Falling for My Dirty Uncle

Ashley plays along with my game. "Nope. Can't say that I do. Now, why would we even want to be on this desk?"

"Very funny you two," Tracy says, smiling. "Play innocent all you want, but I'm not falling for it. I'm not that gullible; I wasn't born yesterday."

All three of us share a laugh at that.

Then Tracy walks out of the office, and as she leaves, we hear her lock the door behind her.

As she closes the door, I realize that I really don't know what I'd do without Tracy. She's been such a huge part of my success. I make a mental reminder to myself that I need to get her something incredible as a thank you gift for everything she's done for me.

And you want to know what the most important thing is?

Without her, I wouldn't have Ashley in my life.

It's her that I have to thank for that.

"What are you thinking?" Ashley asks, wrapping her arms around my neck, and breaking through my thoughts.

"I thought you always knew what I was thinking?" I reply.

"Well, you're usually thinking about fucking me," she smiles. "So, I'll play the odds and guess that's exactly what's going through that head of yours."

She rakes her hands through my hair again, and this time grabs a handful of hair and gives it a playful tug.

I laugh, wrapping my arms around her waist. I then close the little remaining distance between us, and press my lips to hers. "I love you," I whisper, my mouth resting on her ear.

"I love you more," she purrs, and then playfully adds for emphasis, "Mr. President."

Princely Passions

A Royal Romance

By Alexis Angel

Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angel Publishing

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

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Derrick

I own the motherfucking world.

Seriously, sometimes it just feels like I am the fucking prince of all fucking creation.

Never more so than when I'm looking out the fucking window of my condo in the fucking clouds high above New York City.

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I live in One57. That's right. Right in the center of Manhattan on a street they call Billionaire's Row. You don't get much more fucking materialistic and pretentious than this.

"Your Highness," Pressly, my manservant says to me, coming into the large living room with floor to ceiling windows of the sky. "Your motorcycle is ready. Are you quite able to ride today?"

That's just like Pressly. Always watching out for me. Ever since my mother died when I was thirteen, he's become more like my primary guardian than anything else. He gives off the look and feel of Alfred from Batman, but I know Pressly's had his fun in life. He used to fight for my Kingdom, St. Livy, when we gave forces to the Americans in Vietnam. He lost his wife to cancer - same as my mother, only earlier. I guess we have that going for us. But the number one thing that makes him invaluable is that he doesn't fucking judge me like the rest of the world.