by Krissy V
“Your other hand,” he growls, staring down at me in dark warning as he motions toward the arm hanging loosely at my side. I quickly thrust it behind me, hiding it.
“No.” My voice remains strong, sure, as I defy him.
Before I know it, I’m shoved against the wall behind me with a hand around my throat, squeezing out a warning. Not enough to kill me as I can still draw a breath—though not comfortably.
Anger surges through me like white-hot fire, scorching me from the inside out. No one has ever dared to touch me like him. Ever.
“Let’s get this straight, your royal fucking highness. You are mine. You do as I ask, without question or hesitance, and you don’t bang around incessantly like a toddler pitching a tantrum.” His bright eyes darken as they stare back at me, an intensity so penetrating, I might melt into a puddle just like wax from a burning candle.
My lids lower to a glare. “And if I don’t?”
Irritation glimmers in his eyes as he stares back, squeezing his fingers just a little tighter. His broad chest presses against my breasts as he leans even closer, the heat of his skin permeating the thin fabric of the linen shirt I’m wearing. My nipples harden instantly.
This isn’t happening.
I glance between us, only then realizing he’s shirtless.
My heart takes off into a full gallop. Moments turn into what seem like minutes, and the room begins to spin. Maybe from his proximity, or maybe because I can barely breathe at this point…
“Aren’t princesses supposed to be educated?” he mocks, a deep scowl marring his handsome features. “But on the off chance that you weren’t allotted that opportunity, I’m sure you at least have common sense. Even the dumbest of animals understand the essence of self-preservation…” His low timbre drifts off, leaving the insinuation hanging in the air.
First, he threatens me. Cuts me. Threatens me again. Now, he insults my intelligence.
That Asshole.
“I do have common sense. Just like I know there’s a reason I’m here…” I wriggle against his solid hold on me. “A reason you don’t want me to find out—and one that’s important enough to you that you’d risk the wrath of my father, who would surely behead you should he find out how you’ve treated his only daughter and heir to the throne…I am the Princess of Araigha.” I state the last sentence slowly, hoping it sinks in.
There, take that. I can threaten too.
A sense of empowerment washes over me when his fingers unfurl from my neck as if I’ve momentarily penetrated his steel façade.
But the feeling vanishes upon arrival because his full lips curl into an evil smile.
“Wrath?” A cold laugh escapes him. “You think I have something to fear? Your father has hundreds, if not thousands, of men at his disposal. He could lift his finger and command every single one come after me in lethal force, but I’ll let you in on a little secret, your majesty,” he growls out, leaning so close his mouth hovers just beside mine. His shaky exhale a moment later whispers over my skin, stroking my lips featherlight.
My tongue slides out, attempting to taste him on instinct, inhaling his sweet, minty flavor without considering the consequences.
Unable to help myself, I urge him on, whispering, “And what secret is that?”
“You can’t threaten a man who has nothing to lose. You might be the Princess of Araigha, but I’m the Prince of Ruin…”
His fingers spread, allowing him to trace my lips with the pad of his thumb.
“Keep that hand for now. This was more so an opportunity for a lesson than a direct order. But hear this…if I really want something, I’ll take it using whatever means necessary. You’re proof of that.”
With a swallow, I stare back, afraid to move a muscle should it provoke another outburst of force from him. Virgin or not, any girl would understand that particular implication. I shudder at the thought, my stomach dipping like I’ve just been thrown off a cliff.
But a smaller part of me is fascinated by the threat. It’s that smaller, clearly inane part that seeks to keep him talking whereas only moments before I wanted to put as much space as possible between us.
I have to know what he wants—why I’m here.
“What could I have possibly done to you that would warrant this? Why am I here?” I try one more time to seek answers, knowing he’ll likely storm out at any second.
Instead, he surprises me when he answers.
“To die. Just like my parents did, starving to death; to the point their bodies were weak and susceptible to disease, just so that my sister and I had enough food to live. All the while, you were living in your huge palace, eating your fancy nine-course meals with endless snacks in between. But that’s not the best part…” He trails off, allowing his words ample time to sink in. An uneasy feeling settles deep into the pit of my stomach. His next words crawl across my skin menacingly, like that slow spreading fear that overtakes you in the dead of the night. You can’t see any real threat out there, but you can feel it deep in your bones.
“I’m going to hurt you. Just like my sister was ripped apart by your father’s men, then left for dead. You will know her pain, and your father will know mine…”
I clamp down the whimper that fights to break free, my entire body tense with shock.
“I’ll send you back a withered and malnourished husk. I’ll send you back used up and useless, if you don’t die first. If I don’t choose to kill you first. Everything she had to endure, you’ll experience tenfold. You see, what she went through only lasted a few hours, but you? I’m going to do all those things to you over and over again until you’re begging me to end your life.”
Taking the hand that’s now covered in my blood, he presses my open palm to his heart, the strong thudding of the muscle beating against me through his skin. Slowly, he rubs my hand over his chest, his abdomen—even his neck and shoulders—until a dark trail is left in its wake.
