Princess Read online

  Princess

  Kay Ellis

  CHBB Publishing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  1

  “I’ll go to Hell for loving you. For wanting to make you mine.”

  I sang along tunelessly to my favourite Arcadia song as I washed the dishes. I was no Mace White, but then he performed to thousands. I had an audience of one and, right now, even he was in bed taking a nap. I’d listened to that song so many times over the years, only learning in recent months that it was about being gay. Mace White, the band’s lead singer, had never exactly hidden the fact he was into guys – he just hadn’t advertised it either. At least, not until a couple of months ago when he had chased our friend, Eric, from London to Weymouth and made a quite public declaration of undying love.

  Our friend – it still felt strange to think of Eric as a joint friend. Stef had all the friends. I had people who tolerated me for Stef’s sake. Eric was the first one to talk to me and decide he actually liked me in my own right. Of course, he was in America with Mace and the rest of Arcadia now so I wasn’t really any better off friend-wise than I had been before he came to stay with us.

  “If that’s what it takes to have you,” I droned on. “I’ll do the fucking time.”

  Twenty months ago, I had genuinely believed being gay was a one-way ticket to Hell. If anyone had dared to suggest I would be sharing my bed – and my life – with a man, I would have laughed myself stupid. Well, most likely, I’d have punched them into the middle of next week several times over and then laughed about it. I loved Stef though, and that had been the push I needed to leave the gang mentality and the violent behaviour behind me. Although wanting to be different – needing to be a better person – was what almost got me and Stef killed once my so-called friends found out I was seeing a guy.

  Thing was, I’d been taught from an early age that being different was wrong. It didn’t matter what. Skin colour, sexuality, disability, wealth – they were all valid reasons to beat the shit out of someone in my neighbourhood. When I was thirteen, I kicked a kid to the ground for daring to walk down our street with ginger hair. My dad stood at the garden gate and cheered me on. That had just been the start of the thuggish lifestyle I used to lead. Not that bullying and beating people up ever made me happy. Nor did the endless stream of brainless bimbos I used to fuck in pub toilets.

  Stef changed all that. He changed me. When I saw him in that supermarket, it was like a switch flipped inside me. For the first time ever, I hadn’t found his obvious gayness offensive. I’d watched him walk along the aisle and found myself mesmerised by his elfin features, long blonde hair and delicate frame. I hadn’t been struck with the usual urge to put my fist in his face. Instead, what I’d felt was an overwhelming urge to protect him and keep him safe from… well… macho idiots like me. I’d looked at him and thought one word – mine.

  Without thinking it through, I’d reached over his shoulder and snatched the pizza box from his hand. Not that I’d wanted it particularly. Chicken on top of pizza had never really been my thing, but I’d had to find some way of getting him to talk to me.

  The drawback there, of course, was he’d known who I was. I’d seen the recognition dawn in his beautiful eyes and I’d been suddenly ashamed of the brutal reputation that preceded me. Stef couldn’t get away fast enough. I’d followed and the rest – as the saying goes – was history.

  Now, after everything we’d been through, I still couldn’t believe my luck. We were engaged to be married, and I was still struggling to get my head around that one. How did it work when two guys got married? Did I take his name? Did he take mine? And, if he did, would that make Stef the wife?

  “Ouch! What the…?”

  The blow to the back of my head took me by surprise. It was a violent and unprovoked assault. I dropped the plate I had been washing and spun around from the kitchen sink, soap suds flying from my wet hands. My attacker skipped away from me with a girlish giggle, blond hair flying out behind him as he fled to the bedroom, still clutching the pillow he had used to hit me. Well, calling it a bedroom was a bit of an exaggeration. Our bed was hidden from the rest of the room by a plasterboard partition, and that was as good as it got.

  “Nowhere left to run, Princess,” I growled, following him. Once, a few months back, Stef had laughingly called me his Prince Charming. In return, I christened him Princess and it kind of stuck. All the pouting lips and cocked hips in the world couldn’t disguise the fact Stef quite liked the nickname. I stood at the end of the bed, watching him bounce up and down just out of my reach. One hand was behind his back, and Stef could barely contain his childish glee. “What are you up to, Stef?”

  “I’ve got something for you,” he said, giggling. “But it’s a surprise. You have to close your eyes.”

  Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes at him, but Stef smiled back innocently. I had never been the sharpest knife in the block, admittedly, although I wasn’t quite as thick headed as most people assumed, but even I could see Stef was planning something. He looked so happy though – all bright eyed and giggly. Who was I to spoil his fun?

  Careful not to let a sigh escape, I resigned myself to my fate and closed my eyes. Instantly, a cold jet of water smacked me between the eyes. I gasped, as the water ran down my face and dripped off my chin. Stef’s delighted laugh had me smiling as I opened my eyes to see him pointing a plastic water pistol at my face. He had made the mistake of moving closer in order to make the maximum impact. As he prepared to open fire again, I ducked and grabbed his ankles with both hands. Stef squealed as I yanked his legs out from under him. He landed on his back and I threw myself on top of him before he had the chance to roll away.

