His Princess (A Royal Romance) (35 page)

“I don’t want to let you go.”

Excitement floods through my body, mixing in a strange cocktail with fear.

“You’re shaking,” he says, his hand trailing over my stomach. “Are you scared of me?”

“No,” I lie.

“You should be,” he murmurs in my ear. “I am.”

“I didn’t see anything…”

He laughs softly, and his fingers stroke over my throat. It sends a flutter through my body and I go rigid, trying to hold still like a scared rabbit, wary of a stalking fox.

“You’re lying,” he says, very softly. “I know how to sniff out liars, Rose. I’m very, very good at it. Do you know how I know you’re lying?”

“How?”

“You just admitted it,” he whispers. I can almost feel him grinning.

“I didn’t—”

“Shhh.”

He cups my chin in his hand.

“I knew you were lying because you volunteered unnecessary information. It’s a very basic mistake. You learn these things when you study the art of interrogation.”

“Interrogation?”

“Asking questions,” he purrs in my ear, “sharply. I can make anyone tell me anything I need to know.”

“You’re scaring me, Quentin.”

“I know, and it’s turning you on. I can feel it here.”

He slips his hand between my legs, pushes his palm against me, and holds his hand there, soaking in the heat from my arousal. It
is
turning me on. I like it.

I like losing control, don’t I?

“What are you going to do to me?”

“What should I do with you? You were trespassing in my house.”

“I’ll scream.”

“You promise?”

I shiver.

“I like that.”

He pulls me tighter against him. I can feel his cock in his jeans. He’s hard as a rock. He steps forward and pins me against the door.

“You still want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

I press my lips shut.

“Oh, the silent treatment, eh?”

His arms slip around me and pin mine against my sides, hard, squeezing the breath out of me. He tips back and lifts me bodily from the floor, my toes dangling above the carpet, and carries me like that up the stairs. I struggle but only weakly.

“You shouldn’t struggle in the jaws of a predator,” he murmurs in my ear. “It only makes him want his meal more.”

He’s carrying me into the bedroom.

Quentin kicks the door closed and lowers my feet to the floor.

He doesn’t let go. I’m still trapped, my heart pounding. He buries his face in my hair and breathes deep.

“You smell like tea.”

“Quentin, let’s talk about this.”

“We’re going to talk,” he says. “You’re going to tell me all sorts of things.”

“Quentin…”

“Hush. I need you to be a good girl now. I’m going to put you on the bed and you’re not going to try to get away from me. If you do I’m going to have to punish you. Do you want to be punished, Rose?”

“No.”

He laughs. “I can smell your lie.”

Quentin drops me on the bed and immediately falls on top of me, straddling my legs. I start to squirm and he grabs my wrists.

“Don’t try to fight me.”

My heart pounds as he reaches over and pulls open a drawer in his nightstand. I start to shake as he reaches inside, and blink as he draws out long lengths of silk. Scarves. What’s he going to do with scarves?

I know the answer when he knots the scarf around my wrists, tight.

“Try to get loose.”

I do but I can’t. The more I pull, the more the knot tightens around my wrists.

“Don’t fight it. It’ll just get tighter.”

He pitches forward and pulls my arms back, over my head, pulls the other end of the thick scarf around a heavy wooden post in the headboard, and knots it.

He sits back, still pinning my legs, and pulls his shirt off. I can’t help but stare, watching his muscles bunch and ripple, distorting the dragon tattooed on his chest that winds around his body, its tail disappearing into his jeans.

“This is going to be sweaty work.”

Leaning over, he pulls out more silk and ties each of my ankles to the corners of the footboard, spreading my legs. They’re just loose enough that I can squirm a little, but pulling them only makes them tighter.

There’s one more, but it’s not red, it’s black. Quentin slides it behind my head and wraps it around, covering my eyes. I can’t see.

“You’re blindfolding me?”

“Shhh,” he says.

I feel the bed shift as he kneels between my legs and runs his hands up my sides, over my breasts, where he stops to squeeze, and then up to my throat. He doesn’t choke. He just holds my neck in his hands.

“I can feel your pulse.”

I swallow, hard.

