Prince Damon and I? We might have a chance. Maybe I could see him again, and not be scared of the consequences.
The thought makes my heart thump and my stomach clench. I run my fingers through my hair put a hand to my chest.
Elle’s wedding is in two weeks, which means in two weeks, I’ll see Damon again. I’ll be in the same room as him. I’ll smell him, and watch him, and maybe even touch him.
In two weeks, I’ll find out if he still thinks about me the same way I think about him.
17
Damon
I straighten my tie and take a deep breath. The past month has been difficult. Charlie discovered that our father, the King, had our mother murdered fifteen years ago, and I’ve been having a tough time getting past it. I’ve gone to see Nigel at the warehouse half a dozen times since I found out.
Anyone would have a hard time with that, but I have other demons to deal with. All my fears are coming to fruition. Maybe my memories of that night are true after all.
Maybe it really was my fault.
A knock on my door makes me turn my head. “Come in,” I call out.
My youngest brother, Gabriel, walks in. His dark, chocolate-brown hair is disheveled, and his tie is crooked. His eyes are hazy, as if he’s been drinking already.
I sigh. “Hey, Gabe.”
“How you doin’?” He slurs his words a bit and flops down onto the nearest chair. Gabe isn’t a bad guy—he’s just angry. While I deal with my anger in private, and Charlie takes it out on the punching bags, Gabe hasn’t quite found a way to release it yet. He’s just turned nineteen, and it looks like he’s at the start of one long, downward spiral.
I know exactly how that feels, but I don’t know how to help him.
I shrug. “I’m fine. Just going to try to get through today with a smile on my face.”
“Yeah.” Gabe rests his head on his fist and lets out a sigh. He was just a kid when our mother was killed. He barely remembers her, and I think that hurts him more than anything else. As he’s gotten older, he’s talked about it less and less.
“You okay?” I ask, heading to the mini fridge and pulling out two beers. Gabe accepts one of them with a nod.
“Not really. I get why Charlie has to get married—he’s going to be crowned soon, and he needs a wife. His girlfriend is pregnant, so they want to get married before the baby comes. I get that, I really do. It’s just…”
“…it’s quick.”
“Yeah,” Gabe sighs. “We just found out all this shit about Father, and now we’re supposed to turn around and celebrate?”
“I think that’s why he’s just having a small ceremony, with only close friends and family.”
“I know, but it just feels wrong. How am I supposed to be happy for him when I know that my mom was murdered by my fucking father?” A vein in his neck pulses.
“I know.” More than I can say to him, I know. I fucking know how he feels. It’s simmering just below the surface in all three of us.
“Do you know, though? You seem to be doing all right.”
“Gabe…”
“What?” His voice has an edge to it that wasn’t there a second ago.
I take a deep breath. “All I’m saying is—let’s just make it through today and be happy for Charlie. The investigation is ongoing, so we can deal with the fallout after. Maybe it’s a good thing we have this wedding right now. It’s a distraction from all the other shit going on.”
Gabe grunts in response. It kills me that he feels like this, but there’s nothing I can do about it. We sip our drinks in silence, and then I push myself up to my feet.
“We should get down there.”
My brother lets out a heavy sigh and follows me down to the Great Hall. I’ve avoided this room ever since Dahlia was in here with me. Every time I see the throne, I think of what happened on top of it.
They’re not bad memories—I just wish they weren’t just memories. I wish they were a daily occurrence, and not a flash in my past.
The ceremony will start any minute, and I find Charlie near the throne. I clap him on the shoulder.
“Congratulations, brother,” I say.
“Thanks, Damon.” His face is lined with tiredness—just like Gabriel’s face and my own. Just like everyone’s face has been lined since we found out the news about our father.
Unlike Gabe and me, Charlie’s eyes are bright with happiness.
I take my spot beside him, and Gabe takes his place beside me. Gabe wavers on his feet a little, but stays standing. I just hope he makes it through the ceremony without passing out or vomiting. There’s definitely a beast inside my little brother, and I don’t want him to let it out today.
Music sounds from behind us, and the ceremony begins. There aren’t many people in attendance—maybe thirty, total. Our family, our closest friends, and the people we know we can trust. No press, no journalists, no outsiders.
The doors at the end of the room open and my breath catches in my throat.
Dahlia.
I knew there was a good chance she’d be here. A part of me hoped she would. A part of me never wanted to see her again, just to avoid the bottomless feeling I get in my stomach whenever she’s around.