  “You know I’m going to have to punish you for this?” I growled again. It wasn’t that I was angry with him, more a case of knowing that Stef found my deep growl to be a real turn on.

  “Well…” Stef bit his bottom lip and peered up at me from beneath his long lashes. “I have been a very naughty boy.”

  Oh, so that was his game. This was what all his antics had been leading up to. He’d even manoeuvred me into pinning him to the bed, which was exactly where he wanted to be. I slipped one hand beneath his t-shirt. His breath hitched as I lazily ran my thumb over his nipple.

  “What should I do with you, naughty boy?”

  Stef looked thoughtful. “I guess… I don’t know… you could spank me.”

  “Hmmm, let me think about it… no.”

  “What?” Stef stared at me open-mouthed as I rolled off of him and got to my feet. I saw confusion mixed with disappointment in his wide eyes. “What about punishing me?”

  “Oh, you’re still getting punished,” I said, smirking. I grabbed him, lifted him from the bed and threw him over my shoulder. “Just we’re doing it my way, not yours.”

  I carried him through to the bathroom, dumped him in the bath tub and turned on the shower. Stef shrieked as the cold water soaked him. He grabbed the front of my t-shirt and pulled me into the spray. Within seconds both of us were drenched to the skin and laughing fit to burst. It was a side to me that nobody else ever got to see, a side that was reserved for these private moments with
Stef.

  I helped Stef out of the tub, and by unspoken agreement, we shed our wet clothes on our way back to the bedroom. Predictably, Stef was all hands, lips and teeth, impatient to get to the main event. I wanted him every bit as badly as he did me, but I was not going to rush it. Without meaning to boast, I was big enough down below to hurt Stef if he wasn’t sufficiently prepped. I took my time, using my fingers to ready him with plenty of lube. Finally, I pushed inside him, and paused for a moment, letting him get used to the feel of me.

  Stef reached up, cupping my face in his small hands.

  “I love you.”

  I never tired of hearing him saying it. Each and every time the words left his lips, my heart lurched with joy. Why this beautiful man would ever love a big, stupid lump like me, I would never understand, but I was eternally grateful that he did.

  Stef wrapped his legs around my waist, his way of saying he wanted me to move. I took my weight on my elbows, never forgetting how much bigger and heavier I was compared to him. Our love-making was slow and sensual, befitting the change of mood. Playtime was over. In this moment, we were serious – and very much in love.

  Slipping his hand between our bodies, Stef stroked his dick in perfect time with my gentle, undemanding strokes. We moved together in perfect unison, not so much chasing after our release as meandering lazily toward it. Even so, when I came, I came hard, Stef following a few moments later.

  “I love you too,” I murmured against his soft lips. “My princess.”

  2

  The garage forecourt where I spent my days washing cars was barely a ten minute walk from home. I didn’t mind the walk unless it was in torrential rain. On those days it felt like we lived miles away, not just up the hill and around the corner. That day, however, it had been pleasantly warm, and I enjoyed my walk home after my shift, even with the breeze coming off the water.

  Turning into our driveway, I was surprised to see Tony, our landlord and my boss, waiting for me near the bottom of the iron staircase that led to our flat. Tony was one of the good guys, as Stef liked to say. He was also the brother of my old boss, Marcie. When it became clear me and Stef would not exactly be welcomed back with open arms by our peers in our home town, Tony had agreed to rent us the small, one room apartment over his garage. He’d also given me a job valeting cars, but we didn’t see him much outside of work.

  “Have you talked to Stefan today?” he asked, as soon as I was close enough.

  “Yeah, at lunchtime.” Since moving here, Stef had been going to college and training to be a hairdresser, working in a local salon three days a week. I called him almost every lunchtime, and the ones I didn’t, he called me. “He was fine. Why?”

  “I’m not so sure he’s fine now. He got home about an hour ago. Ran up those steps like he had the devil himself snapping at his heels.” Tony looked concerned, but then Stef had that effect on people. There was something about him that made people think he needed looking after. “I said hello but I don’t think he heard me.”

  “I’ll go up and check on him,” I said, undecided between being grateful to Tony for keeping an eye on Stef, and resenting him for assuming I wouldn’t notice if there was something wrong. They all did it, Marcie, Tony, Killigan, Amanda – none of them thought I had what it took to be a good boyfriend. Especially not to someone as precious as Stef. “Thanks, Tony.”

  I took the steps up to the apartment two at a time. Bursting through the door, I spotted Stef instantly. But then, given the size and layout of the apartment, it wasn’t like there was any place for him to hide. Basically, we had one long room with a small bathroom in one corner. The entrance door opened into a kitchenette and beyond that we had a battered two-seater sofa opposite the TV. At the far end of the room we had a chest of drawers, which wasn’t nearly big enough for all the clothes Stef had amassed, and our bed behind the wooden partition. It was basic, but it was home and we were happy enough there. At least, I thought we were.

