Double Dirty Royals: An MFM Menage Romance Read online

  I’ll do whatever it takes to get her, I think.

  Anything. Anything at all.

  Chapter Three

  Bruno

  Outside is better, at least. I usually hate this kind of function — the kind where it’s my job to make small talk, discuss the weather, and generally be diplomatic to a bunch of useless but well-bred people who can only keep their countries afloat in the world because they’ve got a population of five hundred.

  But right now, all that’s pushed to the back of my mind. It’s barely a blip.

  All I can really think about is Princess Katarina. As soon as my father informed me that I was going to Tomassia to court the Crown Princess, of course I researched her. I like to know what I’m getting into.

  And my conclusions about the Princess at the time were... decidedly unflattering.

  Yet somehow, nothing I’ve read or seen about her takes into account how goddamn stunning she is in person. The way her eyes are so blue they nearly glow.

  The way her breasts press against the fabric of her dress as she breathes. The way it’s almost impossible not to stare and wonder if those are nipples you can see. If she’s wearing a bra underneath her dress.

  What it would feel like if I bit one of her perfect, delicate nipples through the satin of her gown, what kind of sound she’d make as I did.

  “Was there something in particular you wanted to see in the garden?” Dominic asks, and I snap out of my reverie about the Princess, clearing my throat.

  It’s just the two of us now, no one else.

  “I just wanted to get out of there,” I say, glancing around to make sure no one can hear me. “You know I’m not cut out for this sort of thing.”

  “Which is a shame, since you’re literally born to it and all that,” he says.

  I just snort, crossing my arms in front of myself. My diplomatic duties are just something I do on the side. My real calling is the military command of Materbourg.

  Not like Dominic, who could probably charm his way into a threesome. Actually, I know he could. I’ve seen it.

  Hell, it was a joint effort, if you know what I mean.

  “I’d much prefer to storm the castle, really,” I say, looking upward. “Look at that. I’m sure no one’s used those archery slots in hundreds of years, and I don’t think this masonry would hold up very well to missiles, do you?”

  Dom just rolls his eyes.

  “Could you please think about something besides how you’d destroy the castle where our allied nation is very graciously putting us up for two weeks?”

  To answer my own question, no, the masonry would not hold up well to missile fire.

  “I’ll try.”

  “Thanks,” Dom says dryly.

  We walk along in silence for a while. The gardens are full of trees, bushes, and tall grasses — much more than just a flower garden. After a while, we come up on a gazebo near a duck pond.

  I don’t think anything of it until I spy a flash of green, and then a sudden glint of red. Someone’s in the gazebo.

  We’re both suddenly walking faster, around the corner, and then we can see her slim white neck, the tops of her shoulders. From the way my dick swells to near bursting almost instantly, I know who it is.

  It’s Crown Princess Katarina.

  Dom gives me one glance, his face unreadable, then turns and sets off for her, giving me the option to follow him like a puppy or look like I’m ignoring the Princess completely.

  He’s a fucking dick sometimes, and I clench my hands into fists at my sides. He strides up to her, leaving me alone on the path, and I have to watch him bow deeply, introduce himself again, and kiss her hand.

  She laughs. Goddamn it, she laughs.

  Of course she does. Dom is charming and funny. He’s good at this, while I’m still back here on the path behind him, standing like a moron. I look around, trying to figure out a way to come up there and talk to the Princess without looking like I’m just copying him.

  Then it hits me: there are flowers everywhere. The answer’s obvious.

  I break a bright red rose off of a bush just as the Princess laughs again. He’s still holding her hand in his, still smiling that damn charming smile as I break the thorns off the rose with my bare fingers.

  I twirl the rose once in my fingertips, look up at the gazebo, square my shoulders, and stride over, summoning every ounce of charm and wit I’ve got.

  As I mount the steps, Dom and the Princess both go quiet, turning to look at me.

