Royal Dick

By: Melinda Minx


He removes his jewel-studded crown and places it gently down on the nightstand.

Then he removes mine. My crown. I still can’t believe that I’m a princess. Just a week ago, I was busting my ass for almost no pay in the States, and now I’m a Nordian princess.

And my Nordian prince, my Rikard, is giving me that look. He reaches up to the buttons on his shirt, and I watch mesmerized as his strong fingers undo the buttons, one by one. He pulls the fabric back, revealing his well-defined, muscular chest―and as he continues unbuttoning―his hard, cut abs.

I realize I’m just standing there, staring at him with my jaw dropped open and drool pooling at the corner of my mouth. Slack-jawed drooling is not a good look for a princess, so I shut my mouth, straighten my back, and stick out my chest.

The movement gets Rikard’s attention. He flings his shirt down and takes a big step toward me. I feel myself pulled in by his gravity, and I find myself instinctively leaning into him, taking a half step forward.

Our lips meet, not for the first time, but every time feels like the first time. That same charge of electricity surges through me, rendering me breathless, and the warmth that boils up from my stomach consumes me until it rushes to my brain.

My fingers run across his thick, muscled back; feeling each individual striation beneath my soft fingers. Rikard’s hands touch my back where it’s been left bare by the open-cut style of my dress.

It’s a dress that cost more than my parents’ house, and―

And Rikard tears it off my petite frame, shredding it into clumps of material. No wonder his nickname is Dick.

He pulls at the torn fabric until my breasts are exposed, and he pulls himself away from our kiss to crack a devious grin at me.

I fake a hurt look. It’s not like I paid for the dress, or that my royal closet isn’t full of similar ones. Dick laughs at me, but his eyes are locked on my naked breasts. He tilts his head to lower his mouth closer to them.

I feel his lips pressing against my nipples, and I instinctively start moving backwards until I’m flush against the wall. Rikard doesn’t relent worshipping my breasts with his mouth as he presses me urgently against the wall.

His tongue flicks across my nipple as his hand cups my other breast, and I tilt my head back, unable to hold back the guttural moan escaping my throat.

Being a princess isn’t a total walk in the park like I thought it would be, but at least this part of royal life is more than I ever could have hoped for.



The asshole I’m chasing turns a corner, disappearing from my sight.

But I’m the fucking prince of this entire country, and I know every road and back alley. He can’t lose me.

I break into a full run heading in the opposite direction, cutting back around the building. I find the other end of the alley, where I position myself to wait hidden behind a marble pillar.

I hear his footsteps stomping on the cobblestones. He thinks he’s lost me, but he’s still moving fast.

Not fast enough.

As soon as I hear him approaching the pillar, I leap out. I dive forward, head first. My skull connects into his gut―all hard muscle―and I tackle him down onto the cobblestone.

He tries to let out a cry, but I slam my elbow up into his jaw, shattering it.

He crashes to the ground.

I pull out my gun, cock it, and shove it right up against his ruined jaw. “Say a word and I’ll kill you.”

His eyes waver. He must be newly recruited―not trained to withstand interrogation. Good, I got lucky today.

I pull the cuffs off my belt, and snap the cuffs onto his wrists as I straddle him. Once his hands are cuffed behind his back, I rag him into the back entrance of the nearest building.

I lug him behind me with one arm. He’s heavy, but I’m strong. My forearm bulges as I haul him right into the restaurant. It’s packed full of people, and the majority have dropped their forks and knives and are gawking at us.

I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the royal seal. I flash it and display it around, shouting, “This man is a known terrorist, so everyone needs to get out of the building. Now.”

No one hesitates. The royal seal carries serious weight. Even though I’m the prince, no one knows what I look like. It’s always been a closely guarded secret, mostly for my own protection. Only the king, my father, is a recognized public figure.

All these people know is that I work for the royal family. I doubt any of them suspect I’m Prince Rikard Nordgaard himself.

The restaurant owner looks at me with a creased forehead. He bites his lip, and says, “Please try not to destroy my restaurant.”

I grin. “Don’t worry.”