Read Forbidden Desire (Maid for the Billionaire Prince) Online
Authors: Artemis Hunt
Tags: #true love, #oral sex, #billionaire, #queen, #paparazzi, #romance, #maid, #royalty, #prejudice, #erotic romance, #hatred, #fifty shades, #prince
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright 2012 by Artemis Hunt
Cover art by Artemis Hunt
WORKS BY ARTEMIS HUNT
The ‘Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male’ series
A Virgin Enslaved
The ‘Maid for the Billionaire Prince’ series
The Body Snatcher Wears Lipstick
Snow White and the Alien
Dear reader, as this list is not always comprehensive due to more stories being churned out after this point in publishing, please visit
for more stories and updates. I write as Artemis Hunt for erotic romances and Aphrodite Hunt for pure erotica. So please be aware of what you’re getting into, dear reader, when you read one of my stories. Thank you so much for your support.
Land of gathered magical isles. Paradise of sun and surf and shining sea and wooden huts on stilts. Cultural panacea of temples and balmy tropical weather and flowers as big as my torso.
Alex and I are on the beach, soaking ourselves beneath the afternoon sun.
I have never been so relaxed in a long, long time. We totally deserve it. We have toiled long into the week, cutting down trees, gathering logs and coconut fronds to help make the villagers a wooden community hall on stilts – and it was worth every drop of our sweat. I never realized giving back to the community would be so rewarding. In all my life, I never gave anything back. I was too busy surviving.
The little inlet we are on is shielded from the village by a thick cluster of trees – tall slender coconut trees with their large fanlike leaves and the thicker rainforest ones with gnarled roots the size of elephant trunks.
We are completely isolated. We are not in a five-star resort and waited upon by liveried waiters ferrying trays of cocktails and salted peanuts. This is an honest-to-goodness village with real villagers. Beyond the little huts are paddy fields, nourished by irrigation and the toil of bare brown hands.
We have been here for over a month. We’ve made love frequently, sometimes three times a day, and lived the simple village life. Alex calls it “immersing ourselves in living anthropology”. I call it “having a damned good vacation”.
I have never been out of the country on vacation before. This is a first. While Alex takes time to “work out what he really wants in life”, I immerse myself in the role of loving girlfriend.
“So,” I say, fingering his well-muscled forearm and the major vein that snakes across it. “Have you decided if you want to go home?”
Home for Alex is his family’s official state palace in Moldovia. Of course, they have an official summer palace as well as a winter palace, not to mention numerous chateaus and mansions around the globe for spring and fall vacations – though I’d honestly die if I had to keep moving for every season.
“If it were up to me, I’d never go home,” he says.
His face is turned towards me and he’s smiling. I’ll never get tired of watching him. He has a countenance you can gaze at forever, with his amazingly vivid jewels of blue-green eyes and the little depression in between his brows – which gives him a ‘devil may care’ edge.
This is a man you’ll have to reckon with, it says, despite his obvious Greek god looks.
I still can’t believe he’s mine. And I still can’t believe I’m here . . . with Prince Alexander Vassar, who ran away from home because he didn’t want to marry the Lady Tatiana of Nuernberg.
I say, “You’ll have to go home sometime. I’ll bet the Moldovian tabloids are burning up with speculations on your whereabouts.”
They don’t know about me, of course.
“It’ll be old news soon,” he says affably. “They’ll always find something else to print.”
“Is your father OK with you being here?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, it isn’t as if I didn’t email him about where we are . . . it’s my responsibility, of course.”
He’s also Moldovia’s heir to the throne, he fails to mention.
“Any word from him?”
“Other than that one terse email three weeks ago which said ‘If you don’t come back within the week, I’m disinheriting you?’ Nah. Radio silence.”
To be honest, I’m a little worried about Alex. He’s a little outwardly cavalier about the whole thing. He doesn’t have normal parents. He doesn’t have a normal life. He can’t just up and dump all his responsibilities. He will have to pay for this little escapade somewhat. And because I love him, I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.
Yes, I’m aware I said the ‘L’ word.
Not to his face though.
I haven’t told him. I haven’t dredged up the guts to tell him yet. Maybe I’ll email him one day and maintain radio silence until he digests it.
He watches my fingers trailing a path down his forearm, and he suddenly grabs my hand with a lightning quick movement.
He smiles as he rolls on top of me. I’m now lying on my back upon the soft, white sand. His weight presses down on my bikini-clad body. He smells of sweat and sea salt upon the tropical breeze.
“God, you’re beautiful, Elizabeth Turner.”
“You’re likewise, Prince Alexander Vassar.”
“Cut the prince crap,” he growls.
