The Royal Scepter_A Royal Baby Romance Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Cherise West. All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely incidental. All individuals involved are consenting adults, with no blood relation to one another.

  Erica always dreamed of being a princess - but Estefan has given her something new to dream about... and she's learned a whole new meaning of the word 'princess'.

  One scant glance at his gorgeous body, mysterious eyes and the size of his... scepter, and she knew her life was about to change.

  But to marry a prince... and to bear his royal heir, one has to be a princess herself.

  Maybe Erica can fake it for long enough... that they both fall teasingly, tantalizingly and lewdly in love.

  Consider signing up for Cherise's MAILING LIST for early access to bonus chapters, bonus material, sneak peaks, and a FREE BONUS STORY!

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Legal

  Synopsis & FREE STORY Offer

  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

  Epilogue

  My Bad-Boy Braden: A STEAMY Short (EXCLUSIVE!)

  A Good Girl's BIKER Baby Sample

  His PERFECT Medicine Sample

  Three SEXY Minutes Sample

  Rock Solid SEAL Sample

  Connect with Cherise

  Other SEXY Reads by Cherise West

  Estefan

  “I’m ready for our royal meeting, Prince Estefan.”

  She doesn’t need to say anything more than that. I slam the door to the royal treasury shut behind her. Princess Cecilia, one of my favorite royals - I look at the royal funding ledger she’s brought me, but I don’t need to read it to see the details. I know Princess Cecilia, inside and out. We have a lot of experience with one another, and I do mean a lot. We just can’t get enough of our meetings. A prince has to be attentive to his royal duties, after all.

  “Ms. Martina, I’m not sure why you scheduled another meeting,” I glance at her chart with a smirk twisting at my lips. “Didn’t we just have one on this matter of national debts a month ago?” Princess Cecilia is a hot MILF, in her mid-thirties; long dark hair, an amazing figure, breasts big enough to cup with both hands, and a backside that leaves me panting hungrily for more. Her tracts of land rival only the sadness we all felt seeing her widowed at such a young age. I want her so bad, looking at her, that I toss the ledger away, knowing what all this meeting business is about.

  “It’s never too early to start worrying about my debts, is it, Prince Estefan? I left our last meeting really wanting to know more about the conflict between our two kingdoms,” she says.

  “I think I’m the one in need of an inspection of my budgets this time, Ms. Martina,” I grin, raking my hands through her long, rich brunette hair. My lips crash against hers and I slip my hand behind my back to lock the door to the treasury office room, making sure no attendant or secretary slips in to interrupt this important meeting. I kiss those plump lips of hers and drag my tongue down her face to her neck, where I pepper her neckline with little crescent-shaped bitemarks and hot little nibbles.

  “You need your budgetslooked at? Isn’t the prince supposed to be the one… giving me…” her voice wavers as I kiss her and grab both of her big, voluptuous breasts, squeezing them through the bra and the tight black blouse lain across them. Her strength melts away and she falls to her knees without even wanting to put up another word of protest. See, I take care of Princess Cecilia Martina’s needs - the prince always knows best, when it comes to the debts she owes and just how she wants to pay them. Her fingers slip into the belt-loop of my pants and tugs them open, pulling down my khaki slacks until my stiff cock springs free, shaking with anticipation, reddened and thick and hard. I hear Cecilia moan, throwing back the thick swathe of pretty brown hair and looking up at me with big, round, hazel eyes, fluttering her eyelids in want while her lips pucker and her tongue swirls around my cockhead. She laps up with dirty, suckling little lascivious noises, and I slip my hand down to knead at her bra, feeling her nipples stiffen beneath the garment.

  I could go for a debt inspection from Cecilia any day.

  “You see?” I murmur, massaging her head while she starts to take my shaft deep into her throat. I moan, pumping my hips against her pretty lips. “I always know what my dirty Princess Cecilia wants. The prince always knows best.” I pump my hips deeper into her throat, and she moans, the sound sending a vibration hard along my dick. I growl out loud and hot, letting her deepthroat me over and over again, the steady rhythm making me sweat. She feels so fucking good throbbing around my cock, and I squeeze her cheeks while she moans and struggles to cry out my name with how good I feel inside of her mouth.

