Page 47 of Princess Claimed

I inhale sharply. My stomach clenching at his command.

But relenting, I jump, landing with my legs spread and balanced on the arms of the chair. Who is this person I’ve become? This princess, this ambassador, who blindly follows orders.

My gaze drops to his stiff cock, and I’m reminded why I’m willing to comply. Since all this started, Phil’s been inside me almost constantly, and I’ve barely had a chance to catch sight of his cock. Not fully.

No wonder I feel so stretched when he’s inside me, so stuffed. His erect member is not only long it’s unbelievably thick, mirroring the man himself. Pointing directly toward me now, his cock is so engorged with his blood that its skin is deep red, many shades darker than the rest of him, and its surface glistens with a mixture of my juices and his spunk.

Phil moves forward slowly, and his cock bounces with each step, rising higher and higher toward his body the closer he comes. I can’t take my eyes off his massive weapon, and suddenly I’m afraid of having it inside me again, even though I know my body can take it, has taken it non-stop over the past several hours. It doesn’t seem possible.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says hoarsely, and my gaze lifts to his face. “I need to study you more closely.”

His eyes are on my body, drinking me in; his breaths coming heavily, just like they did while he was thrusting inside me. His clear reaction to me is such a turn on that I long to explode. I’m desperate for another release.

My fingers shift between my legs hoping to make that happen.

“No.” The tone of his voice startles my fingers away from my body.

“I’m going to look at you now,” he says. “And when I’m done, I’ll be the one to touch you. I’ll be the one to make you explode.” He looks into my eyes, asking for approval, even though his words were delivered as commands.

I nod.

Standing on the arms of this chair puts us at similar heights, but I feel much taller, unused to seeing his face or his body from this angle. My legs are spread, my body balanced on the rounded chair arms and vulnerable to the slightest nudge. His gaze is like fire on my skin, licking me as it drifts up one leg and down the other, and then his attention focuses low on my belly, which spins and flips in response.

I follow his gaze as he examines my breasts, my throat, and then skips past my face to run up and down my arms, making them tingle, making me desperate to reach out for him. But I sense that’s not what he wants.

Later, I tell my arms. We’ll get to touch him later.

“Your skin is so perfect.” Finally, he touches me. The backs of his fingers slide over my belly, his thick knuckles providing new and delicious stimulation, and then one fingertip stops at the base of my ribcage. It circles one of my scars.

“How?” he asks, his finger fondling my raised skin.

“Bayonet wound,” I tell him. “King Dunkan’s blood didn’t fully heal that one before my transition. The sword went straight through me.” I have other scars too, smaller ones, evidence of my mischievous childhood, but he’s yet to comment on those.

His hand reaches around so he’s touching both sides of the wound at once. His body stiffens, and he looks into my eyes. “I will destroy whoever did this to you. I will tear him apart, limb from limb.”

“The soldiers who did this, they’re all long dead.” I reach toward him.

He shifts out of my reach, but the explosive fury in his eyes drifts away, morphing into determination.

“No one will ever hurt you again,” he says gruffly. “Not ever. Anyone dares think of hurting you, they will suffer.”

His words wrap tightly around me and stir my insides. I’ve had security guards, in some form, all of my life, but I’ve never felt so protected, or so safe. And while the idea of Phil literally tearing a person limb from limb is appalling, his willingness to do so yields an unexpected thrill.

This man claims to hate me, he resents his sexual attraction, and yet he’s willing to kill for me.

Earlier, when we both claimed to hate each other, I feel sure we both meant something very different, but distracted by all the sex, my thoughts and emotions have yet to catch up with all that’s happened between us today.

At least there’s no mystery around Phil’s physical interest. His eyes and hands continue to roam my skin, and his breath remains labored, his erection beyond massive and strong.

I decide to cast aside my confusion for now, and fully yield to his scrutinizing touch, completely surrender to his examination, letting him explore me without limits, without expectations or conscious reactions. Because even more than protected, I feel adored. I feel worshiped, cherished.

“Turn around.”

My eyes snap open at his deep command. I hadn’t even realized they were closed. His gaze is focused on my crotch.

“Need help turning?” His eyes flick up. I shake my head no, but my legs are shaking.

He lifts my hands to his shoulders, supporting me as I step down from the chair’s arms. I turn slowly on the seat cushion. Stepping back up onto the arms, I lose my balance, tipping forward. I start to straighten, but his hand falls onto my lower back.

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