TRIPLE PRINCES: An MFMM Menage Romance Page 5

  “Hey,” I drawled. “What’s up?”

  “Mister, you looking for some fun?” she breathed, pushing her chest forward. “For a price,” she smiled sultrily at me.

  Oh shit. A professional. Well, I had nothing against working girls and WTF, maybe that’s what I needed tonight. Maybe that’s exactly what I needed to stir things up, get the donkey going.

  So I wasted no time with small talk.

  I looked over the goods, staring her up, down, up, down, and then a third time for good measure. “Five hundred bucks,” I said peremptorily, “take it or leave it.”

  I guess it was take because the girl shook her hips and shimmied excitedly.

  “Sure thing!” she breathed, practically taking off her clothes right there. “You wanna head to a hotel?”

  I let out a short bark of laughter.

  “Hotel?” I said, “I can do better than that.”

  And I brought the girl back to St. Venetia Palace itself, stowing her in one of the unused rooms in a side wing, among a series of empty maid’s rooms. I fucked that girl silly, forcing her to take it this way and that, bent over and bent double, her shrieks ringing through the empty hallways, her cries of pleasure echoing like alarm bells.

  “Fuck me, fuck me, ooooh, yeeeahh,” she wailed, thrashing her head on the bare mattress. I was only too happy to oblige, so long as she didn’t talk. I’d realized that the woman was a bimbo, without a lot going on upstairs, and wanted to keep any conversation to a minimum. Long wails and drawn-out cries were okay, but no sentences necessary, thanks.

  And of course the next morning, I had to ask Sproul to escort her out.

  “Hold on, my man will come get you,” I grunted, watching as the brunette got dressed. Her lower back tat looked bad, like a squiggly eel that had been done by a child. “What is that on your back? Your money’s by the door, by the way.”

  The brunette giggled and scooped up the cash, stashing it into her cleavage.

  “Oh my son did it,” she said, pulling down her skirt a little to give me a better look in the grey light of morning. “He’s a tattoo artist, isn’t he so talented?”

  There were two things that I got from the exchange. One, that the woman was way older than I thought, if she had a son old enough to be working. Heck, that made me feel good. I had no bias against older women, and if I’d just done a MILF? Sweet.

  But the other thing was that Mama’s son had absolutely no talent. The tat was literally the worst I’d ever seen, random lines curving this way and that on an etch-a-sketch. Shit, she should look into getting that shit lasered off no matter how much it cost. It was worth it, better than going around with a mess permanently inked on your body.

  But Sproul had just arrived in the hallway, his face courteous, impossibly civil, giving nothing away.

  “Madame,” he said bowing at the waist. “May I show you to the exit?”

  “Oh yeah!” she squealed. “Like a butler, cool!”

  I rolled my eyes, stretching in the small bed. The real reason was that I didn’t want a working girl to get lost in the Palace, wander to some restricted area where there was a meeting with the Chancellor or some visiting dignitaries. The Palace was big, but it could happen. Imagine it. Working girl shows up half-naked at a meeting filled with old, cranky white guys talking about accounting or some shit like that. Shits and giggles man, shits and giggles.

  But whatevs. Sproul was here already, bowing and extending his arm.

  And the girl took it, jumping up and down with excitement at the prospect of being escorted. “Bye now!” she sang over her shoulder at me, wiggling her ass one last time. I ignored her, heaving myself out of bed, mentally bracing myself for the day head. What was on the agenda? I’d have to look it up.

  But Sproul was only too happy to remind me, now that he’d finished escorting the woman out, meeting me in the royal library afterwards.

  “How’d it go with Mama?” I asked. “You show her out okay?”

  Sproul didn’t even deign to reply.

  “You have an event tonight at the Sant Ambroes Hotel,” he sniffed. “Miss Carroll’s girls will be there. Much better than what you’ve been indulging in lately,” he added darkly.