“One thing’s for certain, Princess. You’re going to bleed for me…”
Funny he should mention blood, because my blood—that was so fiery for him minutes earlier—has turned to ice.
My initial fears were spot on. I’m not safe.
I need to escape.
Chapter Three
Yasmine
“There is no escape,” he murmurs.
Did I just say that out loud?
His jaw ticks as he studies me closely, like a predator assessing his prey. “I know that look. Surveying the room, the door behind me, wondering if you can catch me off guard and slip past…” He hints, arching a brow as he releases my wounded palm, widening his stance as if ready to fight me.
The scary part is, he’s wildly accurate.
Donning the knife once more, the shredding of fabric seems to echo through the room. It takes me a shameful amount of time to realize the front of my outfit is now gaping open, split right down the middle by the psychopath before me.
He’s frightening standing there, covered in my blood. From the looks of it, you’d think he’d just violently slaughtered a village instead of producing an amount of that multitude from a gaping palm wound.
“Your sister was killed by my father’s guards?” I whisper in shock, zoning in on the part of the story that’s not about me. Hoping to draw his focus there.
The grim set of his lips answers the question he refuses. The pure hatred in his eyes can’t be faked or replicated. Yes. He believes his sister was killed by one of my father’s own, and he doesn’t seem the type to just let something so lifechanging go. He’d have done the digging to find out as much as he could.
Shame fills me. This isn’t the reality my mother left behind. This isn’t the legacy she wanted for me. I can’t help but feel as if I should somehow be held accountable. These men he speaks of, have been sworn into a position of honor to protect my family, but very few of them show true honor. Therefore, not keeping them in line makes whatever they choose to do just as much my family’s fault as theirs. Sure, I’m not
the active ruler of our kingdom yet, but I could’ve done more to stop the action. After all, this isn’t the first incident I’ve witnessed where my father’s guards caused harm to others…
The small voice in the back of my mind that’s prone to bad ideas, chooses this moment to pipe up again.
He deserves justice. Real justice. Not the kind where someone is barely punished, and it leaves you wanting more, never satisfied with the outcome and walking through life feeling unfulfilled.
I could give him that…
I could give this handsome, broken man, some peace from his turmoil.
“So you intend to use me as a means to seek justice for your sister? Justice for yourself?”
His eyes narrow suspiciously at my tone, as he searches my face for any clue where I’m going with this.
He doesn’t answer, so I take the initiative to provoke him further, sliding the tattered garment from my body so that I’m stripped bare before him. I watch him carefully as he swallows, his entire body tensing like a tautly wrapped coil ready to spring, but he doesn’t dare break eye contact with me. It’s like he’s afraid to make a move, unwilling to even form a decision.
“Do what you will, follow through with your plans to use me. But hear this, I’m giving you my permission, and in that decision I find peace.”
Finally, he tears his eyes from mine but focuses on a spot on the wall somewhere behind me. Even after he’s made his threats, going so far as to draw blood, he’s still warring between right and wrong.
He doesn’t want to be the bad guy in this story, but circumstances he couldn’t control have made it so.
He needs this release…
Maybe his salvation—his peace of mind—can be found if I also become the bad guy.
“I’m giving you my permission,” I repeat slowly, hating myself for the next words that come out of my mouth, but also knowing he needs that extra push, “which is more than your sister got.”
The cruel words release the beast inside him.
His jaw ticks, wild eyes sliding back to me and roving over my body just once before he lunges at me, slamming me against the wall again and spinning me away from him. My hands slap the surface, catching myself, and his hard front is pressed against my back only a second later.
One hand snakes through my hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail at the base of my neck which he pulls suddenly. My head snaps back, exposing the curve of my neck to him. Soft lips quickly find the spot, instantly replaced by the grazing sensation of teeth sliding over the delicate skin tauntingly.
He nips me, causing me to jump, but he quickly quells the pain with a flick of his tongue.
His free hand comes to rest at my hip, gripping it harshly, squeezing as he yanks my lower body back against him. I gulp when I feel his rock-hard erection pressed between the cheeks of my ass, fear and excitement rushing through my bloodstream simultaneously.
My arousal pools between my legs, an unfamiliar heat igniting low in my belly.
Those soft lips pause just by the shell of my ear, the sensation of his breath against my skin causing me to shiver as he grinds his erection against me again.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but I don’t trust it,” he growls in admission, his fingers digging into my hip.
I press back against him.
“Have you ever considered it’s not a game? Maybe I want this too…”
“Why?” His voice is gruff and full of disbelief. “What could you possibly get out of enduring pain on my behalf?”
I shrug lightly. “I don’t know, okay? Absolution maybe.”
He scoffs. “From what?”
“Seeing my family’s guards behaving less than admirably before—and saying nothing—for fear of being caught out exploring the market.”
This causes him to still. “I doubt one small act of having one person punished would have prevented my sister’s death.”
A soft sigh breaks free of my lips. “The point is, I’ll never know,” I argue. “Even the smallest pebbles can create a multitude of ripples…but I still want to do this.”
“Why?” he stresses again, putting a small amount of space between us.
“Because I can. Because you need it.”