  “You want more?” I ask her, starting to steadily pump myself deep into her throat. “You want it hard, don’t you?” I tease her, pulling on her hair while my juicy precum dampens her lashing tongue. She swallows me full and hard, my good Cecilia, eyes watering while I fill her pretty mouth.

  “Good Cecilia,” I purr down to her, pulling my shaft from her mouth. She gags and gasps for air, her face an adorable mess of sweat and watering eyes and spit. She stands up and pulls my shirt wide open, one of the buttons popping off. It’ll be hard explaining that to the royal attendants. But who cares? I want her now. She runs her manicured nails against my chiseled chest, my strong muscles rippling beneath her hands. I take care of myself, and it shows. My muscles are strong, shredded, bulging beneath my olive skin, my hair dark-blond. I have no shame in saying I deserve a hot, sexy thing like Cecilia, one of the many princesses who walk into my castle looking to feel good. They know when they need their royal debts and accounts looked at, they can come to Prince Estefan.

  “I want all of you,” she hums, laying back onto the treasury desk, hiking up the skirt hanging across her thick and sexy hips. I slip my hands into her panties, curling my fingers between the fabric and tugging them down, down down. I reveal the sweet, swollen pink petals of her hot pussy, gripping the base of my length and jerking myself hard to please her. I lean over, kissing down her neck, kissing along her chest; kissing everywhere I can kiss her. I slip my hand into her bra, letting those big bouncing breasts spring free, pulling her shirt down enough that I can grab both of them while I work my length into her, stretching her wide and moaning hard against her neck while I pump my hips forward and push into her steamy little cunt.

  “It feels so good,” she pleads, her body shaking while I cradle her in my arms. I pump harder and faster and fill her up, stretching Cecilia wider than she’s ever felt before. All ten inches of me throbs deep inside of that perfect slit of hers and I bite down on her neck, letting the wild and feral side of me peak through while I pump her with my cock. She kisses me, and I kiss her back, snarling heat into her mouth with all the want in the world burning through my pores. I howl dirty Cecilia’s name loud enough I bet even the bored
secretaries in the front room can hear the passion in my body for banging pretty, curvy Cecilia.

  “I’m going to cum,” I murmur against Cecilia’s lips, the exam table creaking beneath us as we bang. I brace myself around her, pressing my strong, cut chest against her bouncing tits while I piston into her stretched, savaged pussy. I feel myself getting closer, and so does Cecilia; I can feel her clenching around my dick, squeezing, shifting, wanting more and more while lightning shoots along her veins and she starts to reach a shattering climax.

  “It feels so good! Estefan!!~” she cries out, scraping her fingers down my back while I fill her up with every inch. All of them pounded deep inside I scream in pleasure, pumping her so full of my seed that waves of sticky cum seep from her folds, making a complete mess of pretty Princess Cecilia’s skirt. I give a few more thrusts, letting her feel that full, creamy warmth fill her with spurt after spurt of it climaxing inside of her. I exhale sharply, leaning down onto Cecilia and kissing her throat, kissing her lips; holding her tight while she feels the last waves of her orgasm pass through her shaking body.

  “Prince Estefan…” she whispers, kissing my lips softly.

  “That was good,” I murmur, pulling myself away, buttoning my pants and trying to fix my shirt as best I can. She ruined two buttons. Better than last time, when she ruined my whole shirt. It’s worth it in the end. And I can just buy another. Or a thousand more. I’m a prince, so who cares about a little shirt? Hah.

  I like Cecilia, but there’s just one problem with her. With a lot of the Princesses. I don’t just want someone to service my needs. I need someone who’s worthy of the royal scepter - and its seeds. I need to find a woman to breed my babies, devour my seed and bear my heir. A girl who really deserves it.