“Felt that, too.”

“Quentin, please, don’t hurt me…”

“You keep saying that. Why are you afraid I’m going to hurt you?”

“I-I-I-I saw downstairs,” I stammer. “There was weapons and things and…and bombs…”

“Yes. Tools of the trade.”

“What trade? What are you?”

He runs his thumbs along my jaw then strokes my bottom lip with the tip of his finger. It makes my whole body go rigid and I involuntarily pull against the bonds holding me to the bed.

“I’m a bad man,” he says, very softly. “I do bad things. That’s why I have to go away.”

I want to ask what things, but I don’t.

“Do you want me to go away, Rose?”

“No,” I whisper.

“You’re not lying. Pulse is the same.”

“Don’t hurt me.”

“You keep giving me orders, Rose. Do this, do that, don’t do this, don’t do that.”

“Quentin…”

“Hush. Just let go. I’ve got you now. I’m giving the orders. You like that, don’t you?”

“I…” I trail off.

“Why don’t you want me to leave?”

“My girls… My girls like you…”

“That’s not why. You’re not lying but that’s not why.”

“I want you. I want how you make me feel.”

“You want this, don’t you? You want to just let go.”

“I don’t know.”

“You have to give yourself to me completely, Rose. You have to be mine.”

He takes his hands from my neck.

“I’m going to do things to you now. I’m going to make you come so much and so hard you’ll forget your own name.”

I whimper and bite my lip.

He touches my chin. “Oh, I like that. I like it when you bite your lip like that. So sexy. Do you think you’re sexy, Rose?”

He moves his hand to my breast and teases my nipple through the fabric.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m old,” I confess, “I had kids…”

“Hmm. Nothing wrong here,” he rubs my stomach, “and I love these.” He cups my breasts in his hands.

“That ass, you have an incredible ass, Rose. Nice and big and thick, just how I like it.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

The bed creaks and he leans down over me, resting on his arms by my sides. He’s close.I can feel his breath on my cheek.

“You know what I want to do when I see your ass?”

“What?”

“Grab it, squeeze it, spank it. Have you ever been spanked, Rose?”

“No,” I admit.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. You’re going to give yourself to me completely. Did you know you can come from getting your ass whipped?”

“I can?”

“Yes. I want to fuck your ass, Rose. Have you ever been fucked in the ass?”

“No, I… Won’t that hurt?”

I feel his mouth on my jaw, a soft kiss. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not going to hurt you?”

“You have me tied to a bed and blindfolded.”

“Pick a word for me. Something you usually don’t scream when coming.”

“What?”

“A weird word. Just pick something.”

“Umm… Toboggan?”

“Good, Rose. That’ll be our word. You say that and I’ll stop, I won’t do anything more to you. If it hurts or you need a break, that word is your release.”

“O-o-o-kay,” I choke out. “I’ll remember.”

“Good, because I’m going to get a little rough with you.”

“Rough?”

He leans back and I hear something click.

I think it’s a knife.

He bunches the cloth of my shirt in his hand I can feel him sawing through it. The blade touches my skin, a cold, quick touch that makes me go totally still, fighting not to move a muscle. There’s an open hole in the front of my shirt now, and then the growling rip of fabric as he tears it apart from top to bottom.

Exposed, I start shaking. He has the knife in his hand. I can almost see his outline as he moves. First he tugs my bra away from my skin, between the cups. I feel the dull back of the knife slide against my skin and jerk, and my bra snaps apart. More cuts sever the straps and he pulls it all away and tosses it aside.

The bed jerks and bounces. Quentin pulls my sweatpants away from my skin and slices through them, cutting them away from my legs. Soon there’s nothing covering me but my underwear, and then the elastic band snaps as he cuts it and slices the side open along my hip, on each side, and pulls them out from under me.

I lie naked on the bed. There’s a soft click as he folds the knife and a tap of metal on wood as he sets it on the nightstand. He still has his jeans on—I can feel them against my skin as he lies down next to me.

Quentin’s hand rests on my stomach.

“You’re tense,” he says. He can feel me quivering.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You’re scaring me.”

“I don’t want you to be scared. I want you to let go.”

