The Bastard Prince (Crellids Book 1)

by Chloe Walsh

  "And I will kill every last one of them," he warned, voice deathly cold. "And then I will kill you, mi reina."

  "Touché, mi rey. I would expect nothing less," I replied, keeping his heated gaze. "Do we have an understanding?"

  "You are making this difficult for me." Releasing a low growl, he reached around and palmed my ass. "You seem to forget that I do all of this so that I get to keep you. You are the price over my head. You are the prize. Your life is dangled in front of me like a fucking carrot. Every single day. I do not have limits when it comes to you. The shit I do for that man in order to come home at night and see you–"

  "I don't care," I growled. "I want your word."

  "You already have me."

  "Say it." I reached a hand between us and pushed my panties aside. "Give me your word that you'll be faithful now. Not in two years, Trig. Right fucking now."

  Reaching for his thick cock, I boldly stroked the glistening crown over my pussy lips.

  My eyes darkened in warning. "Or I will give this to the next man I see –"

  "I give you my word," he snarled, sounding furious with himself for handing power over to me.

  Closing his big hand over mine, he fisted his shaft, controlling my hand with his.

  "You have my word." Keeping one hand roughly clamped down on my hip to keep my body in place, he continued to stroke himself off with the other, with the thick head of his cock brushing against my pussy lips. "No one else."

  "Good wolf," I praised breathily, reveling in the feel of our hands working together to get him off. "I'll make it worth your while."

  "You already make life worthwhile for me," he replied, leaning back against the cushions at his back. "Now, fuck my mouth with your tongue like the bad lamb you are. Show your wolf what he has to look forward to."

  "I'm not done negotiating," I moaned, shifting my hips closer to his, secretly praying for him to slip up and lose control. "I want something else from you."

  "You want, want, want," he growled, working himself over with quicker, rougher strokes. "You take, take, take, corderito. This is not the way it works in our world. Women do not make such demands."

  "We've never followed their rules," I moaned, rocking against him. "I'm seventeen now, and you're almost twenty. We're old enough to do this, Trig. You need to speak to your father. Claim me. Initiate me. And get us the hell out of here!"

  "Not a chance." He shook his head and hissed out a sexy as hell growl. "I am not taking you anywhere near that room until I have no choice. I still have time. He gave me until your eighteenth birthday."

  "No. That's almost a whole year away." Licking my lips, I rocked my hips, whimpering when his cock slid achingly close to my slit. "I can't wait that long." I moaned again, uncaring of the other people around us. "I'll die if you make me wait any longer."

  "You are determined to fuck everything up for me," he snarled, pumping his cock so hard that my body vibrated from the friction shooting up my arm. A flood of pre-cum trickled from the head and he hissed out a snarl. "Fuck –"

  Growling, he gripped my hip painfully tight, aimed his cock at my pussy lips, and came hard, shooting his cum all over my pussy.

  “Eighteen,” he offered gruffly, reaching a hand between us to finger his release into my tight hole. “I will not bend,” he hissed, continuing to push his seed deep inside me. “End of discussion, mi reina…"

  I was losing my fucking mind in this room, combing through every memory I had of Trigger Laperro, ranging from the very first day I saw him in the courtyard of his father's estate, to the last time he fucked me – this morning.

  In the shower.

  Twice.

  Several weeks had passed since the incident downstairs and I hadn't stepped foot outside the protective barrier of Trigger's personal living quarters since– quarters that were guarded night and day by his men.

  He refused to speak to me about what happened in the meeting, but I knew his father had something to do with it.

  It was a test of some sort.

  And I had a sick feeling that I passed.

  Deep down inside, I knew my being locked up in here was a direct result of what happened that day, it was Trig's way of protecting me, but I felt like a glorified prisoner.

  I couldn’t breathe all day long and the only reprieve I got was when he crawled into bed at night and fucked me to sleep.

  Yeah, I was so pathetic that I craved my captor’s touch.

  Having him inside of my body, stretching me out… it was all I could think about.

  We went about our twisted routine in a sick unison of silence.

