Prince With Benefits: A Billionaire Royal Romance (35 page)

Her face darts up and her mouth drops open. I smile, feeling like the millions in my trust fund just for getting that shit off my chest, out into the open. Doesn't do a damned thing to stop the blood roaring in my cock.

I try to focus on picking Claire's jaw off the floor so I don't get my hands on her skirt, giving into all the depraved shit I've been thinking about nonstop since she came into this house.

“Stop worrying, Claire. We're not gonna fuck. Not really.”

Yeah, right.
I can't believe the words coming outta my mouth. I fully intend to mount her and find out if that sweet cunt's just as tight and hot as the rest of her. But I've gotta throw her a white lie, just a little one, before she runs off screaming, overheats, and blows herself to kingdom come.

“I don't understand where you're going with this, Ty. This...this is officially
too
fucking much.”

Shit. Every f-bomb firing off her tongue ties my dick in knots. Her dirty mouth soils the prissy good girl, shows me there's more inside her than the flagpole up her ass.

I step up, place a brotherly hand on her shoulder, tightening my fingers in her soft flesh. Mostly so I don't head for the perky tits just inches south, or slide up underneath that skirt I want gone like nothing else.

She's gotta be soaked. Even with her face twisted and on the verge of tears, she's looking at me like every girl has before I carry her to bed for the night.

“No, it's not too much, Claire. This is what we both need. I
need
to see you watching me pop this bruiser's jaw outta alignment. You can run your eyes all over me. Go ahead. You don't gotta feel guilty about it. You need to take a good, long look, just like the sun, and let your eyes burn so you can't see me this way again.”

She's trembling. I angle myself so my raging dick isn't right against her belly and wrap my arms around her, pulling her in. Jesus, she smells so sweet. Soft. Feminine.

“Is that really what it's going to take? How do you know it won't make things worse?” She looks like she's going to die just acknowledging I've uncloaked her feelings.

“It's all we've got. Who knows how fucking long this sham marriage will last – months? Maybe years? Hell, maybe the rest of our mom and pop's natural lives.” I can't imagine it, but stranger things have happened. “Do you really wanna do this dance forever? Make these awkward faces across the dinner table and scream at each other on the beach because we can't fuck? What the hell do you think your hubby's gonna say some day when he sees you can't keep your eyes off your rowdy step-brother?”

She cracks. Claire's sniffling when she pushes her face into my chest. I feel her tears against my bare skin. Something about that gives me a tiny shred of guilt.

Shit. I'm a manipulative sonofabitch. But I'd never hurt her.

No fucking way.

I'd lift up the whole fucking world and body slam it cold if
anybody
ever hit her with a barbed tongue or a malicious fist. No, I don't know what'll happen after I end up snatching her panties like I think I will.

All I know is I won't break her heart, and I've never been so sure about something in my life. Shit, I can't even think of doing it, especially if she opens her legs and finally lets me in.

“Think on it for another day. Just one,” I whisper. “When you come home this evening, let me know if you're coming to the fight. I'll drive you there myself. Hell, you can take a cab and leave a note if you want. Just be honest with yourself for once, babe. Open up and do exactly what you want.”

She jerks, tearing herself away from me. This time, there's no stopping her. The conversation is done. Claire yanks my door open and stumbles out into the hall, tripping all over the heels she's got on.

I feel bad about that. But I also can't stop imagining those office shoes digging into my ass while her legs are wrapped around me, fucking her into sweet submission like the wild bull I am.

“I'm going to be late for work,” she snaps. “I'll...I'll let you know. But I swear to God, Ty, if I decide I don't want any of this, then stay the hell away!”

Her finger darts out. Her eyes are watery, angry, and red. I'm standing there shirtless, with the worst boner of my life stretching my tight boxers, leaving no doubt about my true intentions.

I give her a nod. She turns around and heads for the stairs, and this time she doesn't miss a step.

At some primitive level, I think she realizes what I'm doing. I haven't just asked her to be my little Sis at an underground brawl she's got no interest in.

Moral support? I don't fucking need it. I'm used to doing everything myself. I know what the old man thinks of my shit, and I resigned myself to blazing my own path a long time ago.

This isn't about that. This is about an invitation to sort out our problems with raw, hard, frequent fucking. It's the best medicine – hell, the
only
medicine – I've ever known since my balls started pumping come.

I sink backward against the wall, so wound up I'm about to explode. I'm gonna run and punch and swim myself into a goddamned coma before she comes home. We both know what's on the line.

And the idea I might actually get what I want makes my muscles tremble 'til I stop and clench everything from head to toe.

If Claire gives me a yes tonight, then she might as well sneak into my room, strip off everything except those bitching heels, and straddle my face.

If she says yes, it's only gonna feed the fire. It won't really resolve shit between us.

Yeah, I'm a bastard for lying, but she's a smart girl. We know damned well there's no extinguishing this shit once it gets going without us all over each other, every fucking hour.

I grab my dick one more time and lick my lips, heading for the gym. I've never wanted to know what a girl tastes like this bad while I'm warming her up to fuck.

Before the weekend's gone, I swear I'm gonna find out.

* * *

I
don't hear shit
. I shouldn't be surprised.

