His Royal Realism

Royal Bitch Exclusive:
Not-a Swan’s Ex-Lover Tells All

It’s been the question on everyone’s lips ever since Prince Edward was first spotted exiting Bella Swan’s office. What could he possible see in her? After much discussion, we always come to the same conclusion: Not-a must be amazing in bed.

Au contraire, mes fréres—and we have the lowdown from someone who would know.

Not gonna lie—we thought we’d have to dig pretty deep to locate one of Not-a’s former suitors. After all, it’s not as if there are all that many of them. Lo and behold, her lover from her university days emailed us—and he was more than willing to talk, provided we wrote him a large check and didn’t publish his name.

Fifteen minutes and a wire transfer to someone whose name rhymes with gay-club hack later, we were on the phone with a man we’ll call Joe. He claims to have met Not-a at a debate tournament.

“She was painfully shy,” he told us, “but when she took the podium, she came into her own. She wasn’t the prettiest girl in the room, but there was something about her. I asked her out to coffee, and we started hanging out. Eventually, we became a thing.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah—but what’s her personality like?

“Fearless. Driven. She’s never done anything in her life that hasn’t in some way brought her closer to her goals. To be honest, it could be a bit of a turn-off. There’s more to life than mergers and acquisitions, you know?”

It’s no secret we like to keep it classy here at Royal Bitch. As a general rule, we won’t publish anything we wouldn’t say in front of our founder’s grandmother. Luckily for us, our founder’s grandmother curses like a sailor and has a thing for gay porn. Ergo, we had no problem asking Joe to tell us about Not-a’s bedroom skills.

Turns out he wasn’t kidding when he said she was driven. When it comes to her sexual prowess, he likened her to a Buick.

We don’t see many Buicks in The Westerlands, so we did a quick web search to get a visual. They appear to be rather—how do we put it—large. Then our founder’s grandmother told us to plug “Buick” into Urban Dictionary, and…well…yeah.

So we asked Joe to clarify.

He said, “You know. It does what you need it to, but the ride is nothing special.”

And that pretty much sums up Bella Swan—capable but nothing special. So what would compel His Royal Hotness to defend her honor with his fists?

Maybe our Buick perfected the buick.

COMMENTS (showing 12 of 2120)

Lady in Waiting

I wonder if he had a specific Buick in mind. When I spent a year in Washington as an exchange student, my host family drove a Buick. I thought it was nice.

Assman 11

My guess is an Electra. They’re boxes with really big trunks, just like Not-a.

anon

Please. Her ex is so lying. Otherwise, he would have used his real name.

Troll E. McCavetroll

::facepalm::

swatchdogs-n-dietcokeheads

I can’t imagine how I’d feel if one of my exes talked about me that way.

Palace Alice

You’ll find out next week!

My Narcissistic Alias

Doesn’t buick mean to throw up?

Boners for Bomer

A buick is when you suck on a penis and both testicles at the same.

HRH Princess Edward

Really? I learned something new today.

Troll E McCavetroll

Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! I want to use the word of the day in a sentence!
When Lady In Waiting tried a buick, she buicked in her borrowed Buick.

Lady in Waiting

Fuck you. I offered to have it detailed afterwards, and you know it.

His Royal Gayness

I bet Prince Edward can take it ALL without puking. We already know he has no gag reflex. Remember the picture of him drinking the bong water? If that doesn’t make a person throw up, nothing will.

Boners for Bomer

Agreed. Photographic evidence suggests Prince Edward NEVER buicks when he buicks.



 

Much to my disappointment, Edward doesn’t make a move on me. After he tosses my robe onto the floor, he picks up right where we left off.

“Your turn,” he says.

“Why did your grandmother pull you out of Afghanistan?”

“I’m third in line for the throne. It wouldn’t bode well for the future of the monarchy if I got killed.”

“If that’s what she’s worried about, she never should have let you go to war in the first place.”

“Things change.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

“Is she ill?”

“At her age, does it matter? By the way, I see how you sneaked in that second question.”

“Please. Stupid questions don’t count.”

“Oh, it counts. To keeps things fair, I think I should get to go twice.”

“Fine.”

He nods toward my chest.

“What?”

“This…” He tugs on the bottom of my slip. “…needs to go.” He flicks his wrist, raising my hemline and exposing my underwear. “Oooh—nice panties. Unfortunately, they need to go, too.”

His request doesn’t offend me—if anything, I’m flattered—but he’s on crack if he thinks I’m taking off my underwear.

“Uh-uh,” I say, shaking my head furiously. “No way.”

“Please?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to have sex with you tonight.”

“Who said anything about sex?” He runs his hand along the outside of my thigh. “I just want to see you naked.”

“Sorry.” I smooth my nightie back over my hips. “Nudity’s something I usually have to work up to…”

“I understand—and I’m okay with it if you just want to go topless.”

I smack him on the shoulder. “Jerk.”

“What? Your nightgown or whatever it is—it’s made of lace.”

“So?”

“So I can see right through it.”