  By day, Trig played his role of big-man gangster in his father's underworld of crime, and by night, I played mine.

  Whore to the bastard prince.

  I didn’t have friends to distract me from my life.

  I didn’t have a life, period.

  I could count on one hand the number of times I had left the estate in the past two years.

  Twice.

  After Trigger left me behind, everything went pretty dark and the day trips and excursions from the estate had swiftly demised.

  All I had in life was my books and my thoughts.

  And him.

  Okay, so I guess I had Patrice, too, considering he guarded me when my intended was out, but that was a bust since he was still holding a grudge on behalf of his precious jefe.

  Whenever I tried to spark up a conversation with the hulking bodyguard, he always responded with one-word grunts or, worse, he didn’t answer at all.

  He was a real catch, that guy.

  Lonely, I fell back into the habit of watching Trig constantly. Obsessed with every single detail of my childhood-sweetheart-turned-enemy, I found myself honing in on everything about him, from his choice of socks each morning, to the way he shaved his jaw, to the sounds he made when he was coming hard inside of me.

  I stalked him like a madwoman, never truly knowing what I was planning to do next. I couldn’t seem to garner control over my emotions, never quite sure of whether I wanted to fight him or fuck him.

  Deranged would be the favored word to describe my current mental state.

  I found myself going over every memory I had of us; the bad, the worse, and the downright bloody – and there had been a lot of bloody over the years.

  His shoulder had an Ashton-shaped scar and I wasn't sorry.

  He raped me and I stabbed him.

  He held me down in front of his father and I held a gun to his head.

  It was a tiny sliver of retaliation he'd allowed me to have.

  Because I knew Trigger had given me that – he had allowed me to take revenge on him – and that infuriated me the most.

  He never brought it up again, though. He never mentioned what I did to him that night – not even when he made me mad, taunting me with his mind games of other whores, and I poked him in his Ashton-inflicted cut.

  He was a clever wolf.

  Now, we were living side by side, not as man and wife like I had always hoped.

  No, now we were mobster and whore.

  I had his protection and he had my body. It was a decent exchange given the world I had been born into.

  Most women in my position would be eternally grateful to be claimed by a man that didn’t beat or loan their bodies out.

  Most women would be grateful for the sanctuary of a safe haven with their own guard.

  I was not most women.

  I was not satisfied with being his live-in whore when I had once been his equal.

  "Your doing, not mine…"

  Today was Saturday, and like every other Saturday that had passed since we met nine years ago, Trigger dressed in his finest suit, ready for confession.

  Concealing his gun holster, he combed his black hair into slick, sexy-as-hell submission, placed an ancient set of rosary beads in his shirt pocket, and grabbed his prayer book from the drawer of his nightstand.

  Trig offered me a devilish wink and, without another word,
moved for the door, leaving me on his bed, staring after him.

  "Wait!" I called out, scrambling off the bed and hurrying after him. "I want to come with you."

  Not bothering to answer me, he snatched a set of keys from Patrice and continued a conversation with him in the doorway of the bedroom.

  "Yo sabes lo que tienes que hacer. No dejes a nadie a dentro o afuera de esta habitación. Si él viene, envíalo lejos. Si él persiste, llámame."

  "You already know what to do. Do not let anyone in or out of this room. If he comes, send him away. If he persists, call me," I parroted their conversation back to them in English, word for word. "Fools, why bother speaking in a different language when you know I can translate?"

  "Ella es un dolor en el culo," Patrice grumbled.

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Sí," Trig chuckled. "Ella es."

  "Tell this asshole that I can understand every word he says. Tell him that his precious jefe taught me," I growled, vibrating with frustration, as I tugged on his arm like a freaking toddler demanding attention. "And maybe I wouldn't be such a pain in the ass – as he so-kindly put it – if you stopped ignoring me!"

  Trig's lips twitched and I could tell that he was fighting a smile. Finally, he turned his attention to me. "Yes, corderito?" His eyes twinkled with amusement. "How can I please you today?"

