Page 40 of Princess Claimed

“You have no fucking idea.” Grabbing his cock, he frees it from whatever was bracing it under the trousers, and the wool is now so strained it might tear under the weight.

I turn away. This game is dangerous. I’m provoking him. But I’m equal parts frightened and turned on by Phil. Given what I’ve learned about how these men were raised, and how they’ve lived since, it’s a wonder any of them have been able to show me any tenderness, but Phil could never begin to understand what tenderness even means.

“You’re infuriating,” he says.

My back stiffens. “Why?” I turn back. “What have I ever done to you?”

He leaps forward, his body towering over mine, and his massive rod strikes my sheer bodice, wool rubbing against silk, and I fight to ignore the weight and friction.

“Let’s start with your lies!”

My heart pounding, I take a step back. “I explained that. I apologized.”

“Fuck your apologies. And fuck you.”

My entire body pulses with a strange combination of fear and need. I don’t dare cast my eyes down.

I raise my chin. “Your threats have no power over me.”

He laughs. “The juices spilling from your cunt say otherwise.”

“Asshole.”

“Entitled bitch.”

“I hate you, Phil.” My words knock him back, so I add to them. “I hate you with the power of all the fires in hell. The last thing I could ever feel around you is arousal.”

“All evidence to the contrary.” His massive hips shift, and my eyes are drawn down. I gasp. I swear I can detect the blood throbbing inside his hardness, even through the wool.

“You’re lying again, princess. You might hate me, but you can’t hide how badly you want this.” Opening his fly, his hard member bursts out, and it’s even bigger than in my imagination.

He grips his cock in a tight fist, and I swallow, hard. It seems even bigger with his thick fingers wrapped around it, and the head is so dark it seems angry. Apparently that part of Phil hates me too.

Looking away, I struggle to find my composure, to project indifference. “Clearly you need to deal with that...tension,” I say as evenly as I can manage. “Go to the Rec Center. Or go blow something up.” I flip my hand, feigning indifference.

“Don’t tell me what to do, princess.” He steps toward me. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to deal with this tension straight up your asshole. And I promise you will not like that.” His eyes narrow. “The pain won’t last more than an hour—maybe two if I don’t get bored—but your memories will last forever.”

I shiver, my belly turning in on itself at his threat.

For a split second, his expression softens, but then hardens so quickly I’m not certain the change happened.

“On second thought.” He grunts. “Trying to fuck your tiny ass wouldn’t be worth the trouble.” He strokes his massive cock.

I can’t keep my eyes off it, telling myself it’s unwise to let the threatening weapon out of my sight.

“Your asshole could never take this.” His eyes darken as he strokes himself more firmly. “I bet your cunt can’t either. Not without buckets of lube.” His expression turns cruel. “Then again, your blood will make a good lube once I split you in two.” He smirks.

Whatever tender thoughts I’ve had toward Phil, whatever hopes I had to break down his walls of anger, have vanished.

I hate Phil. I detest him. But as my hatred grows, so does the wetness between my legs. What is wrong with me?

“You are despicable.” I glare at him. “Utterly unredeemable. I hate you.”

“Liar.” Stepping forward, he chuckles. “You’re so fucking wet for me I can taste it.” Licking his lips, he squeezes his cock. “You’re clearly feeling some tension too, and my big friend here can release it a thousand times over. I’ll fuck you. But only if you ask nicely.”

His cheeks turn almost as red as his cock. “And as for these friends—” his lips open, revealing his fangs “—they can relieve the tension so obvious at your throat. Maybe drain the life right out of you.”

My back hits my bedroom door.

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