Page 17 of Prince of Control
I pull on a skirt and turn to look over my shoulder.
Benjamin is staring openly at my ass.
“Like what you see?” I demand as I zip up the back.
“Malyshka,” he rumbles, scrubbing a hand across his jaw. “You have no idea.”
My nipples pucker, tenting the thin pajama top I’m wearing.
Benjamin’s gaze drops to them, noticing.
I despise the way we, as women raised in the patriarchy, have this sense of waiting to be chosen by a man, waiting to be found sexy, beautiful, whatever. That’s never been me. I know my worth. I’ve never needed or desired the validation of others, especially men. Still, I flush with satisfaction.
Benjamin wants me.
In fact, judging by the expression on his face, he’s downright hungry for me.
Well, I don’t hate that.
I give him my back again, but a tiny smile plays on my face as I take off my pajama top and put on a bra.
I may be here at the whim of the Baranovs, but I’m not completely powerless. There’s always the currency of sex. I don’t intend to use it, but it’s good to know it’s a tool in my pocket.
Baron
I hold the front door for Lara to step outside. Dawn breaks across Whisper with the sky changing from black to gunmetal grey. The sweet smell of grass fills the air. Campus is silent, and the air is still. This is the time I usually take a run or go to target practice, but making my new bride comfortable is top priority today.
Lara brushes past me in a rust-colored pleated mini-skirt and a matching pair of soft leather boots that come up to her knees. Her cream square-necked top perfectly frames her cleavage and hugs her tits, making her waist look tiny. She smells of the coffee she just drank and some warm, butterscotch fragrance I want to lick off her.
I’m dying to put my hands on her waist. To lower my face to her neck again and breathe in her scent.
I fucking loved having her in my bed last night. The most controlling part of me–probably the same part that makes me masterful in the dungeon–wants to hoard her like a possession. I’ve had a lot of women but never wanted to make one mine before. Despite the number of young women who throw themselves at me, none have interested me enough. Not even the ones who have bared themselves–both literally and figuratively–to kneel at my feet and accept pain and humiliation. I feel a tenderness for them. I’m protective of them. But I never wanted to conquer and consume anyone like I do Lara.
Is it just the challenge? The fact that she’s mine but doesn’t want to be?
Or is there something special about her? Like, this was all fated, and some soul-level part of me recognizes that she’s my destiny?
“Baranov House sits on the southeast end of campus,” I tell her. I sweep a hand to indicate where the rest of the campus lies. “Most of your classes are in that direction.” I touch my thumb to the garage keypad, and the door slides up. Lara stays on the porch, watching me doubtfully.
The garage is packed with house member’s bikes, scooters and motorcycles–all good for getting around campus. My motorcycle is electric, so nearly silent, which is nice for an early morning. I put on a helmet and grab another for her, then start it up and drive it over.
“It’s walkable, but for expediency, let’s take my bike, so I can show you the whole campus.” I hand her the helmet.
For expediency, and so I can get close to her.
I hold my hand out to her to help her climb on behind me.
She doesn’t move.
I wait. I’m not going to insist. Lara is mine whether she chose it or not. I don’t have to throw my weight around.
Her jaw clenches, but after a moment, she ignores my hand and puts on the helmet. When she throws her leg over, her mini skirt rides up her thighs and gives me a flash of panties.
My dick gets hard. I can’t help myself–I mold my palm to one of her exposed thighs and squeeze.
She freezes, but before she can react, I remove it and accelerate.
She catches her breath, her hands flying out to grab my waist. I love the feel of her hands on me. I glance back as I start down the road. Her dark hair–worn down today in layered waves, blows back. Her full lips part.
