Impassioned Prince

Impassioned Prince
(Randy Royals Book 2)
Tiffany Squires

Chapter One


Magnus

‘Your new rooms are fucking rad, man.’ Brandon, my longest-standing buddy, is exploring every corner of my brand new suite. He walks back to the living area where I’m loafing across an ornate chair, still processing that it’s all mine. My brother’s old living quarters belong to me, along with the future title of King and all the privileges that accompany it.

‘His gym is mental, all that’s missing are a couple of gym-bunnies.’ Brandon adds.

I smirk at him. ‘I think you’ll find it’s my gym.’

‘Apologies Your Royal Highness,’ he performs an exaggerated bow, then plonks his ass on a sofa and prepares two lines of coke. He rolls a note and offers it to me first. ‘While we’re celebrating your promotion how about you get the party started.’

‘Unfortunately, my cocaine taking days are now a thing of the past. But please, don’t stop on my account.’ I swing my legs off the arm of the chair and saunter to the liquor cabinet. I pour a scotch and neck it in one.

Brandon arches an eyebrow. ‘You can get high on that. But not this.’ He shakes his head before dipping to the table and snorting a line.

I swallow down my envy as I watch him savour the hit. It’s all right for him. Brandon’s new money. His daddy’s a billionaire wheeler-dealer who makes his own rules as he goes along, as does Brandon. To be honest, I have too. Until now that is. Now that I’ve found myself with the one thing I’ve envied ever since I can remember. Brice’s title. Luckily for me, he’s screwed it all up by disappearing into the sunset with his disgraced princess. Leaving me to step on up and take his sweet, sweet place. I am now next in line to the throne in our beautiful country, Marea. One day, it will all be mine. So now I must become a better man. Which is going to be hard if I have the likes of Brandon kicking around morning, noon, and night. Mother and Father have advised that I find new circles to run in. They say I should find peers who will keep me on the straight and narrow. But Brandon’s my main man. My best buddy. I may have to change, but my friends? Well, they come along for the ride.

‘This, is legal,’ I lift my glass and drink from it again but only enough to wet my lips, the night is young and I don’t want to peak too early. Then I point to the drugs on the table. ‘That is not. Excuse the pun, my friend, but now I’m next in line I have to keep my nose squeaky clean.’

Brandon sniffs. ‘You’re gonna be a right barrel of laughs to kick about with. I suppose we’re going out for a sophisticated meal washed down with coffee to celebrate your new status.’

I laugh. ‘No chance, there’s plenty of time for that when we’re old and shrivelled. We’re hitting the bars.’

‘Girls?’ Brandon wiggles his eyebrows.

My heart plummets. Girls beautiful girls. ‘Actually, I’m not sure that I should. But again, don’t let me stop you.’

‘You’re fucking kidding me!’ He looks genuinely pained not to have his wingman in full action. ‘I’ve got a party lined up at La Fuga. Especially for you. They’ve brought in fresh meat and everything. You’re gonna tell me that gentlemen’s clubs, especially ones where the girls offer special extras, are off the cards now aren’t you.’

My dick twitches in my pants. Brandon knows how much I love a girl fresh to the entertainment industry. They’re always so keen to impress. Always so enthusiastic. But I can’t go. ‘Brandon, I—’

‘No, no, no.’ He stands and tosses over my jacket. ‘You must relish in one last night of fun and frolics before you put your cock away for the last time. Besides, all entertainment is on me tonight.’

I shrug into my leather coat and grab my wallet from the sideboard. I open it up and run my thumb along the thick wad of cash inside. I consider leaving it behind but shove it in my jeans pocket instead. If Brandon’s on a mission, there’s every chance he’ll get totally wasted and forget his promise to shell out. ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘One last time. After tonight you’re flying solo though, capiche?’

He slaps my back with the palm of his hand before ruffling my hair. ‘That’s the spirit, old boy. Let’s have some fun before your cock shrivels up like an old man’s.’

***​

Things are already in full swing when we arrive at La Fuga. The driver drops us at the grand entrance to the three story manor house and we instruct him to wait in the car park brimming with Ferrari’s, Rolls Royce’s, and top-spec Range Rovers. The club is exceptionally elite, not to mention discreet. It’ll never feature on any top 100 lists because it can’t afford that kind of publicity. They boast world leaders, a-list celebrities and billionaire businessmen as their clientele. It’s where international trade deals are signed, wars are started, and careers are made. They’re also extremely selective about the ladies they allow to work here. No second-rate women cross the threshold of this joint. They’re all security checked and have to be groomed to a high standard. My eye roams the reception rooms. They’re packed with girls who could, and probably do, grace centrefolds. My mouth drools at the prospect of what the evening will hold for me. Ordinarily, I’m not too selective. Hell, they’re all perfect so normally it doesn’t matter, but tonight is my leaving party. Tonight, only the best of the best will do.

