Free Royal S.O.B. (A Bad Boy Romance) by Kaitlyn Kevette Page A

when all they wanted was a right royal fuck. Love – that fantastic
pseudo feeling which can make women swoon and bare their bosom. Love – that
beautiful creation with which men entrapped stubborn ladies over the centuries.
Love? Not for me, my dear friend; give me lust any day or night, for me and my
tingling loins… Lust, lust, lust is what I need – lust is what runs the
world."

 
    Pat
was overwhelmed at this soliloquy – it was worthy of a Hamlet or Macbeth .

 
    "Kenrick,
what an eloquent orator you are!" Pat said sincerely.

 
    "Is
that what you use to 'entrap stubborn ladies' with?"

 
    The
prince laughed.

 
    "My
dear Pat," he said.

 
    "My
tongue is just one of the many organs I employ to fulfill my grand
pursuits."

 
    "I
suggest," said Pat.

 
    "You
employ another organ – the one inside your head – to figure out if this thing
between you and the princess is love or lust. Because Kenrick, I'm yet to come
across someone who's lust-lorn or lust-sick."

 
    "Oh
cut it out, Pat!" snapped Kenrick.

 
    "I
just want that bitch from behind. And then from the front. And then in her
mouth. And then everywhere. I want her on top of me, I want me on top of her. I
want her, I want her, I want her. Period."

 
    "Okay,
Prince Kenrick," stated Pat, resigned.

 
    "I
leave you to your machinations and manipulations... Seriously, I need to get
going, Kenrick."

 
    "Agreed,"
replied the prince.

 
    "You
carry on. And I'll see if I can lasso this dame here."

Chapter Seventeen

 
 
    "I
like this one too," Cate was saying to Addie, as they sat in their
favorite corner in the café.

 
    She
had just read the eighth poem penned by Addie – and they were trying to choose
one for the big Annual Day.

 
    "But
Catie," laughed Adelaide.

 
    "You
like all eight! Now what to do?"

 
    Cate
chuckled.

 
    "Yeah,
but seriously," said Addie to Cate.

 
    "We
need to choose."

 
    "Can
you not read out more than one?" Cate asked.

 
    "I
don't think they allow that," replied Addie.

 
    "After
all, there are others out there, too, wanting to showcase their talent."

 
    "In
that case, my dear poetess, I leave that tough decision to you."

 
    "Some
mate you are," teased Addie.

 
    "What!
I can't take the pressure. What you should do is, after supper today, spend
some time with each of your eight masterpieces. Go with your gut. Eliminate the
ones you think fall short. Then you'll arrive at the right one."

 
    "Thank
you Catie," responded Addie.

 
    "That
advice is most helpful."

 
    Cate
was not sure if Addie really meant it, or if it was tongue firmly in cheek.
Eventually, however, that was what Addie had to do. She had written six poems
the previous night, and had taken two from an earlier collection. She'd chosen
these eight for what she thought was relevant to students like herself, to the
youth of the day, and to society in general.

 
    Her
poems were not about painting a rosy picture about life; she was not a
romantic. Addie had seen life in the rough, so she would never sugarcoat
reality. Her words portrayed the truth, the way it was – nothing more, nothing
less.

 
    Addie
believed that poetry had to emanate from personal experience. And when it did,
the feelings were genuine and the expression rang true.

 
    Her
early poems reflected her life as a child, the world as seen through the eyes
of a ten-year-old. All the innocence of that little universe was captured
faithfully in her words.

 
    Her
childhood was not particularly tough. It was ordinary, minus any frills, the
kind of life her mother's meager income could afford. But how was it that a
mere child could understand the vagaries of the world, the problems that
existed, and the societal discriminations? Her tiny heart yearned for things
easily accessible to the rich. And for her father.

 
    These
were the outpourings of a little girl. And they flowed straight from her aching
heart – a streak that never changed