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“So, your highness, what will you do now that you’re single?”
“Who will you play with first, Your Majesty?”
“Oh, King David, I was so afraid you’d get married without me ever having the chance to fuck you.”
Their words in my ear and their hands running over my body make every nerve ending light up. The girls crowd around me, pushing their breasts forward, and I know that all of them are mine for the fucking taking. Mine for the fucking.
One sits on my lap, straddling me as she grinds down against my cock. Even though I’m only half hard, I bet it’s still bigger than anything these girls have ever felt before in their lives.
If I wanted to, I could fuck them and give them a night that they’ll never forget.
But that’s the thing.
I don’t really want to.
Surrounded by blondes, each time I see a flash of brunette in the crowd I feel my heart skip a beat, hoping that it’s Vivienne. But it’s not—why would it ever be her?
I need to see her face.
I need to explain to her and tell her the truth.
Playing along with the blondes and hiding my disdain, I pick up the girl who’s straddling my lap and rise to my feet. I spin her around and drop her back where I was sitting.
Despite the growing tent in my pants, I pick up another bottle of champagne, and I retreat to my room alone.
I hear the girl’s whimper, and I fake pout, but I don’t give a damn.
How can that fucking brunette be so hot, and yet such a fucking boner-killer? And this isn’t the fucking first time she’s done it, either.
The door slams behind me, and even though I’ve left, I hear the party continue. I, instead, collapse into the chair in front of my desk and take a long hard look at myself in the mirror.
I can’t live with Vivienne, but it seems I can’t fucking live without her, either. Even my dick doesn’t seem to want anyone else.
Fuck.
Oh, fucking hell.
Is this what love is?
I run my hands through my hair and get out my phone. I should call her again, tell her how fucking sorry I am for fucking her about like this.
No, shit, I can’t.
I’ve been drinking, and she’ll hear the slur in my speech and hate me further.
Fuck.
What am I going to do?
How am I going to make her see that I love her? She’s called the wedding off, and I don’t know where she is, and she won’t answer my fucking calls…
I might be the fucking King but, shit…she’s my Queen.
And I’m fucking lost without her.