  I walk up to her and bow, and she nods her head. I swear she turns faintly pink, but it’s hard to tell, and she gives me her hand.

  I kiss her knuckles, warm and soft. She smells floral and sweet, so fucking sweet I want to devour her this instant. It’s all I can do to keep myself from pulling her off the bench and into my arms, ravishing her right here in the gardens.

  Somehow, I don’t.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Princess,” I say. “It’s been quite a while.”

  She smiles at me, and something bright and warm flares in my heart.

  “Yes, Dom and I were just saying that the last time we saw each other neither of you could grow a beard, and I was in the second year of my grand battle against acne.”

  “You seem to have won,” I say, gazing at her beautiful, porcelain skin.

  She laughs.

  “It was a long, hard war, and I lost a lot of good photo opportunities, but I triumphed in the end,” she says.

  I can’t think of what to say next, so I hand her the rose. Katarina takes it, smiling, and holds it to her nose.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  Dom flicks me a glare, but I ignore him.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Princess,” I say.

  “Bruno, is there any chance you’ve picked that flower quite recently from these very gardens?” Dom asks me, teasing.

  Katarina and I both glance at the ragged end of the stem, which was clearly torn, not cut

  “It’s not up to me when inspiration strikes,” I say, teasing him right back. “I saw a pretty girl and wanted to give her a flower. It’s a rose from the heart, Dom.”

  “Actually, I’m fairly sure I watched you take it from that bush over there,” he says, grinning.

  Katarina is laughing quietly at our exchange, and even though I’m a little frustrated that he’s here, I have to admit that this is oddly fun.

  “You don’t have to be so literal,” I say. “Where’s your sense of poetry, or haven’t you got one?”

  Behind me, someone clears her throat.

  Dom and I turn at the same time to see a young woman standing there, hand folded in front of her, dressed like one of the household staff.

  “Princess, I’m terribly sorry, but it’s time to dress for dinner,” she says.

  Katarina stands, and Dom and I both take a step back and bow.

  “I’ll see you both at the banquet?” she asks, blue eyes dancing.

  “Of course.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Perfect,” she says, and then she follows the girl out of the gazebo and around the corner.

  Dom and I exhale in unison, and I know we’re both watching her perfect, tempting ass as she walks away, her hips moving from side to side hypnotically.

  “Goddamn,” Dom says.

  “Holy shit,” I agree.

  We don’t talk for the rest of the time we’re in the gardens.

  Chapter Four

  Katarina

  Marianna pushes one last pin into my wild red hair, and then makes a satisfied noise, turning me so I can look at myself in the mirror.

  Somehow, my normally-uncontrollable hair looks perfect. It’s half pulled away from my face, half loose in ringlets that fall past my shoulders. I don’t know how she does it.

  “You’re a miracle worker,” I tell her.

  “I’ve had practice,” she says, smoothing one last strand.

  And with that, I’m ready for dinner. Normally, dinner isn’t su
ch a fuss — not even diplomatic dinners with visiting dignitaries.

  But I’m not normally being courted by several of the visiting dignitaries. Tonight, I’m under strict orders to look my best, so my hair is done, my makeup is done, and I’m wearing a long, flowing blue dress with a gold belt around my waist.

  For at least the millionth time in the past hour, my gaze lands on the rose that Bruno gave me. It’s just sitting on my vanity, exactly how it was when he handed to me, broken-off stem and all.

  Every time I look at it, I get the tingles. I can’t stop thinking about the two princes — Dom coming up, kissing my hand, giving me such a burning look in the gazebo that a shiver went down my spine.

  And then Bruno, a few moments later, giving me this rose. I don’t care that he picked it from a bush in the gardens. I think it’s sweet.

  Right. Sweet. That’s not exactly the word for how I feel about them.

  It’s not like I don’t know their reputations. They’re both known for getting into the panties of nearly every eligible bachelorette in Europe. It doesn’t seem to matter how uptight, virginal, or well-behaved a girl is — if Prince Dominic or Prince Bruno sets his sights on her, it’s practically guaranteed that her panties will drop.

