Page 33 of Princess of Thieves

“To get to what?” I prompt.

The silence is an eternity.

“You know what,” LJ grinds out, finally. “They got to...bewith you. To have you, Maren. They didn’t fucking deserve it, and yet they still did.”

There’s a pause, and I hear him exhale sharply. I shift around, feeling my bare thighs rub against each other under the covers.

“I’m not a cuddly guy, Maren,” he says. “You’d have to go to Tuck for that shit. I’m warning you...”

His hand fists the bedspread. “I don’t always have that much self-control.”

“I don’t care,” I say. Then I correct myself. “Actually, no, I do care. Because that’s what I want.”

And it is. I’ve been through so much and changed so many times and gotten my hopes up down and sideways only for them to dash that I don’t need to be handled gently. I don’t need kid gloves or cotton wool.

I need him. LJ. Hard and firm and sure and in control.

Finally, agonizingly slowly, LJ looks at me. I can feel the burn of his stare through the dark. “Are you sure, Princess?” he says, a gruff whisper.

A liquid surge of heat pulses through me. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, I think.

“I’m sure.”

The next thing I hear is a gruff exhale and the sound of the bedclothes being shucked back. Cool night air pours over me in their place as LJ stands on his knees on the mattress beside me, towering over where I lie.

“I want that off of you. Now.”

His voice is stern, almost harsh, but laced with just the barest hint of huskiness. I push up, reaching for the hem of the T-shirt, but he beats me to it. One broad hand plants itself on the pillow by my head as the other grabs at the collar and pulls down, hard.

The threads snap and give as the seams split, and LJ rips the shirt right off my body.

Fuck. I’m awake now, alive, pinned down under his massive form and already slick under my panties.

His face is inches from mine, and I tip my chin towards him, as if he might kiss me—but he doesn’t. He leans back, one knee on either side of my hips.

“Take off my belt,” he orders.

A hot shiver skates over me. No one’s ever spoken to me like that. And I wasn’t prepared for how much I’d like it.

“Take it off,” he roars.

Pulse throbbing, I push myself to my elbows and sit up, fingers fumbling at the buckle. As I do, LJ reaches down and cups one breast, then the other, and I feel a moan fight through my lips when my nipples stiffen, scraping against his callused palm.

“Good girl,” he growls. “Are you wet for me?”

I nod, throat too thick for words, as I loosen the buckle and tug the belt free. I’m reaching for the button on his black jeans when LJ pulls back. Rocking onto his heels, he grabs my hair in his fist and tugs my head back so I’m staring into his eyes.

“Answer me,” he says, lips inches from my ear. “Are you wet for me, Princess?”

“Mm...mhm,” I manage. But it’s not enough. He tugs my hair harder. “Yes,” I gasp. “Y-yes, I’m wet for you.”

The words feel strange coming from my mouth, but powerful. And the gleam I catch in his eyes shows me he feels that power too.

His fingers slacken in my hair just a little. “Show me,” he says. “Now.”

Swallowing hard, I lean forward again and find his left hand. I circle my fingers around his wrist, which I can barely hold, and guide him to the top of my panties, brushing his rough fingertips over the lace before plunging them down the front.

He wastes no time. His thick finger sweeps across my clit and inside, filling me sharply. I gasp, and LJ’s eyes close, his right hand gripping my hair and pulling me back, arching my body in front of him as he drives deeper, deeper.

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