Page 28 of American Prince (New Camelot Trilogy 2)
to the sickness and bite her. I bite her cheeks and her neck, I bite her earlobes and the edges of her jaw. I bite her like I want to eat her, like she’s a thing to be consumed or used, not loved.
But I do love her. I can feel that love, just as present as the sickness, as the monster, all one and the same.
Fuck, I’m hard.
I let go of her throat and I hear her struggle to take in air through her nose. I press my ear to her chest and hear her heart thudding, a bird’s wing beating against the inside of her ribs. And then I bite her breasts, biting the bottoms through the silk of her dress, biting the bare skin of the tops, and then I take the dress in both hands and tear it down to her waist. Her nipples are furled and tight, their usual pink hue looking crimson-dark in the moonlight. I see the blooming crescents of my bite marks on her tender skin, and the sight of it is like blood to a wolf. Some primal part of me growls in hunger.
After I pull off my shirt, I palm my cock as I give one of her tits a rough squeeze. Then I start to unfasten my pants, and that’s when she does it. She bucks underneath me, catching me in the lower stomach with her feet, and it knocks the wind right out of me. I stumble back with a muttered fuck, genuinely pissed, and she tries to wriggle to the far edge of the bed.
There’s no thought, no consideration about what happens next. It’s pure, unfettered male instinct. Which is why I’m going to hell.
I leap over the near side of the bed and I get my hand on her upper arm, yanking her hard onto her back. Within an instant, I’m straddling her, my knees sinking into the mattress on either side of her squirming body, and I’m gripping her face with one hand as I lean down and speak low into her ear.
“Is that how you want to do it?” I ask, and in that moment, I don’t know who I am, if I’m Embry or Melwas or Ash, or Ash pretending to be Melwas, or me pretending to be Ash. All I know is that I’m angry and aroused, and the woman I want is trying to get away from me.
Greer pauses her struggling, blinking up at me.
I ask her again. “Is this how you want it, little princess? Because I’m not afraid to take it from you like this.”
Which is a lie. I’m afraid of myself. I’m afraid of the monster inside.
She gives me a slow, deliberate nod.
I bite her neck, hard enough to make her cry out, and the way her cries sound through the gag is arresting. Hypnotizing. I bite again and again, still straddling her, and she starts to thrash underneath me, trying to get away, and God, it just stirs me up even more, wrestling her arms down, clamping my thighs around her hips, biting and biting and biting. My cock is so hard that it’s worked its way out of the unbuttoned waistband of my pants, and as I grapple with her, the silk of her dress brushes against it over and over again. It’s soft and warm from her skin and I can’t wait any longer. I know Melwas or Ash or the monster inside me wouldn’t either.
I give one of her breasts a vicious slap, and it seems to stun her, which is what I want. Her squirming stops, and then I’m using her hips to flip her onto her stomach.
She knows what I want, and so she wriggles even harder, trying to throw me off of her, but I just laugh low and mean into her ear as I finish my work and rip the dress all the way down to the hem, leaving the ruined silk in a tangle around her taped ankles.
I shove my pants down past my hips, freeing my cock, and then I slide my hand into that white-gold hair and yank her head back. My other hand smacks her ass with a loud crack and then goes searching for her cunt. I find what Melwas never would; a cunt that’s swollen and eager for me, a cunt hot and slick and wet, so wet that the soft outer folds of her are wet too.
“I knew you wanted it,” I taunt, sliding two rough fingers inside her. For a moment, she forgets our game and arches toward me, pushing herself deeper onto my fingers, shivering when I curl them inside her.
I don’t forget our game though. Releasing her hair, I lean over her and pull down her gag, shoving my fingers into her mouth, just far enough to make her uncomfortable. She tries to squirm away, and again I trap her with my thighs clamped on either side of her hips.
“Do you taste that?” I ask, pressing the pads of my fingertips onto her tongue. “That’s the taste of the pussy I’m about to fuck.”
She bites my fingers and glares back at me as much as she can from her position on her stomach. Laughing, I pull my fingers from her mouth.
“Fuck you,” she spits out.
I smack her ass again—hard—and she cries out. “I’m glad you’re getting the idea, sweetheart.” I run both of my hands along the generous curves of her ass, palming and gripping and pushing the cheeks apart to see the sweet heaven inside. She’s wet enough now that I can smell her, that smell so particular to women, and I let out a low growl.
I tilt her hips up with a quick, jerking motion, brace one hand by her head, and fist my cock, guiding it to the wet entrance between her legs.
“Please don’t,” she pleads. I glance at her hands, where her fingers are curled into fists under her chin; no sign of snapping fingers. “Please. My husband will pay anything, anything you want.”
Her husband.
A vicious spike of jealousy pierces my chest as I pierce her, real jealousy, real anger, creeping its way into the make believe. My wide crown pushes past her folds, tunneling forcefully deeper, and just like the first time we had sex, I give into the savage urge to thrust and penetrate, to stab and spear. To claim.
She doesn’t cry out, she seems to have lost her breath, her mouth parted and her eyes closed, and the goose bumps are back, along with the shivers.
“Your husband isn’t here,” I whisper harshly as I press in as deep as I can go. It’s a snug fit. Her ankles are still taped, keeping her thighs together, and fuck, it makes her tight, every clamping inch a new kind of heaven I’ve never felt before. But this doesn’t soothe the monster, smooth away the real jealousy. Not even close.
Because I’ll never be her husband. I’ll never have what he has, I’ll never get to hear that word from Greer’s lips and know with certainty she means me.
“He’s not here,” I repeat, driving my hips into her ass, punishing her, punishing myself. “But you’re going to take me anyway. You’re going to feel every inch of me inside you. You are going to know that you belong to me.”