“This isn’t about what you can see; it’s about what you can do. If there’s no skin-to-skin contact…uh…”

He’s looking at me as if he’s hanging on my every word. What he’s doing to my nipple tells a whole other story.

I take a deep breath and try to focus on the conversation. “As long as certain parts stay covered, we can fool around without things getting too intense.”

“So what you’re saying is that if I do this…” He lowers his mouth to my breast and circles my nipple with his tongue. “… it won’t make you want me to do this.” He takes it into his mouth and suckles.

It’s the only place we’re touching, but somehow I feel it everywhere. My breaths become gasps and my hips move on their own.

He raises his head and smiles. “I had my doubts, but I think you’re onto something.”

I tug on his hair. “Get up here.”

Seconds later he’s on top of me. He teases my mouth with the tip of his tongue; he teases my lace-covered lips with the tip of his penis. There’s a level of skill to his movements that can only come from a whole lot of practice—and for all I know, he practiced this afternoon.

I tense up.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, stroking my cheek. “We don’t have to do anything more than you’d usually do on a first date.”

“We already have.”

“Oh. Would it make you feel better to know this is different for me, too? I’ve never even kissed someone without an NDA and an Affidavit of Consent.”

I scrunch my face at him. “Consent to what?”

“This…” He presses his hips against mine. “…and whatever else it may lead to. Things changed between us so quickly. I haven’t had a chance to get the paperwork ready, so the legal stuff is going to have to wait until Monday. What I want to do to you, on the other hand…”

I study his face for evidence he’s kidding.

There isn’t any.

“You honestly think I’d accuse you of…” I stop myself—I don’t even want to say the word. “You think I’d claim this was forced?”

“It has nothing to do with you—or even me, for that matter. It’s just how we do things. The NDA protects what little privacy we have left. The Affidavit of Consent and Pre-Coital Agreement just take it a bit further.”

“I see.” I take a moment to try to process it all, but that won’t happen as long as I’m lying beneath him. “Do you think you could…?” I push on his chest and angle my head to the side.

He looks at me the same way he did when he caught me snooping in his bedroom.

“I’m not angry with you. But I do have some questions, and it’s hard for me to think with you…well…” I force a smile. “…where you are.”

It doesn’t matter that his face is blank as he stretches out on his back beside me—he leaves enough space between us that I know exactly what he’s thinking.

“Hey.” I scoot over to him and nudge his face toward mine. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t angry. You just caught me off-guard. This…what is it called, again?”

“Affidavit of Consent and Pre-Coital Agreement.”

“Has Esme signed one?”

“Yes.”

That makes me feel better. Esme would never sign anything without running it past our father, and he would never have given his blessing to her marriage if Carlisle asked her to sign something that was at all suspect. What I don’t understand is why I’m only hearing about this now.

“And what exactly is it supposed to do?” I ask.

“The Pre-Coital Agreement forfeits your right to profit financially from your association with me. The Affidavit of Consent just states that you’ve entered into a sexual relationship with me consensually and without any coercion by the Royal Family or any members of our household. It’s all very standard.”

“There’s no such thing as written consent to intercourse. Legally, a woman can withdraw consent at any time. You get that, right?”

“Yes. In fact, my lawyers have assured me of this. Come on, Bella. You know me well enough by now. Do you honestly think I’d ask you to sign anything that would take away your right to tell me no?”

“Then why would you even bother with it?”

He raises his hands. “Because I don’t have a fucking choice!”

For a moment, I just lie there. I understand Palace life well enough to know I’ll never understand Palace life, and I won’t patronize him by pretending otherwise.

“I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. “I like you, Bella. Really, I do. And I don’t think you’ve ever tried to piss me off—”

I snort. “That’s what you think.”

His smile is forced, but it’s there.

“Get over here,” he says, pulling me against his chest. “Remember that night we spent at my brother’s? You had your first run-in with that paparazzi that morning and were blaming me for the loss of your privacy. ‘I didn’t ask for this,’ you said.

“It got me thinking. I can’t remember when I realized I was always on display. The crowds and the flashbulbs—they’ve just always been there. And the possibility that someone would sell us out to them? That’s always been there, too.

“My mother used to tell this story about when Carlisle and I were little. We were out with her when the paps yelled something that made her cry. It happened a lot; pictures of her crying sold for more money. At dinner that night, Carlisle told her that when he grew up, he wanted to be a policeman so he could protect her. ‘You can’t,’ I said to him. ‘You have to be king.’

“My brother’s has always liked to pretend we have choices. I don’t know. For me, it’s only ever made things harder in the long run. Tonight probably wasn’t the best time for me to mention the Pre-Coital Agreement, but if I hadn’t, I’d only be postponing the inevitable. I wish it was different, but it’s not up to me. Nothing is up to me.”

“Is it really that important for me to sign it?”

“That depends on you—and how you feel about me.”

I lean back a bit so I can see his face. He’s looking at me the same way he did when I told him I wouldn’t sign the NDA. I claimed it was on principle, but mostly it was because I didn’t think I could ever like him. Sometimes, I still don’t.

I think I could love him.

“Okay.”





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