‘See anything you like?’ Brandon asks, his eyes already raking over a delicious-looking broad with tits any man would happily suffocate in.

‘Not yet, brother. Drinks?’

We walk to the bar, all the while salivating over the produce on display. Once our drinks are ordered we stand shoulder to shoulder and watch the crowd. You honestly couldn’t make this place up. It’s heaven in rural Marea. Mother and Father know of its existence and want it closed. They disagree with the debauchery and worry that if word ever gets out about it, the reputation of our country would be in tatters. If they knew I’m a regular here, and on a first-name basis with half the girls, they’d have a fit. Good job this is my last visit, ever. I can no longer afford to risk being caught with my trousers round my ankles.

‘What about those two?’ Brandon points at a pair of girls who are firing smouldering looks in our direction. ‘Bagsy the brunette. I’ve met her before, she can probably deep throat both of us at the same time.’

I screw my nose up. ‘Nah, not tonight.’

‘What about her then?’ He points to a Jessica Rabbit type with big red hair and an even bigger ass you could flip a coin off. ‘I’ll even take sloppy seconds if you want first dibs.’

I shake my head.

‘For fuck’s sake, Magnus. Your new position in the family has made you fussy.’ He downs his drink and stands tall. ‘If you’re not gonna, I’m diving in.’ He puffs his chest and struts towards the vixen who is more than welcoming of his company.

Within seconds he’s worked his magic on her and they’re sitting in a cozy corner. The thigh-length slit of her red dress has fallen open, revealing strong legs that would make great ear warmers. For a moment, I regret my decision but only for a moment because suddenly an angel appears.

Well, she’s in La Fuga so she’s not quite an angel, but close enough. A willowy blonde wearing head to toe white glides into the room and takes a moment to cast her baby-blues around. Her friend whispers something in her ear before leaving her alone. I gulp. She’s tall. Easily as tall as me at six feet. Her peroxide hair is short and swept back off her face, exposing every one of her perfectly elfin features. I’m not normally one for catwalk model types but she’s so fucking graceful it’s not natural. My eyes trail down the length of her body. Her tits are small but pert, the flimsy dress she’s wearing is barely shielding a pair of pretty pink buds from view. Her stomach is flat and her legs go on for miles and miles and miles. I take barely a nanosecond to make my mind up. She’s the one.

Roxy

‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ I say to Sandra as we walk into the house of sin masquerading as a luxury home to some toff. Several pairs of eyes have already landed on me and it doesn’t feel right. ‘I don’t fit in. The girls are all like super sexy.’

Sandra rolls her eyes. ‘You’re super sexy too. Besides, as I promised. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.’ She flashes me a wicked grin and winks. ‘But I’ll put my night’s earnings on you riding a super posh pole before daybreak.’ She turns to walk away and fear grips my stomach.

‘Sandra, you’re not gonna leave me alone, are you?’

‘Relax, where’s my street-savvy mate gone? You’ll come to no harm with this lot. I promise you.’ She strokes my arm but her words and caress do nothing to settle my jittery nerves. Everybody knows posh blokes have extraordinary kinks. ‘I’ll only be a second while I go sign us in. You wait here, and if anybody approaches just smile nicely, giggle at his crappy jokes, and bat your eyelashes until I come back.’

Before I can stop her, she’s gone. I watch as she squeezes through the crowds, oozing confidence, and acting like she owns the place. She disappears out of view and I’m left alone. Feeling very much on show in the excuse of a dress she chose for me. It’s barely more than a satin slip and I’m sure my nipples are protruding through the thing. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. One night. Just one night. Sandra’s been at this for a year now and is totally rolling in cash. She’s pestered and pestered and pestered for me to come with her. She’s sworn hands down that I’d earn double the money she does, but I’ve always laughed it off. Until today. When my mother screwed up my life. Again. I’d turned up this morning at Sandra’s swanky flat in floods of tears. I’d just found out they had arrested my mum but this time she won’t be allowed home because she’s broken her bail conditions. This time the stupid bitch passes go and heads straight to prison. The only difference this time is that I’m eighteen now, and the state no longer needs to care for me. I’m officially alone. And I hate her for it.

‘Listen. I know you’ve said no a million times, but why don’t you come to La Fuga with me?’ Sandra had said. I’d opened my mouth to argue, but she’d held a finger to my lips. ‘What’s your problem? It’s not like you’re a virgin. The men there are fucking loaded. Why not get a little something in return?’

