The Princess Trap

by Talia Hibbert

  “Hardly.”

  “Definitely,” she said firmly. “Don’t let anyone convince you that your birthright is in question.”

  When he replied, he sounded surprised but pleased. Like an early sunrise, unexpected warmth slowly dawning. “Cherry Pie,” he said. “Have you come over all monarchist?”

  “Well, no. But as long as you weirdos aren’t running the country—”

  “Charming, I’m sure.”

  “—I see no reason for anyone to deny the reality of who you are. Your existence is just as valid as your brother’s and your sister’s.”

  For a moment, he was quiet. She started to worry that, in the midst of her unexpected passion on this topic, she’d said the wrong thing. But then his hand came groping towards hers in the dark, bumping against her hip, her shoulder, her forearm. She helped him out and slid her palm into his. He squeezed. He didn’t let go.

  “Kathryn and I had a disagreement with regard to the, ah, future of our arrangement. She wanted something more serious. I didn’t. We argued. It wasn’t over—not in my mind, anyway. But clearly it was in hers. She invited me over, initiated our usual… activities. Encouraged me to be particularly vocal throughout, not that I noticed at the time. It was only after, when I came home, that I found out she’d recorded the whole thing. Live. It’s all the rage on social media. There wasn’t much to see in the video, but there was plenty to hear, and she’d added a few helpful comments. Enough to convince the world of my… perversions.”

  If that last word sparked an inappropriate flare of curiosity in Cherry’s gut, it was overpowered by the wave of outrage she felt as she processed that information. “What the fuck? That’s horrible. Really fucking horrible. When was this?”

  “About eight months ago. Most of the attention died down recently, but…” Ruben laughed. The sound was bitter. “It’ll certainly stay with me for a while.”

  “I see. Is that why, when we were caught together…”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. I thought I’d gotten over it. Weathered the storm and whatever. But when I saw that fucking camera I felt like I was choking.”

  “Jesus. I’m sorry.” Cherry bit her lip, her stomach twisting. “Kathryn sounds like a fucking delight.”

  Ruben squeezed her hand. “I can feel you fuming over there.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said brightly.

  “I have a theory,” he said, his voice mild, “that under the right circumstances, you would be capable of murder. I should add that this aspect of your personality is one I appreciate.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “Good to know. I can count on your support at my trial then?”

  “Cherry.” She could hear the smile in his voice, saw him in her mind’s eye shaking his head. “Listen. As easy as it would be to let you think that I’m the victim... I’m not. I deserve everything Kathryn did to me.”

  She frowned. His words made no sense, but his voice was steady. She sensed his unease in the way his hand curled around hers, the way the mattress shifted as he fidgeted. He was serious. He really believed that he deserved it. As if anyone could ever deserve it.

  “Ruben,” she said, voice soft. It was a voice reserved for delicate things, injured and afraid, but she used it with a man big as a mountain, because he needed it.

  People are many things at once; that’s the beauty of humanity.

  “I’m assuming,” she said carefully, “That by perversions you mean—”

  “Kinks,” he interrupted, his voice clipped. “And bisexuality. And… no, I think that’s it.”

  Cherry swallowed, her chest tightening as she imagined what that would be like. To have your private self exposed to a nation already slavering to tear you apart. She was starting to think that back in England, when he’d dragged her into his mess, when he’d trapped her and tied her to him… he’d somehow been trying to protect her. Wasn’t that a novel fucking idea?

  She licked her lips and tried to make him see. “You can’t possibly think that anyone deserves that kind of treatment.”

  “I used her.” He said it plainly, without hesitation. “I used her, and I let her think... God, I don’t know. Kathryn is a difficult woman. I won’t pretend she’s pleasant, but no-one forced me to sleep with her. I did it, knowing I felt nothing for her, because I convinced myself that she and I were the same. And really, I was right; we are the same.” He barked out a laugh. “We’re both pieces of shit.

  “When I told her that I didn’t want a relationship, she assumed it was because of her position. She’s new money, her family is messy, and she doesn’t care. That’s one of the reasons I wanted her; I respected her attitude. But she thought I didn’t want something more because I looked down on her or something. What was I supposed to say? No, I just don’t like you? What the hell was I doing, sleeping with a woman I didn’t like?” He sighed. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re not here to listen to my twisted ramblings.”

  “I’m here to get to know you,” she said softly. “And I don’t know if you have much experience with the whole friendship thing, but it usually involves listening to twisted ramblings.”

  He rolled onto his side, the mattress dipping as he faced her. She could feel the ghost of his breath against her cheek as he whispered, “Is that what we’re doing? The friendship thing?”

  Her throat felt dry, scratchy, but she forced the words out anyway. “Isn’t that what you want?”

  There was a pause. A long, long pause. But finally, he said, “I would be grateful for your friendship.”

  She didn’t miss the way that he’d manoeuvred around the question. And she definitely didn’t miss the hope that swelled within her at that realisation.

  Fucking ridiculous. He’d just given her a thousand more reasons not to trust him.

  Then he lay back and said, “I hope it made her feel better, at least. That would be something.”

