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Double Dirty Royals

By:Parker Grey

This untouched princess is ours.

We’re royal, rich, and we’ve both got absolutely enormous… castles. Women practically line up for our princely pleasures - and if they’re lucky, we’ll even share the same woman.

Nothing’s off limits for the two of us, no matter how dirty.

That makes us the worst possible suitors for Katarina, the virginal crown princess of Tomassia. She needs to get married and give her kingdom an heir yesterday, but the Princess is totally innocent, inexperienced, and untouched - and we’re not the marrying types.

But this sweet princess is pure temptation. She’s got curves that could tempt a monk, lips made for being bitten, and eyes that just beg us to dominate and control her.

Just one night? Yeah, that won’t be enough. Her father doesn’t want us both marrying her, but that won’t stop us.

We’re going to make our princess scream our names. We’re going to make her ours.

And we’re going to give her the heirs she needs.

No matter what.

Double Dirty Royals is a very steamy book about two princes who fall for the same princess, and won’t let anything get between them and her! It’s an MFM menage, which means that it’s all about her - no M/M scenes.

So if you’re looking for some over-the-top, super-cheesy instalove with spicy scenes that’ll make your kindle blush, you’re in the right place!





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I’m a good girl - but they both want me!



As the only daughter of the Nero crime family, I’m practically a princess - and I get treated like one.

That is, until the Diamante family breaks into our mansion, crashes our Christmas party… and two very sexy men take me hostage.

Colt and Dante are huge, ripped, possessive, dominant, totally in control…

…and these two sinfully hot hitmen want to share me.



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Chapter One





Katarina




I stand in front of the massive doors to the throne room and swallow, nervously staring up at the ornate, carved wood. They’re from the 12th century, and they show the legendary King Torgud slaying a dragon.

At least I’m not a dragon, I think.

“His Majesty said you’re to enter at your leisure, princess,” the guard standing by the door says.

“Thank you, Lorenzo,” I say, but it doesn’t make me less nervous.

My father, King Edward IV of Tomassia, isn’t in the habit of asking to speak with me privately in the throne room unless he’s got something big to tell me. Or, worse, I’ve done something he’s unhappy about.

I take a deep breath and push the door open with a long, slow creak that echoes through the huge chamber. At the far end, up on the dais, are my mother and father, both seated on their thrones. Behind them are three smaller thrones — one each for me and my two younger sisters.

My parents aren’t wearing their crowns, but they’re both decked in their royal finest, as am I: my mother in a deep blue silk dress that skims her still-regal shoulders, my father in a military jacket with buttons down the front.

I’m wearing a floor length emerald-green dress, also silk, my red hair pulled back into a complicated knot at the nape of my neck. It’s not what I usually wear, but today’s not just any day.

“Katarina,” my father booms as I walk the length of the throne room.

“Good morning, father, mother,” I answer. Our relationship isn’t necessarily always this formal, but being in full regalia in the throne room tends to bring out the formality.

When I stop in front of them, I curtsy. My mother smiles.

My father sighs.

“Kat, I’m sorry for asking you here without telling you what this is all about,” he says, leaning over the arm of his throne. “But, frankly, this is very important and I didn’t want to have this discussion over breakfast.”

Outside, the clouds suddenly break, and sunlight streams through the stained-glass windows positioned along the ceiling, lighting the whole throne room.

“What is it?” I ask, though I have a feeling I already know.

My parents look at each other, then back at me.

“It’s time you were married,” he says.

My stomach clenches, and I swallow hard. I had a feeling that’s what this was going to be about, but now that he’s said it, suddenly my palms are sweaty and my heart’s beating faster.

“Tomassia needs an heir,” he says. “And since I decreed last year that the crown passes to the eldest child, regardless of gender, it’s high time that we thought about the future of this country.”

The future meaning my children.

I don’t mind that part. I like kids, and I’ve always wanted them — which is good, since having them is part of my royal duties. But there’s one huge, major problem.

I’m not married. I’ve never even had a boyfriend.

I’ve never even had sex.

Hard to give the kingdom heirs without that particular ingredient. I look up at my father, hands clasped in front of me, and wonder how to word my next question.

My mother looks at him, then leans down herself.

“Part of the reason that the Inter-Continental Council of Kingdoms is having its summit meeting in Tomassia this year is because you’ll be entertaining a number of suitors,” she says. “Your father and I have quietly put it out that you’re ready to be married, and of course, sweetheart, that’s attracted some interest.”

I look at the floor. Someday I’ll be queen of the tiny-but-insanely-wealthy Tomassia. Of course I’ve attracted interest.

“In particular, it’s attracted the interest of Prince Sven of Norograv,” my father says. “I know he’s a bit older than you, but he’s very wealthy, Norograv is powerful and a strong ally, he has a fantastic lineage, and most importantly, he’s willing to be the Prince Consort of Tomassia.”

My heart stops.

I don’t know Sven in person, but I know about him. He’s the younger brother of the King of Norograv, Mikael. He’s almost forty, balding, pudgy, and makes the gossip press constantly.

It’s bad enough when a handsome, wealthy young man is an international playboy.

But it’s worse when an unattractive, gross jerk thinks he’s an international playboy.

“Sven?” I ask, my mouth going dry.

My father fixes me with a hard look, his mouth forming a straight line across his face. I’ve gotten the lecture about how my duty is first to my country and then to myself about a thousand times, so I know exactly what he’s thinking.

He’s thinking that I owe it to Tomassia to marry Sven and have a couple of strong Tomassian babies with good strong genes, and he’s not going to listen to any arguments about it.

“Yes, Prince Sven of Norograv will likely be an excellent match,” he says.

I duck my head, stomach clenching.

“Yes, father,” I say, just as the big doors open behind me again.

“There you are, girls,” my mother says. It must be my younger sisters, Princesses Alexandra and Florentina. “I’m glad you came early. It’s a big day today.”

I think I might throw up, but that would be very un-royal.



The Council is endless, and more, it’s really uncomfortable. Sitting on a throne, holding a scepter and wearing a crown for a couple of hours are a surefire ticket to a wicked head and backache.

Sure, as the Crown Princess I attend plenty of state events, but this is the twenty-first century. I’m much more likely to be wearing a business suit than a formal dress, and I’m more likely to have a blow-out than a crown.

To top it all off, the Norogravian delegation still hasn’t presented itself. I think they’re going last, which is the worst, because I’ve already been dreading it all day.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” the current delegation leader — I think he’s a one of those city-state leaders who styles himself a viscount? — says, and my father nods. The man steps away, but I’m barely paying attention.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” the next voice says, and a jolt of recognition snaps through me. I jerk to attention, because that voice sounds incredibly familiar, but I can’t place why.

“We’re honored to be part of the Council,” says another, equally familiar voice.

Then the voices’ owners step forward to where I can see them, and my jaw nearly drops.

Standing in front of my father, dressed in military dress uniforms, are the two most perfect-looking men I’ve ever seen in my life. They look totally different — one is dark-haired and light-eyed, his facial hair just hinting at sideburns, his chiseled face serious and handsome, the other light-haired and gray-eyed, a hint of a smile around his mouth — but they’re both incredibly, world-shatteringly, earth-shakingly gorgeous.

At the same time, they both bow to my father in unison, but as they stand up straight, they both glance my way for just a moment.

I think my heart tries to escape through my mouth, because despite being here, in this throne room, behind my father, it’s the sexiest, filthiest, most wicked look I’ve ever gotten.

And I got it from two men at the same time.

“I’m pleased that San Javier and Materbourg could join us this year,” my father says smoothly. “I’m honored by your attendance, Princes Dominic and Bruno.”

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