  Stef was curled up on the sofa, bizarrely dressed in pyjama bottoms and one of my old sweatshirts. The top swamped him, making him look small and fragile. His hair, still damp from the shower, lay flat against his head, a sure sign something was wrong. Stef’s hair was his pride and joy, his crowning glory. He always blow dried and meticulously styled it after washing it, never just let it dry any old how.

  “Stef?” I approached the sofa slowly, because, truth be told – I wasn’t always the best of boyfriends when it came to dealing with emotions and stuff. That was more his area of expertise. “Are you okay?”

  Stef snuffled into the sleeve of my sweatshirt a couple of times before rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. My heart ached to see that he had been crying.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course you can, babes. You can ask me anything.”

  “Are you with me because I look like a girl?”

  What the Hell? God knows I’d had trouble coming to terms with my feelings for Stef in the beginning, but that had been because he was a guy. A beautiful, effeminate guy, sure – but I’d never once kidded myself he was anything but a man.

  “I’m with you because of I love you,” I said, perching on the edge of the sofa. He didn’t look at me and I made no move to touch him, even my bullish brain figuring out it wouldn’t be the right thing to do right at that moment. “I love all of you, Stef, including your man parts.” I smiled softly. “Especially your man parts.”

  Stef shook his head, seeming unconvinced. “But you call me Princess all the time.”

  “And you call me Baby,” I argued. “Doesn’t mean that I am one.”

  “I ‘spose.” Stef sighed heavily. He sniffed again and dabbed at his wet eyes with the cuff of my sweatshirt. “But… you’re always saying you’re not gay, and it’s just me.”

  “I said it once!” I argued, “And that was ages ago.”

  “You still said it.”

  “Stef, listen to me, I don’t want to be with a woman,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his foot in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Honestly, Stef, look at how many women I slept with before I met you. I never fell in love with any of them, did I?”

  Okay, way wrong thing to say. Fresh tears welled in his eyes and he pulled his foot from beneath my hand before turning onto his side with his back to me. Shit, I didn’t know how to deal with this. These tears were heartfelt and a world away from the crocodile tears Stef was prone to producing if he thought they would get him his own way.

  I got my feet and stared down at him, wondering how I could put things right when he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.

  “I can book a table at Henri’s,” I told him. A night out would do him good. Once he got dressed up and put a bit of make-up on he’d feel much better. And, hopefully, after a trip to his favourite restaurant, he’d forget all about whatever it was that had put him in his strange, despondent mood. “If you want me to, that is.”

  “I don’t feel like it,” he mumbled, his face buried in the sofa cushion. “Just go away, Alex.”

  Easier said than done. I looked around the room and wondered where the fuck I was supposed to go. Whatever I did next was bound to be wrong. If I left, he’d say I didn’t care. If I stayed, I’d be pressuring him. I knew from experience I couldn’t win. He’d probably already been on the phone, whinging about me to Amanda or – worse still – that fucking waste of space Rufus. Why Stef insisted on staying friends with the guy after all the shit he’d pulled, I’d never understand. All that Alex is only with you because you look like a girl was exactly the kind of crap Rufus was likely to fill Stef’s head with. It made sense. Since Eric left him, Rufus called numerous times a day, and where else would Stef get such a crazy idea?

  “Let me guess. You talked to Rupert.”

  “You mean Rufus.”

  “Whatever.” I smirked, half expecting Stef to find it funny the way he always did when I deliberately got Rufus’ name wrong. It was hard work coming up with a string o
f silly names beginning with R, and Stef usually appreciated the efforts I went to.

  “It’s five letters, Alex. Two syllables. Ru-fus. It’s not hard.”

  Stef jumped up from the sofa, his hands clenched at his sides. Ridiculous as it was given the difference in our body sizes, I took a step backward. I’d been punched plenty of times by guys who were bigger and tougher than Stef. I wasn’t worried it would hurt, but I knew he was trying to provoke me into hitting him back. The real damage wouldn’t be what my fist did to his face, but what it would do to our relationship. His friends would be overjoyed to finally be proved right about me, and none of them would believe for a second Stef had deliberately pushed me into it.

  “Just how fucking stupid are you?” he spat, advancing on me.

  I knew he thought I was less intelligent than him. From the very beginning, I’d seen it in his eyes. That was why I had gone to college, to try and become a better person. I’d done that for him, not for me. But knowing he saw me as stupid was one thing. Having him stand there and throw it in my face was another. I’d prefer it if he had punched me. It wouldn’t have hurt as much then.

  “I’m not going to hit you, Stef,” I told him.

  “Why not? Isn’t that what your sort does to guys like me?”

  My sort? What did that mean? Sure, once upon a time, I had been the type of arsehole who had beaten up people up, almost as a hobby. But Stef had figured out that was not who I really was, even before I knew it myself. I wasn’t like that now. I’d never hurt Stef. He had to know that.

  “I might be stupid, Stef, but you know what? I’ve got enough smarts to walk away from this.”