  “Oh you mean Mama,” I drawled, laughing when I saw the butler’s indignant look. “Mama’s her name, and hooking is her game,” I grunted. “Don’t ask me, I have no idea why she’s called that.”

  Sproul looked miffed.

  “Miss Carroll’s girls are the highest quality,” he said, looking at me down his nose. “You’ll see,” he intimated. I just ignored the comment. I’d allegedly been meeting the best girls in Europe for years now, and I’d never heard of this Miss Carroll’s place.

  But now that the ladies were here, I could see what set them apart. Food, it was the food. Again, I hate starved-looking females, so thin that they’re almost transparent, rope-like with brittle arms and legs. Miss Carroll’s girls, by contrast, were healthy and fit, curvaceous and voluptuous. Sure, they gasped and tittered like women all over the world, but at least I could see real womanflesh, and not emaciated bones.

  So I perked up, feeling a little more awake. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so painful, I’d be able to relax a little, enjoy myself. I was reaching for a second glass of champagne, congratulating myself for attending the event, when I caught sight of her. It isn’t often that the blood rushes downward making my dong stiffen, but that’s what happened when Tina stepped into the drawing room.

  Curly brown hair, big hazel eyes and a heart-shaped face, she was a looker and then some. Wide hips bracketed a tiny waist and juicy ass, all of it topped with gazongas that had to be Double Ds at a minimum. I felt my heart hammering, blood pumping hard in my groin, a rushing sound in my ears.

  And of course, she and another girl were headed my way. In two seconds flat they were by my side, the tiny blonde grabbing my arm.

  “Hi, you must be Prince Kristian,” she chattered. “I’m Millie, I mean Millicent, and this is the Lady Christina.”

  The brunette let out a genuine smile, and my heart caught in my throat. God, she was beautiful, I could almost feel warm rays caressing my skin.

  “Everyone calls me Tina,” she said throatily. Oh shit, that voice was like dark velvet, a full-bodied glass of merlot that I had every intention of downing sip by sip.

  “Tina you’re not supposed to!” giggled her friend. “We’re supposed to go by our given names remember? Miss Carroll said.”

  But Tina just rolled her eyes and shot me a half-smile. “Sorry but Millicent and I are real girls, and we go by Millie and Tina, not Lady Anything.”

  By now, I’d gotten my body under some control and reached for Tina’s hand. Her fingers were long and elegant, her wrist like a swan. Pressing a kiss on the inside, I growled, “Pleased to meet you.”

  Tina’s eyebrows flew up at the intimacy, her pulse pounding under my fingers, beating like a butterfly.

  “Do you always kiss ladies’ wrists when you first meet them?” she asked archly, looking at me through their lashes.

  “Only if they’re as beautiful as you,” I rumbled, with a half-smile on my lips.

  Her friend, meanwhile, had finally caught on to the vibes between us, some serious shit that didn’t include her.

  “Um, should I go get a drink or something?” she twittered, “or do you guys need drinks too? I can get something for all three of us.”

  “No, stay,” said Tina, but I interrupted.

  “Yeah, that’d be great,” I said loudly, “whatever they have, thanks.” I didn’t mention that there were servers circulating even now with flutes of bubbly, I just wanted the brunette all to myself.

  “Oh sure,” giggled Millie, running off, “Have fun you two.”

  Hopefully that meant she wasn’t coming back, she’d give us a little privacy, and I turned back to the brunette.

  “So what brings you here?” I growled, expecting some casual banter, some slick story about how she loved vacationing in the M
editerranean on her private yacht, the skies so blue, the sea so calming.

  But instead, the girl didn’t really say, instead dodging the question.

  “Just wanted to see what this is about,” she murmured, not meeting my eyes. “You know, mix and mingle a little.”

  Odd. Usually people love talking about themselves, it makes them feel important. But evidently this brunette was more circumspect.

  “You been to St. Venetia before?” I asked casually. My country is like another Monaco, with Formula One racing, fashion shows, and casinos galore. But the girl looked away in the distance again.