  "Take me with you," I whined, craning my neck back to look up at his sickeningly handsome face. The instant his dark eyes locked on mine, my clit throbbed with excitement. I was disgusting. "Please," I added, tightening my hold on his arm. "I'm bored."

  "You do not pray," he stated, watching me with an amused expression. "Why do you wish to come to mass?"

  "Because I want to come, that's why," I huffed, folding my arms across my chest. "Can I come or not?"

  He smirked down at me. "Not."

  Irritation rose to life inside of me. "I'm not a dog, Trig. You can't just leave me here in this room all day and come home to pet me at night."

  "Would you like me to fuck you like a dog, sweetheart?" he asked softly, trailing his finger down my cheek. "When I come home to pet you tonight?"

  A flood of heat filled my body, pussy clenching with need. "That's not funny," I breathed, not caring that his ape of a henchmen was standing beside us. "I'm bored and I want out of this damn room, Trig."

  "And you want me to get you out? To entertain you?" he asked, smug smile still firmly in place. "You want me to save you again, corderito?"

  Bristling, I resisted the urge to reach up and poke his shoulder. "Just take me."

  "Take you? I need to pray, corderito," he shot back. "I cannot fuck right now."

  "You know what I meant," I ground out through clenched teeth.

  "Yes, I know." Taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tipped my face up to his and said, "Now, be a good little lamb for my man," before pressing a featherlight kiss to my lips and sauntering away. "And I will see you on your knees tonight."

  "I hate you!" I screamed after him, both furious and aroused. "Wait –" Hurrying after him, I grabbed his hand. "Are you really going to church?"

  "Where else would I be going?" he chuckled.

  "Fucking whores," I spat out. "Are you?"

  "Am I fucking whores?" Tilting his head to one side, he let out an exaggerated sigh. "Not presently."

  I narrowed my eyes. "I will kill you."

  Chuckling, he shook his head and pulled free from my grasp. "Practice your barking for me, corderito," he called over his shoulder. "And take a nap. You won't be sleeping much tonight."

  "Mantener a mi esposa a salvo," he told Patrice. "No le pongas un dedo encima. No en enojo ni en lujuria."

  The door closed behind him and I let out a scream. "Bastard!"

  A loud snort came from Patrice and I swung my gaze to glare at him.

  "Oh, you'll be laughing," I seethed, moving for the closet. "When he realizes what you've done."

  Patrice's brows furrowed. "I, uh, no comprendo?"

  "Grab your keys, home-boy," I hissed. "We're following your jefe, and if he's stepping out on me, I'm going cut both of your cocks off and feed them to each other. Comprendo that!"

  10

  "Jefe is... as they say…done to kill you," Patrice warned when he pulled the Bentley up outside St. Marco's Cathedral forty minutes later, after an intense showdown in which I had threatened the poor man with every dirty trick in the book.

  False accusations.

  Body dismemberment.

  Lies.

  Tears.

  When none of that worked, I'd lunged for the door and shocked the both of us when he didn’t physically restrain me.

  "No le pongas un dedo encima. No en enojo ni en lujuria," Trig had instructed.

  Do not put a finger on her… Not in anger or in lust.

  Patrice followed his orders to the letter.

  "And Patrice," he grumbled, sparking up a cigarette from his perch in the driver's seat. "Jefe kill Patrice."

  Rolling my eyes, I unfastened my seatbelt and reached for the door. "Don’t worry," I coaxed, pushing the door open and climbing out. "I'll protect you from the wolf."

  "Perra loca," Patrice grumbled, shaking his head. "Panocha peligroso."

  Crazy bitch.

  Dangerous pussy.

  Deciding against standing around and arguing with the over-sized hulk, I closed the car door and hurried through the arched doorway of the church.

  Breathing in the smell of incense and old people, I slipped through the heavy double doors and into the almost-empty church.

  Candles were lit everywhere, and the peace that encompassed my body was potent.

  Shivering, I slowly made my way to the altar, passing rows of empty pews, eyes roaming over every straggler I passed in search of Trig.

  My body was on high alert, my heart pounding harder with every step I took.

