Page 108 of His Prince

I run a hand down my face, my pulse racing. I don’t know if I want to relive it, to see my past laid so blatantly in front of him. But I must. If I don’t, he may leave.

“My father died first. It was an unexpected heart attack. I didn’t think much of it at the time since my grandfather had died years earlier of a heart problem and my father was older, smoked and drank a lot. But I would come to find out she poisoned him with hemlock root, put it in his morning coffee.”

“That bitch,” he mutters, and I sigh as he leans in closer to me. “Sorry, go on.”

“My mother was next. A few months later she started having unexplained seizures, would pass out and not wake up. And then one night, she died in her sleep. Come to find out Katarina injected her with insulin while she slept.”

“Mikhail—”

I interrupt him, needing to finish this now that I started. I have to bare all of my soul to Angel, if we have any hope of getting through this.

“At the time we didn’t know what was going on. A curse, my grandmother said. Only she didn’t realize the curse was my wife, the woman who had claimed to love me.”

“Oh my god.”

“Then it was just my grandmother left. Thankfully Ivan was in Russia at the time, so she didn’t have access to him. She was brutal, but lazy and impatient, not taking the time with poison. She killed my grandmother in the garden, strangled her. I found them…saw her while she was doing it…” My voice cracks as I remember it. My babushka on the ground, lips blue, eyes wide and unseeing. “Katarina tried to beg for her life, tried to use my love for her as leverage, but I didn’t listen, Angel. I took her life willingly. Itookit.”

“As you should have,” he whispers. “You did the right thing. I would have done the same.”

“And yet, here I am, losing you because of it. I’ve never regretted what I did. If I had the chance to do it again, I would. But losing you because of it? I’d regret that very much.”

“I’m not lost, not yet,” he says, his body moving closer to mine, a whisper away, a breath. His hands move to my face and he holds me still, his gaze meeting mine. “I’m still here.”

“I’m so sorry, sólnyshko. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I’m still here,” he repeats, “because you were right to kill her. Family comes first, and you had every right to defend yours.”

And then his lips meet mine.

Sensation explodes through me, the taste of him, the feel of hismouth moving against mine. All my fucking life and this is what I was missing.

I groan loudly, my body pressing forward, my hands tightening on him. A soft mewl escapes his throat and something in me snaps. My hands slide through his hair and tug roughly, arching him slightly to the right, his face and mouth at a perfect angle, and I invade. My tongue pushes into him and the sweetness of his very essence is almost my undoing.

I’m too rough, I know it, but I can’t control it, can’t keep any of it inside anymore. I thrust my hips forward, grinding against him, my mouth never leaving his, and he just accepts it. He pushes back, our hard cocks grinding together as we lick our way into each other’s mouths. He’s tasting me for the first time. And he loves it.

He loves kissing me.

The knowledge of it pushes me further into him. My hands drag down his back to his ass, and I pick him up, his legs wrapping around my waist as I set him on the dresser in the closet. Our mouths never part, our tongues tangling almost savagely, our teeth clanking in desperation.

We only separate for me to rip his shirt over his head. And then, we come crashing back together, moaning and grinding, hands everywhere—feeling, scratching, clinging. And yet, we’re not close enough.

I need more. I need inside of him.

“Mikhail,” he gasps when I pick him up and bring him into the bedroom, the two of us falling onto the mattress together. We’re only parted for a minute, but I see him, his flushed cheeks, his hooded eyes, his puffy lips.

I attack once more, an animal in rut, sucking on his bottom lip as my hips thrust up, unable to keep the feral sounds from escaping my throat. And he doesn’t hold back either—we’re wrecked, completely consumed by one another. We hear and feel nothing but the sounds our bodies are making.

His hands have slid down the back of my pants, grabbing onto my bare ass, and I grunt at the feel of him touching me. I want him to always touch me.

I never want him to let me go.

Weak, I know, but at this moment, I don’t care.

Our bodies continue to move, a sensual cant as we work ourselves into a frenzy, but neither of us wants to stop to peel our clothes off. So we slowly work them off as we go, as much as we can without leaving the other. My shirt is up around my neck, pants halfway down my ass, cock out. And Angel is squirming beneath me, trying to push his shorts down with the force of the mattress.

If I had it my way, I’d never have him wear clothes again.

I want him naked. Always.

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