  “Yeah, I was here when I was a little girl, it was fun,” she said, taking a deep breath and shooting a wry smile, “but I haven’t been back in a long time.”

  And another bell went off in my head because St. Venetia is a playground for the rich, a resort on the Italian shore. Wealthy people around Europe come here to see and be seen, so I was surprised that someone at finishing school didn’t come regularly. Weren’t these girls from well-off families? It’s like a saying you’ve never been to the South of France, never experienced St. Tropez in the summer.

  “Well, where do you usually vacation?” I asked curiously. “Where does your family summer?”

  And the girl took a deep breath before answering casually, too casually.

  “My family likes to stay put, we’re homebodies most of the time, and when I travel, I’m usually doing charity work. I did a program last summer in Romania, working with the Roma people. It was cool,” she said.

  I kept my expression neutral but was internally surprised. Charity work? Hell, most women I knew never got their hands dirty, much less helped those less fortunate. So intrigued, I pressed on.

  “What kind of charity work?” I asked curiously. “We’ve got some Roma people in St. Venetia too.”

  The girl nodded.

  “The Roma, or gypsies as a lot of people call them, are a dispossessed group who’ve been persecuted for thousands of years,” she said carefully. “They were originally nomads, traveling in caravans throughout Europe but lately a lot of them have been pressured to settle down by various governments,” she said carefully. “As a result, they’ve kind of become a ghettoized population, pushed to the fringes of society, living in impoverished circumstances.”

  This I knew. Roma have been around a long time, they’re part of the European family now despite their origins in India. But I was curious as to Tina’s role.

  “And what did you do with your program?” I asked, “Did you cook meals, help with laundry, look after kids, that kind of thing?” I asked. I admit, it was a little condescending but she must have been what? Twenty maybe?

  But the girl looked at me frostily.

  “For your information, many Roma are successful entrepreneurs, they often open businesses like bodegas, restaurants, child-care facilities, you name it. A lot of them just need some start-up capital to get going, or some working capital to expand, so that’s where my program comes in. We provide loans to disenfranchised folks who otherwise have no way of accessing capital.”

  “You mean microfinance?” I asked surprised. This was a hot topic in the economic development sphere, something that I’d encountered during my duties as Crown Prince. “You’re in the microfinance space?”

  “Yeah, kind of,” the brunette acknowledged. “Not exactly microfinance because our loans are bigger. Microfinance usually implies loans of a five hundred dollars or less, like what Grameen did in Bangladesh, but we can do loans up to fifty thousand, so it’s more like small business lending.”

  Now I was seriously impressed. I’d been expecting another batch of bimbos, girls who knew nothing about the world around them, heck, probably not even their own countries. But this girl was different. She had some serious smarts, citing Grameen in Bangladesh, the difference between microfinance and small biz lending, heck even start-up capital. I wanted to know more, a lot more, so I pulled out my trump card.

  “You know, I’m the Crown Prince of St. Venetia. Maybe I could help you out, hook you up with some connections,” I offered casually.

  Most girls melt the minute they hear the phrase Crown Prince, turning into big puddles, but the brunette was different. She paused for a moment, looking me straight in the eye.

  “Thank you,” she said evenly, “I’m sure Roma Outreach would be grateful for your patronage and I’d be happy to put you in touch. Like I said, I worked for them last summer so I’m not there anymore, but I know people who’d love to hear from you.”

  And I nodded. The girl was a professional. As with any non-profit, you never want to turn away any offers of help, especially from a rich and powerful donor. But that didn’t get me closer to my goal.

  “What are you up to nowadays if you’re not with them?” I asked curiously.

  And the girl fell silent for a moment.

  “I’m at Miss Carroll’s,” she said with a smile, “meeting a lot of new people, like you,” she said, winking at me.

  And I had to laugh then. Both of us knew that Miss Carroll’s was a finishing school, a bride factory for the rich and famous of Europe. So for her to describe it as “meeting new folks” was refreshing, a casual take on the very serious business of husband hunting. And I ate it up.

