9
Derrick
Fuck me. I’m going fucking mental thinking about Daphne.
But she’s not fucking here, is she?
Don’t fucking roll you’re eyes at me. I know what you’re thinking. That I’m a fucking wanker and I don’t fucking deserve her.
But I know she’s so much more than a fucking stripper. I know she’s got so much potential.
I’m actually fucking glad she didn’t act like all the other fucking girls and try to jump on my enormous cock right away. I want this to be right. I want to deserve this woman. I want to be worthy of her.
Then why the fuck am I in my Bentley with my mates not two hours after she and I parted ways?
Fuck me. I can’t give you a reason. All I know is that I needed to go out. I needed to clear my fucking head. So I called them up. They’re always down for a night out. Sons of fucking Wall Street titans and Senators and the lot.
I look out the window of the Bentley as it's driving down the street, and see that the line to the fucking club goes nearly one fucking city block.
Jesus Christ, I think. This many people on a Friday night want to go to this spot. Are there that many lonely fucking people out in the world?
It's not like I want to come here. But it gets me out with my mates. It’s a chance to clear my head, like I said, remember? A way to unwind. A place to pick up the sluts so I don't have to do a lot of work to figure out who I'm going to fuck for the night.
That’s right. I’m going to clear my head the only fucking way I know. I’m going to drink and fuck it out.
After all – if that cunt DA presses charges and gets an indictment, this is all gone, isn’t it?
A part of me can’t say I blame the DA for fucking me up the ass like that.
I know I sound like a cocky, arrogant bastard, and I guess if you called me that, I'd look you in the face and tell you that you were absolutely right.
Then, if you were a bloke, I'd beat the shit out of you.
But guess what? Nothing would happen to me.
Because I'm the fucking prince. My father, no matter how much of a wanker he is, is still a head of fucking state. Which means I have something known as diplomatic immunity. There are certain crimes I can commit and there’s very little the police can do about it, because I’m a foreign dignitary.
It's good to be the son of the fucking King. But it’s made me into an asshole. I’m realizing this the more I think about Daphne.
"Stop the car, here," my mate Max instructs the driver.
"Oh come on, mate," I say out loud. "What's the fucking point of having a car drop you off if we're walking the whole fucking block to get to the club?"
Max hems and haws but I know the reason all the blokes are going on with this stupid plan.
It's so we can walk by and have our pick of the ladies.
If these boys were just any old boys, I'd be gone faster than a Thai hooker once she's got your money. But they're my best mates. If we were at war, they'd be having my backs. I'd be having theirs.
I sigh and go along with their plan.
We exit our black stretch-Bentley and the five of us immediately draw looks. People take out their phones to take pictures of us.
That's right. They're taking pictures of me.
My 6 foot plus frame.
The way my jeans are draped down my legs and, with my shirt untucked and unbuttoned, showing off a part of my chest.
I know I have a cut fucking body. The sluts just fucking love to run their hands along my chiseled abs and fucking ripped pecs. They love to run their tongue all over that shit. I don't stop them at all.
I know they're staring at me right now. The way my shirt is tightly wrapped around my ripped body, highlighting what needs to be highlighted. I know they can see the bulge in my pants. The 11 inches of thick cock that I have swinging between my legs. Ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice to fuck the stray female of the herd that crosses my sights.
I know they're staring at my jaw. My royal fucking jawline. With my dimples. My icy blue eyes. My tousled hair.
My mates are doing their best to be the peacock, strutting and swaggering their way up the line, making their way for the fucking door. But I know that of the lot, I’m the only royal alpha male.
"Boys, this looks ridiculous," I tell them. "I’m a fucking Prince – we can get in whenever the fuck we want. It's not a big deal that we're skipping the line. We don't have to make a big show of it. People are going to laugh at us."
I'm just looking out for them. I give fuck all if anyone laughs at me. I'll just screw their wife on their bed while they're laughing at me.
I walk through the doors and look at my mates behind me. The boys didn't listen and I realize that maybe I have it too easy - with my looks, my cash, my title. Because what I thought is ridiculous is actually working. They're picking up a girl or two each, talking and spitting game out at the various ladies that are waiting in line.