His Princess (A Royal Romance)(114)

His breath is hot on my neck. I feel his lips, then his teeth. He moves up and pinches my earlobe between his teeth. I jerk in his arms and squeak.

“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 f*ck 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…”