this…this is more fucking like it!

A bottle of champagne pops open as the cork shoots across the room and smashes one of the lightbulbs from the chandelier. There’s a moment of silence as everyone considers what just happened, but then a cheer erupts through the room and someone passes me the fresh bottle.

I’m pretty sure that this is one of the bottles that was meant to be saved for my wedding, a gift from a grandparent or something, but now’s a good as time as any to open it.

Ever since Vivienne took off, the wedding’s been pretty much cancelled.

Which is good.

It’s better than good—it’s fucking great!

The whole thing was a sham anyway, to save face after the press caught me with a face full of pussy whilst at a party. It’s not as though we were ever really getting married, and it’s much better it ended in true David Lockridge-style.

The whole world expects me to be a party animal with more money than sense, so I might as well give them what they want.

“A toast!” I yell into the crowd, lifting the green bottle high into the air. “To freedom!”

“Freedom!” the crowd shouts back.

“To King David!”

I roll my eyes and feign some humility. But I love it. So what if I’m not prim and proper, eating tea and crumpets, and going hiking with corgis?

The people clearly still love me.

“David! David! David!”

The chanting continues and grows louder as I lift the bottle of champagne again. I smirk, flashing rows of teeth as I tilt the bottle to my lips and drink, unstopping, until the bottle is empty.

As I drink, champagne spills from the corner of my lips and drips further down my neck and on to my shirt. But I’m adamant to finish this fucking bottle—the public demands it.

When I’m finished, I tip the bottle upside down to prove that there’s nothing left inside. The crowd, which had been watching me with bated breath, explode into cheers before disbanding into the rest of the party.

I feel two pairs of petite hands pull at my shirt and pull me back into the fray.

“Your Highness, that was so impressive,” a redhead purrs in my ear as her hands run over my body.

“I bet that champagne was really nice. Can I have a taste?” A blonde appears beside her and blinks at me with large doe eyes. She looks so corruptible and fuckable, but as her hand ‘accidentally’ brushes over my cock, I know she’s not as innocent as she’s pretending.

And I’m curious to see what she wants to do next.

“It was, but there’s none left for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I think I see some…”

She gently tilts my head to the side and traces a line along my neck with her tongue. She bites gently at the skin of my jugular before she pulls away, and I feel my cock stir for a moment.

Why would I give up having an all-you-can-eat buffet of beautiful girls, just so I could be married to one woman?

Even if that woman is Vivienne Taylor.

“Come with us!”

The redhead and the blonde each pull one of my arms, tugging me happily outside and toward the pool. They push me into a sun lounger, and another glass of champagne—or it could be vodka in a champagne flute—is pushed into my hands as more girls lean in over them.

“So, your highness, what will you do now that you’re single?”

“Who will you play with first, Your Majesty?”

“Oh, King David, I was so afraid you’d get married without me ever having the chance to fuck you.”

Their words in my ear and their hands running over my body make every nerve ending light up. The girls crowd around me, pushing their breasts forward, and I know that all of them are mine for the fucking taking. Mine for the fucking.

One sits on my lap, straddling me as she grinds down against my cock. Even though I’m only half hard, I bet it’s still bigger than anything these girls have ever felt before in their lives.

If I wanted to, I could fuck them and give them a night that they’ll never forget.

But that’s the thing.

I don’t really want to.

Surrounded by blondes, each time I see a flash of brunette in the crowd I feel my heart skip a beat, hoping that it’s Vivienne. But it’s not—why would it ever be her?

I need to see her face.

I need to explain to her and tell her the truth.

Playing along with the blondes and hiding my disdain, I pick up the girl who’s straddling my lap and rise to my feet. I spin her around and drop her back where I was sitting.

Despite the growing tent in my pants, I pick up another bottle of champagne, and I retreat to my room alone.

I hear the girl’s whimper, and I fake pout, but I don’t give a damn.

How can that fucking brunette be so hot, and yet such a fucking boner-killer? And this isn’t the fucking first time she’s done it, either.

The door slams behind me, and even though I’ve left, I hear the party continue. I, instead, collapse into the chair in front of my desk and take a long hard look at myself in the mirror.

I can’t live with Vivienne, but it seems I can’t fucking live without her, either. Even my dick doesn’t seem to want anyone else.

Fuck.

Oh, fucking hell.

Is this what love is?

I run my hands through my hair and get out my phone. I should call her again, tell her how fucking sorry I am for fucking her about like this.

No, shit, I can’t.

I’ve been drinking, and she’ll hear the slur in my speech and hate me further.

Fuck.

What am I going to do?

How am I going to make her see that I love her? She’s called the wedding off, and I don’t know where she is, and she won’t answer my fucking calls…

I might be the fucking King but, shit…she’s my Queen.

And I’m fucking lost without her.