  “How about I help you out?” I asked in a rush. God, I was like a happy golden retriever, bouncing at her heels, hoping to be petted. “I’ll put in a word with Miss Carroll’s, there are some Roma here that you could work with. I’ll set it up.”

  And for the first time, the brunette cracked a smile, the rays basking me in warmth.

  “Would you?” she asked breathlessly, that beautiful rack lifting as she inhaled. “Would you? I feel like it’s the only way I could get away, they practically have us chained up at the house. But if you, the Prince, put in a good word maybe I could get away for an afternoon.”

  “Sure,” I said with my best grin. I couldn’t help but smile back, she was so joyous suddenly, lit up from within, eyes flashing with light. “Just give me a couple days and I’ll figure it out.”

  “Thanks,” she said softly, for the first time shy in my presence. Ah ha, so the alpha female had a feminine side too huh? When she wasn’t protecting her precious Roma, she was a woman still, with emotions, feelings, and real vulnerabilities. “I’d like that,” she said.

  And so I took her hand again, my big fingers circling that delicate limb, and kissed her wrist on the inside again, my lips trailing against the sensitive skin. Her eyes grew wide, pupils enlarging, and she gasped a little, her pulse fluttering under my fingers.

  “I’ll see you around,” I rumbled with a smile before turning away. My head felt light, my heart singing because I hadn’t met someone this fresh, this lovely … well, ever in my life. And I was definitely going to be seeing Tina again soon. Very soon, if I had anything to do with it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tina

  It was surprising meeting Prince Kristian. I hadn’t wanted to approach him because he looked so much like Karl and Kato, the resemblance eerie and astonishing. It was like being in an episode of the Twilight Zone, and I felt weird, discomfited, a tingling sensation crawling over my skin.

  But my friend was too fast.

  “Come on Tina,” said Millie, grabbing my elbow and practically dragging me across the room. “Let’s meet him before other people do.”

  And I understood why she was jumping the gun. Again, we need to marry rich men, and those guys are usually really old. There were precious few first-born sons set to inherit fortunes large enough to save our families, so Millie knew a good catch when she saw one. She dragged me, wriggling, across the floor, even as I tried to pull back, look a little less eager.

  “Millie,” I gasped, “Kristian probably has girls throwing themselves at him all the time!” I protested. “We don’t want to look desperate.”

  “Seriously Tina,” she said, shaking her head, stopping for a moment to look me square in the eye. “We are desp
erate. If we don’t land someone like Prince Kristian, we’re going to end up with someone like Sumner Redstone.”

  And I giggled because Sumner Redstone, the entertainment mogul, was probably a good comparison. The tycoon was ninety, rich as Midas, and still dating ladies right and left. Heck, my parents would probably be ecstatic if I ended up with someone like him, but eeew! The thought of his gnarled, wrinkled hands touching me made my skin crawl.

  Anyways it was too late because we were already in front of the prince. And I had to admit, up close he was positively gorgeous, even better than from across the ballroom. His features were masculine, chiseled, dazzling, with a tall, imposing physique. And god, but the resemblance to Karl and Kato was even more striking from a few feet away, those same deep blue eyes, the particular set of the jaw.

  He looked amused when the two of us landed in front of him, huffing and puffing.

  “Hey,” he drawled laconically, “and you are?”

  Millie made the introductions as I tried to look calm, even with my heart beating a million miles an hour, revving even faster as the Prince looked me up and down. Because this was a man who wasn’t holding back, obviously interested in my curvy form, my brown curls. So I almost jumped when he took my wrist and kissed it on the inside, like we knew each other already. I could feel the whisper of his breath across my sensitive skin, my cunny moistening from his touch.

  “Beautiful,” he breathed under his voice, for my ears only, and I flushed, my body tingling with delight. I half-expected to be swept off my feet right there, but somehow we got talking about the Roma people, the underclass of Europe.