He dips down his head to kiss me. His shoulder-length hair falls to the front, fanning his face. I kiss him back – slow, searching, loving, languorous. I love the feel of his silky lips on mine, and the feel of his equally silky hair on my fingers.
Our kisses become more heated, and our tongues probe each other’s mouths. His hands move from my bare midriff to my covered breasts, caressing the hardened nipples underneath.
“Too much clothing,” he murmurs.
With a sharp tug on the string that joins both bikini cups, he pulls my top off.
“Why, Mr. Vassar, that was my only bikini top.”
“Then you’ll have to go around naked on the beach for the rest of our time here.”
A delicious thrill courses through me.
He lowers his head to my right breast and takes my nipple in his mouth. The warm sucking sensation immediately engulfs me – slithering, wet, anemone-like and sweet. His sly tongue curls around my tip, and I moan in pleasure. His tongue makes oscillatory circles around the bud, pressing against my areola in a sweeping, insistent arc.
Ohhhh. I will never tire of this refrain.
His mouth swallows more of my nipple, until the edges of his lips are completely covering my areolas. He begins his intense sucking again. His tongue dances around my little snowcap again – fluttery butterfly wing type dalliances. Exquisite, melting sensations flow into my nipple, buoyed by my circulation. My nipple is rapidly becoming a peak.
My hands grip his hair, his shoulders and the smooth muscled flesh of his back.
Shadows fall upon us as the sun winks behind a cloud bank. The temperature cools a bit – blessedly, because it’s getting scorching hot out here.
Meanwhile, his hands are not idle. They traverse down my sides and belly – down down down to my bikini bottom, where they stop at my waistband. His fingers and thumb dig into that waistband and slyly slip the spandex off my hipbones.
He pauses in his savagery of my nipple long enough to say, “Let’s get this off, shall we?”
“You’re wearing way too much clothing as well,” I tease.
“That can be easily rectified.”
He tears my bikini bottom off in a long, sweeping motion and worries it off my legs. Then he hikes his own swimming trunks down. His cock is stone hard and ready and pointing towards me like a suggestive finger.
He parts my legs.
“Take me,” I beg, my fingers clawing the soft sand. Motes of sand also squirrel into my butt cleft as I open my thighs.
“Not so soon.”
He scoots his body down even further and lowers his head to my moist pubis. I am already extremely wet. As his hot tongue slathers my clit and pussy folds, I let out a little squeal of ecstasy. He takes this as a signal to torment me further. Holding down my open thighs with his strong hands, he buries his tongue into my clefts.
“Ohhhhh,” I moan, clutching at his hair.
His tongue goes deep into my hidden valleys. To ensure that he massages every recess, his fingers prize my labia open so that my entire pussy is bared to him like a naked flower. He licks and licks at my open sex, concentrating especially on that nub of exploding sensory overload – my poor, overstimulated clit.
I trash my head from side to side, reveling in the exquisite delights of his clever, clever tongue. When his teeth gently take my clit between them, I feel as if I would implode.
“I want you,” I gasp. “Please, I want you inside me.”
To satisfy me, at least partially, he inserts two fingers into my leaking mess of a vaginal hole.
. My pelvic muscles involuntarily clench around his fingers, squeezing them. With those two fingers inside me, he continues his oral assault of my glistening sex. Lick, suck, taste, swirl – it’s as if my entire sensory focus is whittled down to that cornucopia of wet movements. This is coupled with his insistent probing fingers in my most private of passages.
Which is now shared and bared to him.
When I think that I’m about to combust with all the erotic pleasure he’s giving me, he stops. His lips are smeared with my juices, as though they are layered with milk.
“Let’s try something new,” he murmurs. “Don’t move.”
He gets up and rearranges himself above me so that his hips hover over my face and his head is above my sex. His cock is a spear aiming right for my mouth.
“You ready for this, Liz?”
“Yes.” My voice is breathy and hoarse.
He lowers his penis into my open mouth. I accept his ramrod flesh eagerly. It fills my whole mouth, crowding everything within it. The taste of his flesh is slightly salty and I lap at it with relish, feeling the corded veins that snake along its length upon my tongue. Its head encroaches onto my throat, and he’s not even half in – not by any semblance of distance.
At the same time, he dips his head to my pussy again and resumes his oral loving. We are now joined to each other at two ends – an alpha and omega of flowing carnal delights. The air is rife with the sounds of licking and sucking. His hips move back and forth, easing his cock slowly in and out of my mouth. I close my cheeks around his stiff flesh to afford him greater friction.
I think I can come this way.
His fingers worm into my hole again – moist, sticky, messy, sweet. Two . . . no, three. He’s filling me with the fingers on one hand, and simultaneously teasing and massaging my clit and sex lips with the other.
I squirm and moan against his cock. From the way I’m creaming, I think I’m going to come.