Page 76 of His Prince

But he doesn’t move.

He just stares down at me, his pupils blown out, the blue almost hidden behind the growing blackness.

And then slowly, his hand moves, grazing my cheek, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip gently.

I don’t move, unsure of what this means, if I should even allow it. But before I can say anything, it’s gone and I’m almost bereft in the absence.

“Fuck me, Mikhail,” I finally rasp, needing him to take me hard so I don’t feel this ache inside of my chest, the knowledge of what I’mmissing. He obliges, pulling his hips back, a slow drag through my tight channel before tunneling back inside.

I moan as he starts to rail into me, his body slowly lifting off mine until he’s standing at the edge of the bed, both my legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands on my hips, holding me still as he pumps into me relentlessly.

I’m a mess, undone and unraveling. My hands are no longer on him but twisted in the sheets as my body trembles from the sensation of being filled over and over again. And Mikhail doesn’t let up, punishing me for not giving in yesterday, for making him do what he didn’t want to do, but hell, it was worth it.

I get this. I gethim.

I know what he wants, what he needs—and it seems he knows me as well.

His hands tighten on me, and I see a bead of sweat move down his temple, lingering on his jaw before slipping down his neck. I want to sit up and lick it off, want to bite down and taste him. The image of us writhing against each other, our bodies completely enmeshed makes my cock jump between my legs and I reach down and squeeze it.

“Mikhail. I’m close. Please. I’m so close.”

“Sólnyshko. My little Angel. Little devil,” he groans, and then I feel him start to shake, his thrusts growing more violent, more uncoordinated. It’s over. I start to fuck my fist, my orgasm crashing over me. We fall over the cliff together and the tidal wave rises up to meet us, pulling us both out to sea, our bodies aching and trembling when we finally wade to shore.

Mikhail’s chin meets his chest, his breathing labored as he continues to hold himself inside of me. He hasn’t left me, not yet. My eyelids are drooping happily, my body satiated from my orgasm, my stomach and chest messy from my release.

I feel his hands leave my hips and my legs are gently pulled from his shoulders and placed on the bed. As he maneuvers me, his cock slips from me and I feel the gush of his cum spilling from me.

But I just lie there, trying like hell to move, but unable to conjure up the desire. He’s fucked me into a coma.

“You need a bath,” he says, his finger trailing across my knee and dragging up my thigh. “You made a mess.”

I can feel my skin trembling from his touch, can feel the sensation all the way through my bones. I should tell him not to touch me, but I can’t be bothered at the moment.

I’m easily wooed, it seems. A total pushover.

“It’s your fault,” I finally say. “You bought me very beautiful pots.”

His lips twitch and his hand leaves me.

“I’ll run you a bath,” he says as he strides away, leaving me to close my eyes and remind myself that this doesn’t mean anything.

It means nothing.

Nothing at all.

16

MIKHAIL

Idefinitely shouldn’t slide into the tub with my husband. I should let him have his time alone. But the warm water looks inviting and the bubbles growing under the faucet are calling to me.

Fucking Angel is exhausting.

My entire body aches.

Maybe I am an old man, after all. Maybe my life and the choices I’ve made have aged me more than I realized.

I glance toward the bedroom and then back to the tub. I most definitely shouldn’t slide in.

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