Page 58 of His Prince

“Were you worried about me?”

“No. Also, I think you have rats in the walls.”

He huffs and then arches his hips slightly, his cock settling on his thigh, making my body tense and warm.

“Probably. It’s an old house.”

We sit in silence for a moment when finally Mikhail asks, “What are you waiting for?”

I turn toward him and purse my lips. “Nothing. Right now, you look tired and old. I don’t want you to go into cardiac arrest.”

His eyes slam into mine. “Since when do you care about my feelings?”

“Don’t want to be arrested for manslaughter.”

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose.

“I’m not old.”

“You are. You’re a cold, old man. You’re half in the grave already.”

“Shut the fuck up, little devil, and ride my dick. I won’t touch you, as per our agreement, but I will show you I can keep up with you.”

The emotionless way he says that makes me angrier than I have any right to be. Touch me? Ride his dick? Keep up with me? We’ll see about that.

I roll up and move to his side of the bed, pulling my shirt off as I go, exposing my naked body to him. His eyes are focused on me, sliding across my skin, his gaze intent, his breathing growing more labored as I stop in front of him. His cock begins swelling between his legs.

I wet my lips and force my gaze away from it.

I don’t want it. Not really. Just the pleasure it can bring me.

I crawl up on top of him, straddling his hips and letting our dicks touch. The sight of it, the two of us together is almost too much. He’s so much bigger than me, angry and fierce. But I swallow the lust down, reminding myself who this is.

How much he’s hurt me.

I reach down and touch it, dragging my fingernails up the length of him, watching as his pupils dilate, his breath coming out with a hiss.

“Trying to hurt me, little Angel? You need to do better than that.”

I feel my cheeks redden as I reach over and grab the lube from the bedside table.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I say as I drip the liquid onto him, watching as it slides down his hard length before doing the same to mine.

He watches it all, inhaling when I grab on to his cock and then my own, bringing us together and jacking us.

His nostrils flare, eyelashes fluttering.

“I’m not riding your dick,” I say, and his lips part as I lean over him, our faces just inches apart. “You’re going to have to settle for this hand job, my old and tiredhusband.”

“Your mouth is so pretty when you talk like a filthy whore, sólnyshko.”

I feel my cheeks flush at those words, hating that any sort of praise from him makes razor-sharp wings start to flutter in my stomach. They do nothing but make my breathing grow shorter and my heart constrict in pain.

He shifts slightly and then suddenly his hands slip out from behind his head, his muscles flexing as he moves. I can smell him, the scent of soap and something musky and masculine. He doesn’t touch me, but even so, I can feel the flutter of his fingertips dancing just beside my skin as he grips the sheets next to him and ruts his hips up into my fist.

“Harder. Tighter.”

I grit my teeth, loosening my grip on him and making him huff a laugh.

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