  I couldn’t see him and it was making me feel ridiculously frantic.

  This is unhealthy, my mind tried to bargain. You need to stop with this obsession.

  I couldn't.

  I was driven out of my fucking mind with jealously and the thought of him with another woman made me want to scream, right here, in the middle of the church.

  Taking a left at the front of the altar, I moved for the next row of pews, only to freeze on the spot when I watched Trig step inside the small, wooden confession booth and close the door behind him.

  Relief and hunger roared to life inside of me. Feeling frantic, I glanced around the church and found the priest – the exact same priest from the estate – sitting with a weeping woman a few rows back from the altar.

  Moving on instinct and burning curiosity, I hurried over to the confession booth and slipped inside the door next to the one Trig had entered.

  Closing the door shut behind me, I sank down on the hard, wooden bench, breathing hard and fast in the darkness of the small confinement.

  "¿Padre, estás ahí?" I heard Trig ask from behind the partition separating us and I slapped a hand over my mouth, panicked.

  Father, are you there?

  Brain on overdrive, I did the only thing I could in the moment; I reached forward and lifted the tiny window shutter.

  A tiny stream of light streamed through the little paperback sized shutter.

  "He estado teniendo antojos, padre," he began to speak and I sagged in relief, shoulders drooping. "Antojos sexuales con una mujer. Con varias mujeres. No puedo conseguir suficiente panocha."

  …I've been having cravings, father. Sexual cravings with a woman. With several women. I can't get enough pussy...

  I stiffened, horrified.

  Trig continued, "Quiero follar cada minuto del día. Quiero poner mi polla en cada puta que encuentre. Tengo una puta en casa. Ella me pertenece, padre."

  …I want to fuck every minute of the day. I want to put my cock in every whore I find. But I have a whore of my own at home. She belongs to me, father…

  Furious, I balled my hands into fists, hardly
able to hear him through the thundering of my pulse.

  "Soy dueño de su cuerpo, pero ella es demasiado pequeña para mí. Su panocha es demasiado apretado para tomar mi polla como necesito. Pero deberías ver cuando mi puta está chupando mi polla arrodillada.”

  …I own her body, but she is too small for me. Her pussy is too tight to take my cock like I need. But you should see when my whore is sucking my cock on her knees…

  He made a low groaning sound and my mouth fell open. "Grande labios rojos alrededor de mi eje," he drawled huskily. "Cristo, padre, me estoy poniendo duro solo de pensar en los pechos pequeños de mi puta. Tal vez debería compartir mi puta con mis hombres para estirar su pequeño coño virgen para mí."

  …Big red lips around my shaft... Christ, father, I'm getting hard just thinking about my bitch's small breasts. Maybe I should share my slut with my men to stretch out her little, virgin pussy for me…

  Nuh-uh.

  Oh hell no!

  I'd heard more than enough.

  Bastard!

  Springing to my feet, I moved for the door, only to yelp in surprise when a hand shot through the window shutter and clamped around my wrist.

  "Did you think that I did not know it was you, corderito?" Trig purred, tightening his hold on my wrist. "I can smell you anywhere."

  "Wh-what?"

  "You have a scent," he growled thickly. "Unlike any other woman. A wolf can always tell when his lamb is near."

  Well shit.

  "Why did you follow me?" he demanded then, keeping ahold of my hand. "Hmm?"

  "I thought you were –"

  "You thought I was fucking whores?" he filled in, sounding amused. "You came to the wrong location for that particular rouse. Next time you want to catch me in the act, try a whorehouse."

  "You bastard," I hissed, digging my nails into his wrist. "I'm going to –"

  "Kill me?" He sounded amused. "Sí, and I am going to fuck you to death."

  My mouth fell open. "Over my dead body."

  "No, corderito…" He released my hand, and moments later, the door sprang open and I was being dragged out of the priest's confessional section and pulled into his. "You will be over my very much alive body," he growled, closing the door and cloaking us in semi-darkness. He sank down on the bench in front of me. "With my cock buried inside of you."