Page 39 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

“Obviously. Lord Fluffywinkles would hop around the palace freely, leaving little gifts for Mum to step in. After a while, the rabbit vanished. My parents told me it escaped, but I think Mum cooked it up into a stew. I mourned that rabbit for a full month.”

Rory lifts her head from my chest to look at me with those shimmering emerald eyes. “What made you think about that?”

“I thought I’d never love anything more than I loved that rabbit, up until I woke up next to you just now.”

I didn’t think her smile could stretch wider across her face, but it does. “I love waking up next to you, too,” she says. Rory presses her lips against mine in a hard, enthusiastic kiss. My dick begins to wake up, but I ignore the low throb. I just want to kiss her. I love kissing this woman. She tastes like sleep and warmth and Rory.

“Your world… it’s insane.” She grins. “Lord Rabbits, masquerade balls. Kinky threesomes.”

“Is it too much?”

She shakes her head. “No. But… I want to show you my world.”

I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Your world?”

“Yes. Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere. We can book a cheap hostel, go hiking off a waterfall, or pet a water buffalo. I think? I don’t know, the last one might be illegal.”

I can’t help it. She makes me smile. “I’m sure they’d make an exception for the prince of England.”

“It’s a deal, then.”

I heave a sigh and drop back against the pillows. “I can’t. Leaving the party last night was one thing, but… leaving the palace is something else entirely. Mum would have a cow.”

Rory sits back on her haunches and looks at me. I’m trying not to get distracted by her pert tits. “How old are you?” she asks.

“Twenty-four.”

“Then the way I see it… your mother can’t make you do anything.”

“She is the queen of England.”

“And you could be the future king of England.” Her hand slips over my chest. “What kind of king are you going to be? The kind of king that does whatever his mommy tells him… or the kind of king who takes what he wants?”

Her question weighs on me heavily. I’ve known for a long time that it’s wrong to keep me here. That no good can come from being locked up like this. I don’t want to disappoint my mum. I don’t know to put her through more hurt after she’s already been through so much. And yet…

Secretly, I know I’ve been itching for someone to take me away from all of this. And then there’s Rory, my knight in ginger Goldilocks curls… how can I resist?

I kiss her, because her rosy lips look like they need to be kissed. She sighs and folds her naked body on top of mine.

“We’re not sleeping at a hostel,” I decide. “My family has a royal estate off the coast of Italy in Sorrento. Have you ever been?”

“No. But I’d love to.” She’s excited as a schoolgirl now, and she clings to my shoulders. “So we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this. And we’re taking my private jet.”

She gawks. “Your what?”

The RAF Airbus A330 is a hell of a way to travel.

The sleek, eggshell-white jet was originally built to fit nearly two hundred Normals, but it’s since been renovated. Now it fits sixteen more-than-comfortable royals. It’s equipped with a dining room, a bathroom and shower, and a king-size bed in back. Total unapologetic luxury.

It’s a plane fit for a king. They call it the “Heircraft” for a reason.

Getting to the hangar was easy. I packed a duffle bag, threw on a large coat and a hat, and snuck out of my room with Rory and Ben at my side. Ben knows the schedules of every palace guard, when and where they’ll be, so Rory and I hung back and giggled like naughty schoolkids while Ben stepped first around every corner before letting us know that the coast was clear. Truthfully, we probably could have walked right past them without an incident. I am, after all, the prince of England. The guards were never the thing keeping me back.

It’s always been my mum. The fear of disappointing her. I left a letter for my mum in my room. Couldn’t figure out what to say, so I simply wrote I’m fine. I’m safe. Don’t worry. Love you. I signed my name at the bottom, folded the letter in half, and tented it on my pillow.

Now that we’re at the hangar, it looks like a ghost town. The place is nearly empty, save for the impressive bird and a handful of very confused airline personnel. One wide-eyed man approaches us, bends at the waist, and then fumbles over apologies. “Your Highness. The queen didn’t mention you were coming.”

---