  Cherry sat up, suddenly infuriated by his attitude. She’d heard the waver in his voice when he’d described the situation, but still he acted as if this Kathryn woman was some delicate fucking flower, innocent of all responsibility.

  “Are you telling me that you’d do this to someone?” She snapped. “That you’d expose someone’s intimate moments like that? Spill secrets and… and do your best to humiliate someone who’d trusted you?”

  He shot up too, the mattress squeaking under his weight. “Of course not! I would never!” She’d never heard him sound so vehement.

  “Right!” She said, exasperated. “Because it would be fucking reprehensible, and you know that. Some people like to say that all’s fair in love in war. Those people cannot be trusted with power. It sounds like you were an absolute arse, and you can feel guilty about that—you should. But what she did to you is a separate issue. You didn’t deserve it. No-one deserves that. Do you understand?”

  He reached for her. She felt it, the same way she felt his gaze or his smile. Even before his fingers brushed against her cheek, she knew what he was doing.

  “You sound so fierce,” he murmured. “Cherry Pie.”

  “You have to stop calling me that.” She’d meant to be firm, but her voice was worryingly soft.

  “Why?”

  “My dad calls me that.”

  “I could say something inappropriate, but I’ll restrain myself.”

  She burst out laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Fine. No Cherry Pie. How about… Cherry Blossom?”

  She faked a gag as his hand slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck. “No. Another dad name.”

  “I don’t think it’s fair of him to monopolise all the cherry-related nicknames. I’m going to file a complaint.”

  “He did mention wanting to speak with you…”

  Ruben froze. “Fuck. How long do you think I can put that off?”

  She laughed again. Her chest felt light all of a sudden, but the weight of his hand ag
ainst her skin felt heavy. Deliciously heavy.

  “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out. He’s really not that scary.”

  “So you say. What about Cherry Pop?”

  “Taken.”

  “Of course it is,” he sighed. His fingers found the knot of her scarf at the base of her neck. “What’s this?”

  “Scarf.”

  “To sleep in?”

  “Yeah. It’s silk, so my hair doesn’t dry out.”

  She could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, “So delicate, hm? A born princess.”

  She rolled her eyes. Tried not to think about the fact that she was a fake princess. A fake princess-to-be. Whatever.

  “Cherry,” he whispered. “I like touching you.” His finger trailed down the back of her neck, along her spine. It dipped under her T-shirt, dragging down the fabric. She arched her back and shivered.

  “I know you do.”

  “Oh you know, do you?”

  “I noticed, yeah.”

  He wrapped a hand around her throat and pushed, gentle but insistent, until she lay back against the bed. Cherry tried to ignore the way her nipples tightened and her clit throbbed, brought instantly to life by… What? By the casual way he controlled her? By the restrained strength in his grip? Or by the way he lay down beside her, his chest against her side, his muscled forearm lying between her breasts?

  His lips pressed against the hollow just beneath her ear, finding the sweet spot with unnerving precision in the pitch-black. “Do you like it when I touch you, Cherry?”

  She swallowed, her throat dry. And even though her mind was scrambling and bright white stars were bursting behind her eyes, she forced herself to speak. “It’s obvious that I do.”

  “Is it?” His voice was low and soothing, but with a thread of command that had her pulse quickening. “I don’t think it’s obvious. Not until you tell me. So tell me.” His grip on her throat tightened, his fingers pressing against her pulse.

  White fire shot through her veins as she gasped out, “Yes, I like it.”

  “Tell me what you like. Tell me exactly what you like.” Always, he wanted more. More of her.

  She loved that.

  “I don’t know,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “Show me what you can do, and I’ll tell you what I like.”

  His tongue slid out to trace circles against her skin, the place where it grew thin and sensitive at the base of her throat. “Is that a challenge, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “It is.”

  Chapter 19

  Ruben squeezed his eyes shut at her words, willing his stampeding pulse to slow and his lust to fade. Just a little bit, until it became something he could handle, something he was used to.

  Because right now, his need for Cherry was almost scaring him.

  Nothing happened; she lay there, the curve of her hip a breath away from his aching cock, her throat shifting as she swallowed beneath his hand. For all her fucking mouth, she liked this. She liked the power exchange.

  “I think I know what you want,” he said softly. “But thinking isn’t good enough. I need to know. And you’re not sure yet. Are you?”

  “I… I don’t know. Not exactly. No.” Her voice shook. Not much; the slight waver was almost imperceptible, but he noticed. And, because he was a twisted fuck, he liked it.

  “You trust me?”

  She hesitated.

  He ignored the way that hesitation tore into his heart and clarified. “You know I won’t hurt you? I won’t do anything you don’t want?”

  “Yes,” she said, and the certainty in her voice almost soothed the pain in his chest. Almost.

  “Good. Then let me tell you what I want.” He dragged his hand away from her throat, down her chest, until he reached the soft mounds of her tits through her thin T-shirt. Her nipples were hard and thick beneath the fabric. He rolled one between his thumb and forefinger, and she arched her back and let out a moan. Ruben’s cock swelled, almost painful now, and he fought not to release a moan of his own.

  Couldn’t let her know what she did to him. Not yet.