She was right though. It’s not like I’m a virgin. I’d reasoned that it need not be a long-term thing. I could just do it a couple of times. Just enough to gather enough money for a place of my own. I sigh. So much for going to uni and getting an education so I can tread a path very different from my mother's. Standing here, it’s beginning to feel as though the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree. However, unlike mother, I’m not touting my wares on a street corner for the cost of a bag of crack. No, I’m touting it in a posh house for the cost of a deposit and the first few months’ rent on a bedsit. I’ve almost convinced myself that it’s a whole different thing. Almost.

‘You’ll never guess who’s sizing you up?’ Sandra’s back by my side, clutching two champagne flutes. She hands one to me and I accept it but don’t raise it to my lips even though my mouth is drier than the Sahara. ‘Only Prince Bloody Magnus Henley,’ she says.

I wasn’t planning on drinking but the news shocks me to the core so I do. I damn near half-empty my glass. Sandra had said the men here are of a certain standard but I didn’t expect to meet the likes of him. ‘Are you sure? Prince Magnus Henley?’

She flashes her eyes over my shoulder so I sneak a peek. My head spins. Holy fucking cow. I’m not sure that I would have recognised him. He’s bigger than he looks in the magazines and is wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans which hug some serious muscles. ‘He’s so damn hot. What the fuck is he doing here? Surely he doesn’t need to pay for it?’

‘Oh sweetie, don’t be so naïve, none of the men here need to pay for sex. They pay for the discretion.’

She laughs and flicks her luscious brown hair over her shoulder. She fires him a sultry look and I purse my lips. She must be mistaken. Judging by the other women here, thick cascading hair and voluptuous curves seem to be the fashionable features to have. Just like hers. So it must be her he’s ogling.

‘Oh shit.’ Sandra blurts, choking on her drink. ‘He’s only fucking walking over. Remember, act cool.’

I gulp and try to pretend I’m not here but can’t stop myself from stealing glances at him as he struts over. He’s got tattoos all up and down his arms that highlight his bulging biceps and dense forearms. His hand is wrapped around a crystal tumbler but his thick fingers make it look no bigger than a thimble. When he’s within touching distance, I swoon. Actually swoon. My head spins and my limbs lose all strength and I can suddenly relate to how women always fall into their men’s arms in the old movies.

‘Ladies,’ he greets us with a respectful nod of his head. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ He’s asking both of us but his honey-brown eyes are burning into mine. Yep, Sandra was right. He’s definitely looking at me. I’m totally not ready for this. At all. My core clenches but I’m not sure if it’s because I need to hold my waters or I’m actually feeling slightly aroused by the unimagined predicament.

Sandra curtsies and I can’t help but smile. I never thought I’d see the day. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she says in a gravelly voice I assume is supposed to sound sexy. ‘A glass of Dom Perignon Vintage please.’

He cocks his head at me. ‘The same for you?’

‘No, thank you, Your Highness. I’m not drinking.’

His eyes wander down my body, linger on my chest for a second, then land on the half-empty glass which I’m clutching for all it’s worth in front of my stomach. He cocks his eyebrow questioningly. ‘Something else to help you relax?’

‘No, thank you. I don’t do drugs either.’

The corners of his full lips turn upwards in amusement. ‘You don’t drink or do drugs. So what do you do for fun?’

‘Oh, she knows how to have fun,’ Sandra says and prods my ribs with her elbow. ‘Don’t you, sweets?’

‘I’ll bet she does.’ Prince Magnus moistens his lips and leans in closer. He smells so good. I’ve smelled nothing like it before. Musky yet fresh and fruity. He didn’t pluck his aftershave from a supermarket shelf that’s for sure. ‘So, what kind of fun do you like?’

I dart my eyes towards Sandra who enthusiastically nods her encouragement.

‘All kinds of fun.’ I try to emulate the husky tone she just used but my voice quivers, letting me down.

‘You’re new here?’ Prince Magnus asks and I nod slowly.

Over his shoulder, Sandra cringes. Shit. I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody that. Apparently I’m supposed to behave like I know what I’m doing. Which I do. I know how to fuck. Lord knows I’ve done enough of it. Because that’s what you do when your mother loves her daily fix of stimulant more than she loves you. You fuck.

Prince Magnus stands tall and for a second I think I might have blown it. He’s not going to waste his money on a shivering wreck. But I’m wrong. Very wrong. Instead, he takes my hand in his and, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on mine, places a tender kiss on my knuckles sending little shock waves up my arm. ‘In that case, Miss…?’

‘Roxy,’ I whisper.

‘In that case, Roxy. Tonight is most definitely my lucky night.’
 
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