Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5)(17)

All laid out for my pleasure reading.

I begrudgingly release one of her swollen nipples and continue tracing the other as I reach into my pocket and retrieve my phone.

“Say cheese.” I snap a picture of her dazed, flushed state.

That manages to snap her out of her stupor. Teal pushes back so abruptly she nearly falls over.

To my dismay, I lose all feel of her nipple as she rises to her shaking feet. Her tits bounce with the motion, giving me one last view before she pulls up the straps of her gown, covering them and herself.

Hiding those beauties is a tragedy that needs to be mourned.

She runs a hand through her straight hair. To her credit, she does regain her composure and adopts her haughty default state, but it’s not soon enough to hide the slight tremble in her fingers or the goosebumps covering her arms.

No one can hide involuntary bodily reactions — not even with her level of emotional blankness.

I rattled her. One point for me.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Being debauched like you.” I grin. “Actually, I’m the one doing the debauchery, but details.”

“Phones aren’t allowed h-here.” She bites her lower lip, trapping it against her teeth as if reprimanding herself for stuttering.

And suddenly, a thought I never had becomes my sole purpose in life. I want my teeth on that lip. I want to lick it, bite it, then devour it.

But that’s kind of a wrong thought, isn’t it?

It’s probably this place and her earlier state; they’re playing with my fucking head.

As if you never knew you had this in you?

Shush, thoughts.

“I guess I kind of snuck it in.” I lift a shoulder as if saying ‘Oops’. “You’re really special, though, aren’t you, ma belle? Nipple orgasm is so hot.”

“Fuck you.” Her cheeks flush, but it’s not entirely embarrassment; there’s also a hint of rage.

I grin.

It’s the first show of emotions she’s ever given up. Anger is good; anger makes people commit mistakes. That’s why I make sure I’m rarely angry, if ever. I might feign it, but I always stay the fuck away from it.

Anger is the source of all evil.

Teal here is ashamed of her orgasm — or rather the one who caused her pleasure. Since she can’t say that out loud because it’d mean admitting it, the pent-up frustration is turning into what resembles rage.

“I’m happy to oblige, ma belle. I can come up with other types of orgasms we can try out.” Lie — I don’t need to come up with them. My perverted head has been filled with them since the moment I walked in here and saw her kneeling on the floor.

“But first,” I continue, “I need you to tell your daddy and my daddy that you’re calling off the engagement.”

“That won’t happen.”

I scroll through my phone, feigning a sigh. “Then I guess Ethan can see what places his daughter frequents. Are you sure you want to scar him with the image of your tits? Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful tits, but they’re not fit for your dad. Unless…you have a daddy kink?”

She gulps audibly, her delicate throat moving with the motion. One day, I don’t know when, but I’m going to grab her by that throat and fuck the living shit out of her until she can’t move.

Okay. That was too explicit even for my perverted brain.

“Besides,” I continue. “I assure you, Earl Edric Astor wouldn’t approve of a daughter-in-law who likes to be treated like a slut. Since I’m a gentleman, I’m giving you the chance to walk out of this unscathed. We both get what we want. Win-win.”

We stare at each other for a second. I watch her body language for a sign. Her chest that used to rise and fall heavily is now serene, calm almost.

Good. She learnt her place.

Just then, she pounces on me. No kidding — she jumps at me like a flying animal, her legs wrapping around my waist as she lunges straight at the phone in my hand.

Well, fuck me.

Out of all the reactions I expected from her, this was the last. Fuck, it wasn’t even on the list. She didn’t let her height keep her down when she made the decision to come at me.

A fighter.

Why the hell do I want to break that or somehow engross myself in it?

Her face reddens as her gown bunches up her thighs in her struggle to reach my hand. Even by using my body as some sort of a ladder, she can’t reach the phone.

I keep it up. When she thinks she’s got it, I throw it to the other hand, making her cheeks redden more, her chest rising more. Her breathing turns harsh, causing her tits to strain against my bare chest.

When she realises she can’t reach it, she scratches my arm with her black-painted nails. The sting burns my skin and I react immediately, slamming her back against the wall.

A yelp escapes her throat, but before she can react, I grab both her wrists in one hand and pin them above her head, securing them with a hand.

Now, I have a tiny frame wrapping her legs around my waist, her chest against mine, and her arms are confined.

At my mercy.

Or the lack thereof.

“Let me go,” she hisses, but her gaze follows my hand that’s clutching the phone as I let it fall to my side.

I motion at the angry red scratch marks on my forearm. It’s like I’ve been attacked by a kitten — a small, furious kitten.