  But what I really want is one day, for my real dream babe to come along - wanting to carry my baby. Wanting to be my sweet little something. I’ve got the money and the castle, but where’s my baby-having princess? It can’t be Cecilia. But who could it be? I don’t think I’ll ever find her. I’m thirty-five, and while I’m still strong and smart and rich and hot as hell, I wonder if I’ll ever find my princess. Maybe I won’t.

  And if it means I can keep banging pretty Cecilia, my dirty little slut, I’m okay with that.

  “Did you need anything else today, Princess? Or just a little oral exam of accounts, for you to be on your way?” I ask with a smirk.

  “I’m feeling okay, other than that,” she whimpers. “You made a mess of my dress. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it.”

  “I’m sure nobody will notice,” I chuckle. “You look good with me in you, anyway,” I tease.

  “I don’t know if my father, King of Aluvon, would agree with that,” she says, quivering.

  “Why don’t you make a stop at the spa in Chernowen instead of going back to the castle?” I ask. “Much more relaxing.”

  “Not all of us are hotshot princes with mountains of money to spare in our coffers, Prince Estefan, who get to negotiate with pretty royalty,” she says with a smile. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “I was going to say. That sounded like a little mewl of protest,” I tease. “Like you almost want to be put on your knees again and given some more debt relief.”

  “I’ve got to get myself ready for my father,” she sighs. “Otherwise, I’d have debt relief with you all day long, prince.”

  “That’d cost you an awful lot,” I tease.

  “I know. And it’d be worth every penny,” she retorts, a little cheeky. “Sire.”

  Cecilia is fun. But she has no interest in a prince and a baby. I need my heir to be strong; he - or she - is going to lead the people of Velune one day. This is the great burden on my shoulders, being prince of the grandest kingdom in the land. Not just helping my people, not just being filthy rich, not just entertaining the ladies of Velune and its rivals with the efficacy of my royal scepter and the sexy purr of my powerful dominance, but in making sure that my land and my people have someone to look up to - now, and in the future. I need to find my princess.

  Where could she possibly even be?

  Erica

  It’s been a long and tiring day for me at the market. I work hard every day, buying and selling what I can from the merchants, making my way in the world, finding any way I can to get through every day with food on the table in my comfortable apartment in the capital city of the kingdom of Velune. Still, I feel like I’m supposed to be here, in Velune, for something more than just work as the daughter of a lowly merchant. I feel like I’m destined to be something big… something great.

  It’s starting to rain, puddles gathering along the cobblestone road to the apartment my sister and I share. Heavy rain means an early end to a day at the market. I shield myself from the worst of it with a wide umbrella, stumbling down the road - past the wide, paved entryway leading up to the Velune castle. Exquisite horse-drawn carriages trimmed in gold and platinum and shiny silver, lead by majestic horses with white fur, gather just outside the castle gates, behind fences of hard steel that I dare not pass through.

  It seems like an exciting event. I wonder if my boyfriend, the Duke of Palazza, one of Velune’s sister states, is there. It’s rare for a Duke to date the daughter of a simple merchant, but Marcus tells me it’s not off-limits, and that he loves me. I wonder, sometimes, if he only dates me for the contracts he had in place with my father, before he died.

  The thunder crackles louder as I arrive in front of my apartment. Rickety and ramshackle, it’s still home for my sister and I, but I notice that sister’s merchant cart is gone, meaning her and her boyfriend have probably gone out for the evening. I feel sorry for them, if they’re caught in this brewing storm. My simply linen dress sloshing along as the puddles between the cobblestones begin to grow, I set the bins and bags of wares down in the stable outside and I push open the door, yawning.

  I pull my hair from its woven bindings, the messy bun falling out into damp waves of golden-blond. I sit in front of the vanity in sister and I’s living room, peering at myself in the mirror. There’s no reason the Duke shouldn’t want to date me. I’m very young, freshly nineteen; long golden hair, a pretty little face, petite, but with a lot to love in my chest, on my thighs, and through my curves. I haven’t let the wear and tear of city life beat away my buxom and charming young beauty, as so many women in the city have. I smile at my reflection, when suddenly I hear something strange coming from upstairs. Coming from… my bedroom?