  Really, I should count myself lucky for having met them when I was just a kid. If I’d met them as an adult, even a few years ago, I might already be ruined, a disgrace to my family.

  There are even more salacious rumors — that sometimes they set their sights on the same girl.

  According to those rumors, Dom and Bruno don’t mind sharing. They might even prefer it sometimes.

  Another shiver runs down my back, just at the thought. Unbidden, I suddenly imagine being with both of them. Straddling Bruno’s lap, his hands all over me while I kiss Dom deeply, his tongue in my mouth.

  “Princess, are you all right?” Marianna asks, and my eyes snap to the mirror.

  I’m bright red, the color of a tomato.

  “I’m fine,” I say, my voice a high-pitched squeak. I pick up the rose from the table and hold it up, turning it. “Do you think I could pin this to my dress for dinner?”

  She takes it from me.

  “Certainly,” she says.

  I meet my parents, along with my two younger sisters, in the antechamber of the dining hall. It’s a private room just for the royal family and their staff — no guests allowed, so we can talk freely.

  As soon as I enter, my mother’s eyes move over me, scrutinizing.

  “You look lovely, dear,” she says, a note of relief in her voice.

  “Very royal,” my father agrees.

  “Princesslike as fuck,” Alexandra agrees.

  Both my parents turn to her, frowning, and she holds up her hands.

  “Sorry, I’m kidding,” she says.

  “What’s that flower?” My mother asks, looking at Bruno’s rose pinned to my chest.

  I touch it gently, the petals soft beneath my fingers. I think of him giving it to me, his lips firm and warm against my hand.

  “Prince Bruno gave me this earlier,” I say. “I thought it would be nice to wear it tonight.”

  My mother sighs. My father frowns.

  “We can’t have you openly favoring Prince Bruno,” he says.

  “It’s just a flower, dear,” my mother says.

  He shakes his head.

  “Take it off,” he tells me. “I won’t have you wearing gifts from one man while entertaining offers from several. You can’t have possibly formed an opinion of anyone yet, and I won’t let anyone else have his hopes dashed.”

  I swallow, my fingers trailing along the stem. I don’t want to take it off.

  “Go on,” my mother says.

  Sighing, I unpin the stem from my dress and remove the flower. My father nods.

  “Much better,” he says. “And it’s high time we entered dinner.”

  He pushes the big doors open, and the room full of people beyond hushes. We stand in the entryway for a moment as everyone stands and a herald comes up to us.

  “Announcing the royal family: His Highness, King of Tomassia, Edward the Fourth; Queen Carolina; and Princesses Katarina, Alexandra, and Florentina.”

  That’s our cue to walk toward our big, ornate chairs, right in the middle of the hall. Since we’re a thoroughly modern royal family we don’t eat sitting on a dais or anything — we just get the best chairs at a regular table.

  Instantly, I notice that I’m seated across from Sven. A murmur of disgust moves through me, and I try not to make a face.

  “How are you this fine evening, Princess?” he says as I approach my seat.

  God, there’s something slimy even about the way he says that. He’s already having trouble making eye contact, his eyes leering down at my bosom. I can practically feel a cold, gross trail on my skin as he looks at me.

  “I’m well, thank you,” I say. “And you?”

  “I’m quite well,” he says. “We were just discussing where the best fields for polo can be found. I know it’s an unpopular opinion, but I quite like the fields in America. Their grass is unparalleled.”

  “That’s nonsense, of course,” says a voice from the other side of Sven, and Prince Dominic leans forward. “Pleasure to see you again, Princess. You look stunning.”

  Even though I’m pretty used to compliments — everyone compliments a princess no matter what, it’s simply done — I blush again, the words suddenly drying up in my mouth.

  Dominic thinks I look stunning.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  My father sits, and then everyone else follows suit. I catch a glimpse of Bruno, sitting on Dominic’s other side, two seats down from me.