  His voice was calm and steady as he continued. “I want control. I want you to give yourself to me, because you know I’ll look after you. Understand?”

  She swallowed. “I’m… I can look after myself.”

  “Of course you can,” he soothed. “You always do.” He released her nipple, running his hand slowly down her body. “You look after yourself and everyone else. You’re the smartest person in every room. You’re the most capable person I know. But you don’t have to handle everything.” He savoured the swell of her belly, the soft rise and fall of her flesh, on the way to his ultimate goal.

  His palm slid between her legs, cupping her pussy over her underwear, his thumb and little finger grazing the soft skin of her thighs. “I can handle this. I can make you come. I can make you scream.” His fingers explored the cotton gusset of her underwear, the only thing keeping him from what he really wanted.

  She was wet. Fucking soaked, the thin fabric damp and sticky. The knowledge made his balls tighten, made his cock ache to sink inside her. “Don’t you get tired of thinking all the time, sweetheart? Of figuring out how everything should go and where everything should be?”

  “Yes,” she sighed. Her hips lifted slightly, pumping against his palm.

  He growled, pushing her hips against the mattress. “Don’t move. You take what I give you. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she said again, her voice thick with lust.

  He rubbed her slowly through the cotton, let her feel how much he adored her. How much he needed her. When had that happened? He didn’t have time to think about it. “Let me look after you, sweetheart. You don’t have to control everything. Let me do this.” He held his breath as he waited for her answer.

  Maybe it was counterintuitive, but Ruben had only ever wanted the submission of women who didn’t need him. Women who could live just fine without him, but didn’t want to. Women for whom handing over the reins was both a relief and a sacrifice. He wanted to own Cherry, because she already owned him. And she didn’t even know it.

  Finally, she touched him. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, the one trapped between her thighs. She didn’t push him away. She squeezed, as if she wanted more.

  He wouldn’t give her more. He wanted to tease her. He wanted her to beg. He wanted to spread her legs and fuck her until they both passed out.

  Instead, he said, “Have you ever done this before? Power play?”

  “No,” she admitted, her voice low. “But I know the theory.”

  That made him smile. “Been researching, love?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “Good. Let’s talk about it.” He’d meant to go slow, but his control was fraying. She was so fucking sweet, so sharp, and he wanted every piece of her. So he hooked a finger beneath the edge of her underwear, pushed it aside, and dragged his thumb down the hot, slick seam of her pussy.

  Jesus fucking Christ, she was wetter than he’d thought. She inhaled sharply at his touch, her fingers tightening around his wrist. He’d be surprised if she didn’t cut off his circulation. He should tell her to let go, tell her exactly where to put her hands, but something about her—about the unexpected innocence beneath all her knowing smiles and those swaying hips—got him harder than control alone. So he let her cling to him as he explored the silken folds of her cunt, spreading her wetness around.

  “I like control,” he said, his voice slightly raw. “I like rough sex. I don’t want to accept your submission. I want to work for it.” He hesitated. Forced himself to continue, because truth mattered. “I want to take it. Oh, and I have an oral fetish. You understand?”

  “Yes,” she gasped. But she didn’t move. If it weren’t for the way her voice unravelled on that single word, he wouldn’t even know that she was falling apart.

  Suddenly he wanted, more than anything, to see her face.

  “Tell me what you want,” he said
gently.

  She said, “I want you to fuck me.”

  “No.” He dragged his thumb up to the swollen nub of her clit. “You have to tell me what you like. And you have to tell me your safe word. Just in case.” He hovered over her clit, waiting for her to push up, into him, to force the pressure he knew she wanted. To misbehave.

  “I, um… I want you to be in charge.”

  “I’m always in charge, Cherry. You know that.”

  Despite her claim, she responded with sharp defiance. “I certainly do not.”

  “Watch it, sweetheart.” His voice was hard, and he felt her shiver. “Now tell me your safe word.”

  “Milkshake.”

  “Catchy.”

  “Shut up.”

  He lifted his palm and brought it down against her mound, firm rather than hard. Her hips jerked up as she released a low moan, her nails digging into his wrist.

  He kept his voice mild as he said, “Hard limits?”

  “Um…” She was panting now. “No serious pain. Just a little bit.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, finding her effortlessly now, even in the dark. “I won’t hurt you, love.”

  “Well,” she said. “A little bit.”

  Smiling, he spanked her pussy again. She yelped, arching into him.

  “Cherry,” he said softly. “That’s the second time you’ve moved without permission. What do you say?”

  “You can’t touch me and expect me to—”

  Ruben pushed his middle finger into her cunt, as deep as he could go. Holy shit, she was tight, and soft and wet and hotter than fucking hell. Her walls clung to him, tightened and released around that single digit as she hissed, “Oh my fucking God, yes.”

  “You like that, love?” He thrust back and forth, feeling her open up around him. “Is that what it takes to keep your pretty mouth shut? I just have to fill up your cunt?”

  “Fuck you,” she panted, a smile in her voice.

  He found the line of her throat with his lips, then bit. She gasped, and he bit harder, fucked her faster, turned one finger into two and then three as she spread her legs for him.