Page 45 of A Fierce Princess

“What do you mean, Anna?” he says.

I sigh. “I just mean…it’s not always easy…being a royal,” I try to explain.

“Is it really that bad?” he asks.

The scotch is starting to warm me up, and it may also be making me less guarded. I scoot down and turn so I’m lying on the bench with my legs over the arms and my head in his lap. I stare up at him, and he looks down at me with amusement.

“Well, Dr. Logan,” I start, clearing my throat, and he chuckles. “It’s not that bad. But it can be stressful at times. I’m supposed to be this perfect little princess. You know? The one in the photos from my mother’s funeral that made the world weep, the one that was always photographed being silly at state affairs, the one that was supposed to grow up to be perfect in every way possible.” I sigh again.

“It’s a lot to live up to,” I admit, gazing up at his eyes. His hand comes to rest on my belly and I feel it flutter in response.

His eyes grow hooded and his gaze darkens. “You are perfect, Anna, in every way possible. And the fact that you are a rebel makes you even more perfect,” he says in a low voice that sends chills throughout my body.

“No, I’m not,” I answer.

“You are to me,” he replies, lifting my head in one of his hands as he leans down to kiss me. Just before he does so, he pauses. “I shouldn’t do this,” he breathes.

“Yes, yes, you should,” I coerce, reaching behind his head and forcing his lips against mine.

I sigh against his skin. His lips caress mine and his tongue darts out to taste me. I open my mouth, giving him full access to plunder it. He complies, and I meet each thrust of his tongue, tasting the scotch on it. I feel weightless, cradled in his arms. It’s a heady sensation that I’m not sure is caused by the kiss, the scotch, or a combination of the two.

His strong arms pull me up, and I willingly straddle his lap, feeling his erection press against the juncture of my thighs. I grind against him as we continue to claim one another’s mouths. His hands travel along my body, squeezing and caressing. By the time we pull back to breathe, I’m panting with need.

“Please,” I beg as I rest my forehead against his, my eyes closed.

“Not like this, Princess,” he says as he strokes my hair.

“Yes, just like this,” I urge.

“Anna,” he growls as I grind against him.

“Logan,” I whisper against his mouth before kissing him again. His hands grip my hair, and he angles my face to his liking. He takes control, and for the briefest moments, I can feel his power, the power of an heir to the throne. He’s taking what he wants. He’s taking what is his.

I feel his hands move back down my body, searching for the hem of my shirt. He finds it, and I feel his calloused fingers grip the flesh at my waist. I moan against his mouth. I want more of his touch. He knows this and slowly runs his fingers up my rib cage and skimming the underside of my breasts. I jump at the sensation, and he stills. I nod against him, giving him permission to continue. He pushes up the cups of my bra and lifts my breasts, running a thumb across each erect nipple. I whimper and push against him, wanting more. I can feel him grow harder beneath me, and I want to feel him, taste him.

“Take me back to your room,” I murmur against his lips.

“Anna,” he says. “I don’t have…I didn’t bring anything.”

I pause, stilling in his arms. It takes me a very long moment to understand what he’s saying. I lick my lips and pull back to look into his eyes. The desire in them is so thick, it weights his lids.

“I-I’m on birth control…” I say. I hesitate, unsure if I should tell him what he’ll find out soon if we do this. I don’t say anything more.

He caresses my jaw. “Are you sure?” he asks. The desire in his eyes wanes for a moment, and he looks…concerned.

I nod. “Yes, please,” I beg. I want to tell him that I’ve been lusting after him for nearly ten days, that I wanted him from the first time I saw his photo, but I refrain.

He picks me up in his arms, and I wrap my legs tightly around him. He kisses me and leaves the scotch and glasses sitting under the bench as he carries me back to the secret passage, down the steps, through the passageway, and when I tell him to press on the wall, he does. We are suddenly back in his bedchamber. Only one dim lamp on the bedside table is lit. It creates shadows around the room. He lays me gently on the bed and steps back. My legs hang apart over the side of the bed. My shirt is still bunched up at my waist. I start to push down my leggings, but he stops me with a look. I freeze.

“Let me,” he says softly as he gently pulls them down my legs, removing my boots, socks, underwear, and the offending leggings all in one movement. I’ve never been shy about my body. To be honest, I’ve never really thought about it. He places his hands on my shirt, and I lean up so he can pull it over my head. Then, he reaches around my back and releases the clasps on my bra, freeing my breasts. I lie back down and gaze up at him. If desire could be gauged by how a person looks at another, I would say that no man has ever desired a woman more than Logan desires me right now. The wonder and need written on his face are palpable.

“You are the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen, Anna,” he says to me as he runs a single finger from between my breasts, down my belly, and then he stops. I force my legs apart farther because that’s where I want that finger. I don’t know if he doesn’t get my subtle movement or if he chooses to ignore it, because he keeps his finger just below my belly button as he continues to scan every inch of my body.

“Logan,” I finally say with a slight moan as I rock my body, seeking the friction I so desperately desire.

“Give me a moment,” he says, as he moves his finger, tracing back up my belly and around each breast. “You’re perfect,” he states.

He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips before running his tongue along my neckline. I shudder as his tongue moves down to my right breast, and he takes my nipple between his lips and sucks. I arch into his mouth as he grazes my skin with his teeth. I cry out into the silence of his room. I know I should be quiet, but at this moment, I can no longer control myself. I no longer care if Pete is looking for me or if my father finds us, because I want Logan so badly at this moment that I would sell my soul to the devil himself.

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