  I try not to think of my brief fantasy from earlier, of both of them. It’s completely ridiculous, of course — I’ve never been with one man, let alone two.

  But just the thought makes me feel warm, makes my insides feel like sticky syrup. I imagine Bruno’s lips on the back of my neck, Dom teasing one nipple, then lifting me by the hips, sliding Bruno’s thick, fat erection into my tight entrance—

  “Yes, simply delectable,” Sven agrees, knocking me out of my filthy reverie. I try not to make a face, because when he says it, it’s like nails down a chalkboard.

  I clear my throat, praying I’m not bright red again, but both Dominic and Bruno are looking at me, almost like they can read my thoughts.

  “Thank you,” I say meekly to Sven, and take a delicate bite of soup. “Tell me, how was your journey to Tomassia?”

  Chapter Five

  Dominic

  At six-thirty the next morning, I’m looking at myself in the full-length mirror provided in my suite, thanking all the gods above that Lorenzo, my valet, insisted that I bring tennis whites.

  He didn’t come on this trip with me — it’s the twenty-first century, and prince or not, I prefer to dress myself — but he did oversee my packing, and of course, remembered things that I never would have.

  Frankly, as long as I’ve got a few things to wear, several pairs of socks, and enough condoms for an army, I’m good.

  But last night, while that fucking prick Sven was going on and on about polo fields across Europe, it came out that Princess Katarina enjoys playing tennis nearly every morning.

  I don’t give a shit about polo. I was just disagreeing with the man because I can’t fucking stand him, but right now I’m thankful for this bit of useful intel that he gathered for me.

  I don’t particularly like tennis either, but I know how to play. Of course I do. I’m a fucking prince.

  When I walk into the courtyard preceding the tennis courts, Bruno’s there, wearing tennis whites as well. I’m not even surprised. We didn’t make plans to play tennis together, but I’d have to be a moron not to notice how interested he is in the princess.

  My princess.

  Our princess?

  I shake my head, banishing the thought.

  “I had a feeling you’d turn up,” he says.

  “
Same to you,” I say. “Shall we play a set, my good fellow?”

  He rolls his eyes at me, but we proceed to the court. There are a few other people there, but none of them is the Princess, so I don’t give a damn.

  We play a set. Neither of us is particularly good, nor is either of us trying terribly hard, so it’s a bit lackluster. I win, then Bruno does, and we’re tied, his serve, when I see two perfect, long legs in a white tennis skirt walking toward our court.

  The ball whizzes right past my head. I don’t even move. The legs come closer, and then I see the rest of Princess Katarina, walking down a path, her short, pleated tennis skirt swaying as she walks.

  “Match point,” Bruno says, his back to her.

  I don’t answer. He frowns, follows my gaze, and then goes perfectly still as well. I’ve got a boner the size of fucking Everest, right in the middle of the tennis court, and I don’t care.

  “Good morning, Princess,” Bruno calls out.

  Katarina shades her eyes, then waves at us.

  “Good morning!” she calls.

  She looks around, scanning the courts. Bruno and I both walk up to the fence around our court.

  I’m sure she can see my massive erection, but I don’t care. Hell, maybe she’ll like what she sees. Most women do.

  “Meeting someone?” Bruno asks.

  “I was supposed to meet my sister Alexandra,” she says, still scanning. “But I think she’s stood me up.”

  “Play with us,” I say.

  I didn’t even mean for it to be a double entendre, but Katarina looks shocked for a moment, her cheeks blushing faintly pink. I bite back a grin.

  If she’s embarrassed, she was thinking something dirty, too. There might be hope yet for this sweet, innocent girl.

  “We’ll be an odd number,” she says.

  Bruno shrugs.

  “I’ll sit the first match out, then play the winner,” he offers.

  Katarina smiles again.

  “That sounds great,” she says, and comes around through the door on the side of the court, skirt bouncing.