His Princess (A Royal Romance)(115)

“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 f*ck your ass, Rose. Have you ever been f*cked 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.”