I feel his breath on my side then under my arm. He sniffs my armpit and I writhe on the bed.

“Stop it, you’re tickling me.”

“Tickling you,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Like this?”

His hand jerks and his fingers dance over my ribs, and I can’t help it, I bark out laughter, writhing and flopping on the bed. He’s tickling me.
Tickling me
.

“
Where’s the sweet spot? I know you have one.”

He moves lower, down my stomach. I twist and try to protect the little spot on my stomach, just above my bikini line, where I’m most ticklish. He finds it anyway and I start laughing so hard I can’t breathe, until he finally stops. Even as I gasp for breath giggles and laughs burst out of my throat.

His hand rests on my stomach again and he presses his lips to my armpit, kissing lightly, and moves down. His mouth is hot on the outer curve of my breast and it sends a warm feeling sliding down my body to pool between my legs.

Quentin’s arm slides under me, around my waist, and he holds me still as he moves away from my chest and presses his lips to my stomach. His tongue flicks out in hot, wet little teases as his other hand strokes up and down my stomach, each time a little closer to my mound.

“I’m not going to let you come for a long time.”

I groan, and a tightness passes through my body. I writhe in his arms.

“You make me so fucking hard, Rose. You want my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Beg me.”

“Please, Quentin.”

“Hmmm. Not very sincere. I’ll reconsider in a while. For now…”

He finally slips his finger between my legs, gently stroking my mound with just the tip of one finger. My legs start to shake with anticipation.

“Please, please—”

“Please what?”

I can’t answer him. He moves, takes my nipple in his mouth, and sucks, hard, until it almost hurts. Then his mouth releases and his tongue swirls around it, and he does it again. I groan softly and tug at the bonds holding me to the bed.

His finger traces along my slit. I buck my hips, trying to pull him inside me, but he pulls back and teases around my lips.

“Horny bitch, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I want to take my time with you. Do you want it? What do you want?”

“I want your cock. Please. I want you inside me.”

“Oh, I love hearing that. I love hearing it more from you.”

“Please,” I beg.

“Hmm. Not just yet.”

He takes his time. Holding me around the waist, he tastes my breasts, his rough stubble scratching the sensitive skin. I feel his teeth lightly on my throat, his hot breath on my skin, and then he starts to work my way down. With my legs spread I can only squirm. He presses against me, sliding his body against mine. As he moves lower I buck my hips and grind my mound against his hard belly.

Lower still, he rests his face on my stomach and starts kissing his way down.

Lower, lower, so slowly I can barely tell it’s happening. My sex throbs for him. Finally his lips are hot on my mound and then he takes a slow, loving lick, bottom to top, dragging his tongue hard over my lips.

Oh
God
.

His mouth is so hot, his tongue is so wet. He slips a finger inside me, then two, and I squirm and buck against the silk holding me to the bed, guiding his fingers inside me as his mouth explores my body. I unfold for him, all my secrets bare to the exquisite, unendurable pleasure wracking my body. More, more.

Suddenly he draws back. Gentle metal clinking, a belt buckle being undone. The whisper of leather on fabric. He backs off the bed. I feel the springs creak in relief from his weight rising as he stands up and drapes his belt over the footboard, then steps out of his jeans, then his boxers.

The blindfold is not perfect. In the bright afternoon light I can see his outline, the perfectly sculpted lines of his body, like a living statue, and his cock. Good God, he’s huge, his rod arched from arousal. I want to get my mouth on him, please him, swallow him.

Quentin crawls over top of me, rising too high to enter me, and lies down, resting his weight on top of mine. His cock throbs against my stomach, trapped between us. He rolls his hips so I can feel it sliding against me, so big.

He wraps his arms around me and I jerk at the silk, trying to hold him as he holds me, and then he presses his lips to mine and kisses me hard, filling my mouth with his tongue and his taste mingled with mine.

I want to hold him, to wrap my arms and legs around him, but the silk tugs at my wrists and ankles. He holds me tighter and slides against me, shifting, and deftly guides himself inside me.

Before I’m even aware it’s happening he fills me completely, sinking himself inside me to the root, and I cry out and twist in his arms.