The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(13)

At that very second, my dress is yanked up past my waist and a wicked slice of pain rips through me, his palm connecting brutally with my backside. I can’t scream—my gag won’t allow it—but I do fall forward onto all fours to steady myself. He’s kneeling behind me quickly, his hand tugging my knickers aside and his fingers slipping straight through my wetness and plunging deep. I choke on nothing, my eyes wide and shocked.

The heat of my burning bottom spreads through my bloodstream and sets me alight, my eyes blinking repeatedly as Josh pummels me with three fingers unforgivingly. I feel my climax building within seconds, defying my need to be disgusted by his treatment of me, my body moving back and forth as his spare hand strokes down my spine.

And when I reach the summit, the point of release, he pulls out and leaves my building orgasm to flutter away.

I whimper, the sensation of him smoothing his palm over my burning arse telling me to brace myself. My frantic mind reels, torn between depraved delight and fear. Not because of his brutal kiss, or his brutal palm, or his ability to control my pleasure so easily. But because I want more, and I have never wanted more from a man in my life. Adeline Lockhart does not ever want more from a man. She takes what she wants, knowing he won’t be around for long. She’s the one in control. She is the one calling the shots. She’s the one men bow to. What am I doing?

I reach for the gag and pull it from my mouth, my breathing out of control. “No,” I pant, struggling to my feet and throwing Josh’s pink hanky to the grass. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, smudging my lipstick even more than Josh has with his blazing kiss.

“No?” He slowly gets to his feet. He’s surprised, and he can’t hide it.

“No.” I pull my dress down as I turn and walk away. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Jameson.” I don’t look back. I do not ever want to lay eyes on him again. I don’t take too kindly to men who try to overpower me, men like my father and eldest brother, no matter in what capacity that is—suppressing me or dominating me. I will not be controlled, and I’m furious with myself for even remotely enjoying it.

Remotely?

I enjoyed it too much. My blood heated too much. I wanted to bend to his will, and that is a monumental achievement on Josh Jameson’s part. I should hate him for it. Yet I don’t. Frighteningly, I want more. And I will never be allowed to have more. That is why I always maintain the control with men. That is why I call the shots. Because I know it won’t be long before the King finds out about my flavor of the month and rids them from my life. I never get attached; there’s little point when I know the longevity of my relationships is non-existent. My feigned annoyance swiftly turns into panic.

“Adeline!”

I ignore him shouting after me and navigate my way out of the maze with ease, hurrying back to my party, my usually cool persona flustered terribly.

Matilda is the first to spot me, her face a picture of horror. “Oh my gosh, Adeline.”

“What?”

“Your lipstick is everywhere.”

I wipe my cheek, seeing the evidence of my red lipstick smudged all over my fingertips. “Oh, blast.”

“Here, you left your bag with Haydon.’ Matilda passes my purse, her lips straight.

“Have fun?” Eddie asks sarcastically, joining us. “If you insist on misbehaving, Adeline, you could at least hide the bloody evidence.” He focuses on my lipstick-smeared face.

I make a mad dash for the washroom, leaving behind a bemused Eddie and Matilda. Fun? No, it was not fun.

Skirting past plenty of people who look like they would like to stop and talk, I don’t indulge any of them, hoping my hand over my mouth will maybe communicate that I am going to vomit, rather than the fact that I am hiding the evidence of an American man’s heavenly mouth all over mine.

Slamming the door shut behind me, I go to the mirror. “Bloody hell,” I breathe, grabbing a washcloth and running it under the tap. I look as flustered as I feel, and the burning flesh of my bottom is a good indication that one cheek of my arse is as red as the lipstick smeared disgracefully all over my face. Pulling up my dress, I turn and get my raw rear in view, gasping when I see the glowing imprint of a large palm. “The nerve,” I whisper, wincing when I apply the cool washcloth across my skin.

There’s a knock at the door. “One minute,” I call, rushing to make myself more presentable, smoothing out my dress and reapplying my lipstick carefully, blotting away the redness on my chin and cheeks with some loose powder. Once I have made the best of myself, which is not brilliant without Jenny around to work her magic, I straighten my shoulders, slap a smile on my face, and open the door. “I do apologize for taking so—” My smile plummets, and I’m shoved back inside the washroom by Josh bloody Jameson. “Do you mind?” I blurt, outraged.

He slams the door, locks it, and pushes his back against the wood. I guess that means I’m not going anywhere. “Tell me why you refused me,” he growls.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You played it all cocky, laid your cards on the table, made it perfectly clear what you wanted, and then you bottled it. I want to know why.”

“It may have escaped your notice, Mr. Jameson, but I do not have to justify myself to anyone, least of all you. Now, if you will excuse me.” I fix him with a resolute glare, ignoring the returning influx of pleasurable feelings sweeping through my bloodstream. He’s even more handsome, even harder to resist when he’s angry. His jaw pulsing, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring. Knowing I’m the reason for this fluster in Josh Jameson turns me on, and I really do not want it to.