Prince Albert(20)

“In a tour of the palace,” she says. “In case you were getting any ideas.”

“Oh, I have lots of ideas.”

“Not those kinds of ideas,” she whispers, her hushed tone making her words sound illicit.

“Don’t act all shy now,” I say, my voice low. “We both know why you were late for dinner.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, her jaw clenched. But her eyes are wide, and she takes in a short breath. The thought of her reaching between her legs and touching herself, being wet because of me, is enough to make my damn cock explode.

“So you weren’t late because you were busy thinking about my cock inside you?” I ask.

She laughs, but it’s forced. “Maybe that’s the only thing other women can think about when they’re around you, but not me,” she says. “Anyway, I came here because I wanted to ask about getting to the embassy to get a new passport.”

“Sure that’s the only reason you came here?” I ask. The way she’s looking at me, the way her eyes drop down to my chest, makes me wonder why the hell she’s even keeping up the pretense of not being attracted to me, when we both know it's not true.

“That’s the only reason,” she says. "I'm quite positive."

“My eyes are up here, luv,” I tease.

“I’m not even looking anywhere else,” she protests, her face coloring. “And you should…put on a shirt or something. Why are you answering your door like that, anyway?”

“Well, if I’d have known it was you at the door, I’d have answered without any pants,” I tell her.

"That would have only been embarrassing for you," she says. "It's quite chilly in here, with the air conditioning, you know."

"Don't worry, luv," I say. "The royal scepter has no issue with shrinkage."

Her eyes go wider and she shakes her head. "Did you seriously just refer to your dick as the royal scepter?"

I don't bother to hide my grin. Little Miss Do-Gooder acts like she's offended, but she totally wants me. "Do you want to touch the royal staff?" I ask. "Give the crown jewels a little polish?"

She wrinkles her face up in disgust. "Ugh. Anyone ever tell you that you have a twelve-year-old boy’s sense of humor?"

"Usually I'm accused of having the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old boy. So I'll take the sense of humor bit as a compliment."

"You would," she says. "And for the record, I came here on business. Not to talk about your little Prince Albert."

"Oh, there's nothing little about it, luv," I say, reaching for the button on my pants. "Here. Take a look."

She puts her hand up. "Oh my God. Seriously. Are you that hard up for female attention?" she asks. "We're right in the middle of your doorway, in case you've forgotten."

"You're going to need to find your sense of humor," I say. "I think you might have forgotten it somewhere in Vegas."

Her face colors. "I have a sense of humor," she says. "Just not…your kind of humor."

"Joking about my cock isn't your style?" I ask. "Well, I'm glad you take my dick seriously."

Belle rolls her eyes. "You're so not my style."

"Well, I've got news for you, luv," I say. "Girls like you aren't my style, either." That part is definitely true. No matter how fucking hot this chick is, uptight women aren't exactly my type.

“Then why do you keep hitting on me?” she hisses.

“I’m just having a little fun, that’s all. If I were hitting on you, you’d know it. Trust me.”

“Oh yeah?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement has the effect of pressing her breasts together, putting her cleavage so directly in my line of sight that I can’t possibly look away. I can’t decide if she’s doing it naively or if she wants to get a rise out of me. In a literal sense.

“Like I said, you’ll beg me to hit on you.”

Belle rolls her eyes. “I’ll do no such thing,” she says. “Just because we had one kiss doesn’t mean that anything else is going to happen between us.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, Belle,” I say. “But we both know you’re thinking about my lips on your lips.”

She shrugs. “It was no big deal,” she says. “I’ve had better kisses.”

“I wasn’t talking about those lips,” I say, looking down.

Her eyes go wide again. “We did not do anything like that,” she protests.