Page 42 of His Prince

“You can’t just let me be, can you?”

“No.”

I shove at him, but he pulls my arms above my head, his body fully on mine now, his slick cock hitting my bare stomach. I hate that this only arouses me.

Hate that despite it all, I’m attracted to him.

“If I’d known you’d be such a nuisance, I’d never have married you,” he says, his face over mine.

“Maybe we should dissolve the contract then.”

“Never,” he hisses and then drags his body up slightly, rutting into me. “I’ll make use of you.”

I should be afraid, but honestly, my sex-starved body is craving it, craving him.

“You won’t touch me.”

“I’m touching you now. But you’re right,” he says as he drags his cock up my stomach once more, “You’re not quite right…”

He stares down at me and then he’s pushing off and walking to the bathroom, making my chest heave.

It’s no longer rage that’s crashing into me. It’s everything all at once, the loss, the injustice of it, the sadness.

I push up onto my feet and stride toward the bathroom, smashing into it, the door hitting the wall. Mikhail turns to stare atme over his shoulder, his hand on his cock, his other hand on the wall in front of him.

I don’t stop, just barrel into him and slap his hand away, reaching for his dick and sliding my palm down it.

“You think I’mnotright?” I hiss as I start stroking him roughly, making him arch his hips up into my fist. “You think I’m all wrong, don’t you? Well, you fucking married me, Mikhail.Me.”

He turns slightly, one hand still on the wall, the other curling up into my hair.

“I fucking hate you,” I add as I lean forward and bite his shoulder roughly, making him grunt, his hand tightening against me as I continue to stroke him.

It’s a hate hand job, nothing more. All of this is fueled by hate.

I reach down with my free hand and tug at his balls viciously, making Mikhail growl.

My teeth unlatch from his shoulder and then I tug his hand from my hair, slapping it away.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss and then drop to my knees and pull his cock into my mouth, dragging my teeth along his slick length.

He moans lowly and arches his hips forward, choking me, but I don’t let it deter me. I continue sucking him until his body starts to tremble and he unloads into my mouth with a loud groan. I hold his release on my tongue as I push myself up onto my feet and walk to the sink, spitting it out.

I see him in the mirror, leaning against the wall, his eyes on me as his chest heaves.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me again,” I grind out and then move to the bed on shaking legs and pull the covers over me, forcing myself not to touch my aching dick, to not run my tongue across my teeth and taste him there.

No, I force myself to fall asleep and forget about him entirely.

Problem is, I forget nothing and sleep like shit.

Because he’s beside me once more, and I canfeeleverything.

I remember it all.

Mikhail is still asleep when I wake, moving to the shower to scrub the scent of him off me. Minutes later, I’m washed and rinsed, letting my body stand beneath the stream of warm water pulsing from the showerhead, my head tilted back, my shoulders relaxing under the spray when suddenly Mikhail appears, his eye twitching rapidly, his fists bunched at his sides.

Through the water streaming down my face, I see it.

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