I need it.
He grunts in displeasure. “No one’s ever cared what I need before. There’s no point in starting now.”
I fight against the grip he has on my hair to spin around, needing the intimacy of eye contact. He must have a similar urge because he allows it, his hand settling back in place at my hip and the other caging me in.
“Someone cares now. I care,” I say sincerely, hooking my thumbs in the front of his sweatpants, and pulling him toward me as I rise up on my toes. He allows it, but a hollow laugh escapes him.
“Then you’re even stupider than I tho—.”
My lips crash into his just in time to silence him. For a brief second, he seems to be in shock, his mouth unyielding and unresponsive.
But then he comes alive, unyielding morphing into unforgiving—punishing—as his lips move with mine. His teeth catch my lower lip, tugging gently and sucking.
A soft mewl escapes me and his hands drop to my ass, lifting me up as my ankles lock behind him. I’m vaguely aware he’s carrying me, but I’m too lost in the moment to care. It takes tossing me into the center of a large bed to realize we’ve left my room and entered what I can only guess is his.
Seconds later, he’s climbing over top of me and I marvel at the way the sweat drips down his torso, illuminating every cut line of muscle from his broad shoulders to the V of his hips. I need to see every glorious inch of him, every single part of him. Before I can chicken out, I’m reaching out, gripping the band of his pants and jerking them down. His cock springs free, and I feel my eyes widen before I can stop myself. Something like a smirk plays at his lips, and I’m again hit with an urgent pang of familiarity, but I push the notion aside, instead, focusing on one thing only.
Him.
Kicking off his sweats and boxers, his mouth drops back to mine, his kiss fiery and insistent but part of him still holding back. Taking his knee, he pushes my thighs apart, causing me to tense up nervously, but he slips two fingers inside me instead, releasing a moan of satisfaction when he finds I’m soaked.
And I shouldn’t be—shouldn’t be this turned on by the guy who stole me away from my family, who wanted to harm me, and in ways did harm me—but it’s out of my control. My body responds to him, craves him in sick ways that defy both rhyme and reason.
My hands rove over the planes of his back, reveling in his strength. In spite of his damage, he truly is magnificent. Or perhaps it’s because of those demons he continually fights on a daily basis that he’s so intriguing.
With two fingers still deep inside of me, he grips his cock, slapping it against my clit a few times before working slow and deliberate circles over the sensitive flesh. I feel my control slipping, the side catering to basic human need taking over.
I never expected it to feel this good with him. I only expected pain, yet still, I wanted it. Just when every bone in my body feels like it might combust, every nerve ending coming alive in preparation, he rubs his crown against me, sliding between my slickness and removing his digits to replace them with his cock.
He presses into me ever so slowly, surprising me because of all his promises to hurt me, but the gradual yielding of my body to accommodate his—the burning—is manageable.
“You’re so wet for me,” his smoky voice husks, his face strained as he fights the urge to bury himself to the hilt. “I’ll let you get adjusted this first time, but after that, I make no promises.”
He slides in another inch and I nod, afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll let out a squeak due to the pain of being stretched from the inside out.
As much as I appreciate his going easy on me, I’m not foolish enough to recognize the facts. We got into this for one reason. He needs my pain to help set him free.
It’s
time I give him a visual. To remind him of why we’re here. Of what we’re doing.
Removing my hand from his back, I slowly run my palm—the one with the wound—over my body, starting with my breasts. Tweaking my nipples, I chance a glance down.
Good.
Just enough blood still seeping out to leave a trail—proof that he’s hurt me. Surety he’s receiving his revenge.
He eyes the motion with apt interest, taking me by complete and utter surprise when his head dips, capturing my nipple between his teeth and sucking.
Another deliberate inch.
“Mmmm,” I groan in response, my back arching up off the bed to him, giving him better access.
“You like that?” he croons.
I consider ignoring the question, ashamed to admit how much I’m enjoying this.
Instead, I nod, my eyes remaining closed as the flushed heat of embarrassment spreads across my face.
Something is wrong with you…
Is it wrong to want things you shouldn’t—to enjoy them?
Is it weak to crave the one person who wants you dead?
Definitely, so maybe I’m a little bit broken too. I’m the beautiful pet bird kept in the gilded cage, always singing the same melancholic tune.
A sharp and sudden nip at my chest has my eyes jolting open again in surprise.
Another inch.
My ankles cross behind him on impulse, quickly thrusting his pelvis closer to mine, pushing him all the way in. I cringe as he continues to move deep inside me, quickly picking up pace.
I bite my tongue to keep from screaming out in pain, breathing through my nose to fight my way through the significant burning—wondering how much longer I can bear it before begging him to stop. Just when I’m about to buckle under the pressure, he hooks his arms under my knees, pushing them up and out, giving him access for a different angle.
“Fuck,” he groans.
Satisfied with the new position, his finger finds my clit again.
It’s like magic. The exact combination to change the game for me. With each thrust, pain morphs into the sweetest pleasure. An exhilarating sensation zips through me again, giving me the false illusion of climbing the highest mountain.
