Page 4 of Filthy Hot Prince

Valeria

Icouldn’t stop thinking about a certain Prince who smelled of whiskey and rich pine while I had dinner with my date. Brandon was the CFO of my company, and he had asked me on a date to the art show two weeks ago. I had agreed because it had been a long time since I felt intimacy of any kind. I wanted to try something, anything at all instead of moping around my house even on weekends.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” Brandon asked as I sat on his couch, making sure I didn’t bump with anything as I laid my cane beside me.

“Yes, I am sure,” I replied.

I didn’t drink. The last time I drank beer I was sixteen. Almost a decade. Ever since that incident, I hated alcohol. It made me nauseous.

I could hear Brandon shuffling around his kitchen. My thoughts drifting to Khalid Al Latif. There was something familiar about him, especially how deep his voice was. Husky and masculine, it had made me very aware of how fast my heart beat pulsed when he had leaned closer. I could taste the musk in the air, his scent surrounding me.

He smelt of whiskey and trouble. I couldn’t help steering my attraction towards him.

All evening I had been hearing his praise of paintings, how handsome and talented he was, some even comparing him to a God, putting him on a pedestal. I had giggled hearing his answer during his interview while others gossiped of him being with multiple people. Sometimes atonce.

I had flushed and walked away with Brandon as he talked about the brand initiatives I could do. I didn’t want to talk about my company when I was on a date. I wanted to talk about the paintings, ask him to explain them to me but I didn’t want to be pitied if I brought it up.

“Here, it’s a glass of cold water, I am having a can of beer.”

I felt the dip on the couch as he sat beside me, my fingers wrapping around the cold glass. I heard the hiss of a beer can opening as he gulped from it while I took a sip.

What happens now? Do I have to do something?

What would I do if Khalid were here? Maybe I would hold his large hand, caress the callouses I had felt, and laugh at the size difference between his hand and mine. I would kiss his smile. Yes, I would. He smelt so good and masculine. I wanted to kiss him. Feel his hands on my skin and his scent wrapping around me while he whispered dirty words in his velvety smooth voice.

I snapped out of my thoughts and swallowed the cold water.Jesus, what’s wrong with me?I am on a date with Brandon, yet I can’t stop thinking about a certain Prince for a few minutes.

I focused on my date and asked him about his childhood. He talked to me about his parents, his normal life and his love for numbers. When the same question was directed at me, I hesitated.

“I was orphaned. Born and raised in a foster house,” I replied, thinking about the sad and happy memories. The adoption, the accident, losing parents and my sight. “You know Mr Benjamin and Mabel?”

“Yes, I know. I thought they were your parents,” Brandon questioned.

“They were my foster parents. After a bad incident with my adoption, they adopted me,” I said, fumbling with my fingers.

He hummed, and I felt him lean closer. I held my breath. His clammy hand touched mine. He was nervous. “You know, Valeria, I have been attracted to you since I joined the company,” he whispered, my lips pressing into a thin line when he moved my hair over my shoulder, his lips landing on my skin. I squeezed his hand, not knowing what to do and how to react. “You don’t know how incredibly hot you are. So fucking sexy.”

I wanted to say something.Yes? No? Maybe? Move away?I quelled down the terror that was surfacing, my body screaming at me to move away, run, scream for help. But it was okay. I wasn’t in danger. I was safe.I am safe. Brandon wouldn’t do that. I had my cane and pepper spray with me.

But I didn’t want him to touch me.

I pulled back, bringing some distance between us, but still held his hand. “Can we take this slow? I don’t… I don’t want to—”

“It’s our third date, Valeria,” he said, closing in on me once again, but didn’t touch me, his fingers rubbing over my arm. “We don’t need to have sex but I want to—”

I shook my head. “Stop Brandon. I don’t feel comfortable to… to do all this stuff yet.”

Would he understand? If I tried to tell him, would he? No. He might mock me that I was drunk or—

“Okay,” he said, moving back, his hand leaving mine. “Okay,” he repeated to himself, his voice low as he sighed.

I heard him stand up and walk around his apartment as I relaxed on the couch. I should have asked him to put on a movie on Netflix so we could enjoy spending time together. I could at least distract myself with audio descriptions of the movie and forget about the world for an hour or two.

I heard the light click of a lighter, the scent of smoke wafting in my nose.

My entire body tensed.

“I am smoking. Hope you don’t mind,” he murmured carelessly.

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