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I always fucked brunettes.
Never blondes.
Never anyone that reminded me of her.
I shook my head and worked her throat, letting her choke on me and drown my memories in pleasure. I didn’t want to think about anything.
It was time to celebrate. Tonight, I’d hosted my own funeral in remembrance of my dear old dad. The occasion deserved a rager. An orgy. Ecstasy. Pot. Champagne. Every indulgence my asshole father shamed me for should be freely flowing to commemorate his unexpected passing.
In all honesty, I wasn’t thrilled about the promotion. I couldn’t give two shits about running our country. His legacy didn’t tempt me into stepping up to the plate; it just pissed me off.
Ding dong, the dick was dead. Adios, motherfucker. Burn in hell.
The brunette sucking me off pumped me harder. I jerked my hips and grunted. It was kind of fucked up that I shot my load down her throat with thoughts of my dead father running through my mind. The royal therapist my mother had forced me to see since the age of eight would absolutely love to psychoanalyze what I was doing. However, I didn’t have time for that. I was drunk and weirder shit had happened to me.
Getting off felt lackluster, but at least my whiskey dick managed to come. Every muscle in my body tensed as I came, then slowly relaxed. I felt liquid with my release.
Alcohol. I needed more.
She pulled back and wiped her lips with her thumb, flashing me a sly smile as she smeared her pale lipstick even more. “Did you like that?” she asked. They always asked. Most women liked to know if I would remember them later. It was their goal to blow my mind and settle me down. Considering I still didn’t know her name, the chances of me thinking back on this were slim to none.
I was such an asshole. I wasn’t proud of it, but she knew what she was getting into when she boarded my yacht.
Before slipping on my swim trunks, I replied with a bored tone, “It was great.” She reached behind her back to tug on the strings of her bikini, anticipation and opportunity twisting her soft face, but I held up my hands to stop her. “It was fun, sweetheart, but I’ve got things to do.”
Her hopeful expression soured, and I knew she’d sell our story to the tabloids by morning. It wouldn’t be the first time someone released a tell-all about my abilities in the bedroom—or in this case, the yacht. I was instantly glad I had my security team take her cellphone before she got on the boat. After the sex tape debacle at the royal university, I learned to check for any recording devices. “But what about me? It would be nice to have some more fun together.” Her voice was no longer sultry.
“My father passed away this morning. Thanks for helping me get my mind off things, but…” It was a shitty move, but I pulled the dead card nonetheless. Desperate times and all that. Her mouth dropped open in shock. The news hadn’t been released yet. I swear I could see the hungry dollar signs in her eyes.
“Oh, my gosh—”
I cut her off, worried she would think I was opening up to her and wanted a cuddle for my aching heart. “I’m not ready to talk about it.” My voice was snappy. I leaned forward and kissed her cheek to soften the blow of my tone. “Thanks for the fun.”
She nodded sympathetically and I walked away. If I wasn’t an asshole, I would have felt guilty about leaving her on the deck without a reciprocal gesture. I didn’t particularly enjoy leaving a woman wanting. I was the sort of man who prided himself on commanding the mystical clit, but I needed to go back home. If I wasn’t walking through the front door of our castle by the end of the week, the queen would probably kick my ass. I had a part to play. We all had a part to play.
The sun had completely set by the time I made it down the opulent stairs and waltzed into the living room. I eyed the piles of bras and thongs on the floor. How many women did I bring back? Four? Five? Two of them were sleeping in the master suite. One was getting off in the hot tub, pressing her pussy against the jet like a greedy little thing. And one was lying on the deck and licking her dick-flavored lips, daydreaming about being a queen. Was I missing anyone? No? Oh well.
“Sir,” my assistant, Adonis, said. “Are you ready to head back home? Your mother has called eighteen times…” I tensed at his words.
Queen Isabelle was probably shitting a brick. Not because she mourned her husband, but because I wasn’t at her side to cry for the cameras. It wasn’t my intent to bristle at the mention of my mother. We shared the same DNA, but she wasn’t maternal in the slightest. Father used to joke that I wasn’t born in the traditional sense. Queen Isabelle chiseled me from the ice block in her chest.
“Drop my guests off back at the port and make sure they have a ride back to the bar I picked them up from, then we can head back. How long will it take?” I asked, hoping for a bit of time before returning to hell.
“Two days. Three if we hit any storms. Would you prefer for me to arrange the private jet for you, sir?” Adonis asked in a formal tone. I wanted—no, needed—to prolong the inevitable. A private jet meant I would be back in Aldrich by tomorrow. I wasn’t ready to be in my kingdom just yet. News would break about my father’s death soon, and I would have to pretend to miss the sorry bastard. The dead king was more adept at acting than I was. My eyes were glued to my feet for a long time before Adonis spoke again. “Sir? The private jet?”
Adonis was a reliable man and had been working for me ever since I turned sixteen. He had olive skin, a nervous disposition, and often looked like he was gnawing on a lemon. I liked him enough. He kept me organized and put up with my bullshit. He also made sure I had fun without letting my parents or the press know. Like everyone I’d ever known, he always pushed me to be better, do better. I was a challenge for him. “I think it would be wise to get back to the kingdom as quickly as possible.”
I scoffed at his pathetic attempt to make me do the right thing. “Nah. Three days sounds perfect. If you can make it five, I’ll give you ten grand,” I teased, knowing he wouldn’t take the bribe. I’d probably bribed him with millions over the years. Never once had he taken a penny. Adonis pressed his thin lips into a barely discernible line. He wanted to question my choices but had no authority to do so. No one had the balls to stand against me.
“Right. I’ll tell the captain,” he replied stiffly.
“And make sure I have a never-ending supply of champagne in my room, yeah? I want to spend the next three to five days drunk off my ass.”
“If you insist,” Adonis replied before backing away slowly.
Yeah. I fucking insisted. “You’re the finest, Addy.”
“I know, Your Majesty.”