  I traipse up the stairs, and the noise gets louder. A rocking, and a creaking noise. Curious, I follow the sound through the narrow halls of the apartment, listening. It sounds like voices; muffled, through the walls and doors. The voices get louder the closer I get to my bedroom. I start to recognize those voices. Is that Sheena? Sheena is a girl who used to work for my dad; young and sassy and always upwardly-mobile. What is she doing in my apartment?

  I pull the door to my bedroom open and suddenly the muffled voices become much, much more obvious. I’m shocked to find them on my bed - together. The Duke of Palazza, my boyfriend, laying flat on my cotton-stuffed mattress, with his royal cock stuffed inside of pretty brunette Sheena. Shocked, I cover my mouth; their moans and the rickety rumble of the bed fall quiet as they both look to the door in surprise.

  “Erica!” the Duke shouts, grasping for words. “It’s not— it’s not what it looks like!” Sheena scrambles off of the Duke’s erect scepter and grabs for her clothes, tossed into a heap on the ground next to the bed. She covers her shame, while I begin to tear up, rage welling in my expression.

  “It’s not what it looks like?!” I cry out. “You mean you just happened to stumble and fall onto the bed, and she just happened to trip onto your dick?!”

  “Would you believe that?” the Duke asks, hopeful, his slimy body sluggishly crawling out of bed while he reaches for his royal-pink robe.

  “I can’t believe this!” I exclaim, my lungs hurting, my heart pumping.

  “I’m sorry! It’
s not that big of a deal!” the Duke exclaims, while Sheena runs down the stairwell.

  “You cheated on me!” I answer, angrily astonished.

  “Come on, baby, I’’ll buy you some nice things, make it all better! You know you’re my duchess,” he tries to comfort me.

  “I’d never be your duchess,” I whimper obstinately, spinning on my heels and storming out of the room with tears in my eyes. I rush down the stairwell, sobbing and angry and full of hate, rushing back out into the street and slamming the door shut behind me. The rain has started to roar heavily, sheets of water falling down overhead, as merchants and horse-drawn carriages run for cover. I hustle out into the street, lost; with nowhere to go. My heart broken, I stumble across the cobblestones, the sun retreating behind stormclouds, leaving me in almost pitch darkness. I get lost in a procession of carriages, horse hooves clopping down the main thoroughfare through Velune. My heart pumps hard in my chest as fear and sadness grip every faculty. I can’t see anything except rushing rain and flashes of lightning; all I hear is crashing thunder and whinnying horses. I rush along the avenue, colliding with a hard steel fence, water running down the metal, my hair sopping wet, tears mixed on my cheeks with the dewdrops falling down on top of me.

  I can’t believe he cheated on me. It hurts more than I’ve ever hurt before, that scumbag. That scumbag. He wasn’t even that good in bed. He didn’t deserve me. I can’t believe a royal would do that to me. I can’t imagine myself ever dating a Duke, or a Knight, or a King, or a Prince, like that, ever again.

  I rush through the gate ahead of me, sobbing in confusion through the pouring rain, my dress soaked and clinging to my curves. Through the roaring rain and the rumbling thunder I spot a carriage, its door open; I stumble to the faint glow of the lantern within, burning warm and clear. I just need a refuge; for just a few minutes.

  I lift myself into the carriage; it’s empty, thankfully, so there’s no one to see my soaked shame. I sigh, tears on my eyes, collecting myself in the tight interior of the wagon. It’s a very nice wagon - The interior neatly trimmed, covered in gold and platinum and gems. A heavy shawl, trimmed in silver and studded with neatly-cut emeralds and rubies along its soft surface, hangs from a hook opposite the cushioned, crush-velvet bench seat I find myself on top of. I take the shawl and throw it over my head, trying the garment on. It fits nice around my neck. I wipe away a stream of tears and some of the soak in my hair, smiling. This is how the ‘other half’ have life? I admit I’m a little jealous. Duke Palazza never showed me this side of being a royal.