By evening, right before I'm supposed to head to Club Zing for the match, I'm going berserk. I'm scared for my opponent in the ring, and whatever skanks I find after it's done.

I'm gonna fucking kill somebody tonight, and it's all because of
her.

Little Miss Perfect, the only woman who can't be bothered to give me the goddamned time of day. Little Miss Perfect, chickenshit as she is hot, the most infuriating bitch on the face of the earth. Little Miss Perfect, who won't stop burning up my balls, even when she's leaving me high and dry.

I'm seething. I nearly rip my clothes dressing, feeling the lust and disappointment come raging into my knuckles.

There's a knock at my door, and for a second, I stop. Could it be?

I fling it the fuck open and my heart dives like a hawk. There's my old man standing there, a sour look on his face.

Goddamn. This isn't the night. If he wags his finger at me, I swear I'll break the fucking thing right off.

“What's up, Dad?” It's all I can manage without letting out my volcanic smoke.

“Message from Claire, relayed through Mandy. She asked me to come down here and tell you myself.”

Now, my ears are up. I step aside, letting him into my room. He hardly ever comes into this space, and he can't hide his disdain either. He takes one look at my messy bed and the gloves I use for practice, and turns up his nose.

Fucking asshole. Messenger or not, some things never change.

“Your sister says she'll be at your club tonight. It's just taking her a little longer than usual to get home from work. She's doing overtime today for the internship.” He says it like it's supposed to mean something to me.

“Whatever, Pops. So am I. You think these charity things aren't good for business? I'm all about giving as much as the next guy with a heart, but it's good for building the club's cred too.”

“Ty, come on.” He slowly blinks and rushes back toward the entrance, ready to leave just as suddenly as he arrived. “I know all about the PR value a little charity brings. Spree raised fifty million a few months ago for –“

“I know. You crowed about it all over the press while I was celebrating my last birthday.”

He stops, turns, and sniffs. “Now, Son, you know I'm a very busy man. That's the price for lifting up our name and giving us this lifestyle. Someone's got to do it. There's no need to get angry.”

Not you,
the fuck's preaching between the lines, throwing it in my face like he always does. He doesn't think I'll ever match his lofty heights.

Well, fuck him, I don't need to. I'm gonna live my life as more than a slave to the shareholders, and I'm sure as shit never marrying a gold digger looking for a few more cash injections to fluff her political career.

“I wasn't getting pissy about it. I'm a big boy, Dad. It's not like I need you to light the candles on my cake. Don't need your help running my club either. I know what works.”

“Of course you do, Ty. I'll be right behind you whenever you announce an expansion in the near future.” He cocks his head slightly, knowing I've refused that shit a thousand times. “Try not to bring your sister home drunk or damaged. She's a good girl. Much too good for this family, I'm afraid.”

There's no point to screaming in his face. I grab the door and slam it so hard in his face it rattles the whole basement. I'm lucky it didn't break the frame or splinter the wood – wouldn't be the first time.

I wait 'til my old man's footsteps are on the stairs before I move. Shit, I haven't even had time to think about what he said.

She's gonna be there. She's accepted my invitation. That's something, yeah? Even if she's either too busy or chickenshit to say it to my face.

Fuck. It's happening.

I finish packing up my shit, polishing my little speech to the donors from a few notes I've scribbled on my desk, and then I'm gone. I'm not gonna blow tonight and squander this chance to get my lips all over the hottest chick I've ever met.

* * *

T
he weekend traffic
going into Seattle slows me down. I'm roaring into my private parking space with less than ten minutes to spare. My boys meet me at the door and start ushering me to the back.

Ed, Mike, and Tommy keep this place in one piece when I'm away. They've been my brothers since high school, and the only thing that keeps this place from running on auto-pilot without me are their own egos butting heads. That's why I've put the big Swede over them as head manager, a guy named Karl.

It's like half a dozen people are trying to talk at once amid the endless clatter of their phones going off.

“Shut the fuck up, guys! One at a time, and nobody speaks if it's not important,” I finally say, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the hall, ripping off my shirt and pants. I strip down to nothing but the trunks I'm wearing into the ring.

Nobody says shit. Yeah, that's what I thought. Just a bunch of overeager friends jockeying for my attention. I'm used to it by now, but it still gets grating before I head into the ring.

“I'm ready to go. Karl!” I point to the muscular Swede with blonde hair and baby blue eyes just slightly duller than mine. “You're telling me what's what. Is everything out there set, without any problems?”

“Sure is, boss. The turnout's looking fantastic. Fat Boy wanted to say a few words before you climbed in together, but it doesn't look like there'll be time for that.”

I nod, remembering my opponent's moniker. I don't study up on this shit beforehand because I like a surprise, a challenge. I don't use those silly fucking wrestling names either.

Maybe it's a good thing the guys on the receiving end of my fists do because it always seems to go over well with the crowd. As for me, I'm just Ty, undefeated owner who keeps bringing these hungry bastards in, trying to knock me out.

They always lose, and that's not changing tonight. I'm the one who wins, and so does my club and the charity we're raising cold hard cash for.

“What about the chick I texted you about?” He shakes his head like hasn't gotten the message. “Find her and make sure she's safe and sound in her VIP box. That's Claire Frost, my new step-sister. I gotta know she's safe and sound, without any hitches.”