But she’s here, and she’s perfect. She’s dressed in a blushing, pink dress that swirls around her feet as she walks up the aisle. Her hair is platinum blonde now, curled into soft waves that fall to her mid-back. The ends are dyed bright, neon pink.
I want her.
Any anger that I had over her rejection—any resentment that existed in my heart—it’s gone. As soon as she steps into the Great Hall, I know I want her again.
Need her again.
If I had my way, everyone else in this room would disappear and I’d sit Dahlia on the throne once more, spread those perfect legs wide and make her mine until the only word on her lips was my name.
But that doesn’t happen. Instead, Dahlia’s eyes lift up to mine and her cheeks blush to match her dress. She’s carrying a small bouquet of flowers. As she holds my gaze, Dahlia stumbles and lets out a soft swear word.
I grin.
She catches herself and, with a breath, makes her way to the other side of the dais, opposite where my brothers and I are waiting. As Dahlia takes her position, I notice that the back of her dress plunges down to reveal her milky white back. My fingers itch to feel her skin, to tease their way up her vertebrae and tangle themselves into her hair.
My cock throbs.
I don’t hear any of the ceremony. I’m sure it’s beautiful, but all I hear is the thumping of my heart in my ears. All I see is a blur, punctuated by the many glances I steal toward Dahlia.
She does the same, and hope blooms inside me. She feels the same way I do—I know she does. What if this whole mess with my father turns out to be a good thing? What if her hesitation to come to the castle goes away? What if we have another chance at this?
I clap at all the right times, and I take pictures when I’m supposed to. The wedding ceremony is quick and—I’m told later—very moving. But the only thing that moves me right now is a short pixie-girl that I want to make my own.
Finally, after an eternity, the ceremony ends and we’re led to one of the large reception rooms in the castle. Dahlia stands near the wall, and it only takes a couple of seconds for her eyes to find mine. From across the room, we stare at each other.
There are a thousand words in that gaze. A million things we haven’t said to each other—and don’t need to speak out loud.
My body responds by burning hotter. My cock throbs. I drop my gaze to her body, and suddenly my feet are carrying me toward her. Her cheeks flush. My mouth waters. Her hands tremble slightly, until she clasps them together. Her tongue slides out to swipe her lower lip.
I need her.
We stand a foot apart, and it takes every ounce of my willpower to stop from throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her to the closest private room.
After a moment, she sucks in a breath. “Hey.”
<
br /> “Hey,” I respond. I gulp past a lump in my throat. My palms are sweating. “You look great. And I don’t mean that as flattery. It’s the truth. So, you know—tell Dostoyevsky the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Thanks,” she laughs. “You clean up all right, too.”
I take a deep breath. Gathering all my courage, I nod to the door. “You want to go somewhere quiet to talk?”
Her eyes darken ever so slightly, and a smile tugs at her lips. “Yeah, I do.”
18
Dahlia
Even though I told myself that I’d be strong, that I wouldn’t let myself be alone with Prince Damon, that I’d keep my distance… the instant I saw him, I knew I was destined to fail.
How can I resist, when he’s the definition of irresistible?
His hand drifts to the small of my back as he leads me through a side door. Butterflies flutter in my abdomen, and the warmth of his hand on my skin makes my stomach tighten. We emerge into a quiet corridor, and he nods down the hall. “This way.”
I follow him blindly, trying my best to put one foot in front of the other while my mind races and my heart tries its best to explode out of my chest.
Everywhere his fingers touch, sparks dance across my skin. Heat curls in the pit of my stomach as he guides me down another hallway. I shouldn’t be alone with him, because I know what’s going to happen.
It’s inevitable.
When the Prince pushes open a door, my pulse is hammering so hard I think I might pass out. He sweeps his arm around the room and grins at me.
“Welcome to my sanctuary.”
We’re in a medium-sized room. One wall is dominated with bookshelves, and there’s a large, solid wood desk in the corner. Another corner has a couple of couches in it, with reading lamps arching over them. The middle of the room has a long table stretching across it, with chairs lining either side. It’s lush and cozy.
“My study,” the Prince says. “No one comes here.”
The far wall is dominated by windows. I step lightly over to them, glancing out. The pristine, manicured royal gardens are splayed out below us.
“It’s nice,” I say. “Is this where your classes happen?”
“Most of them did,” the Prince nods. “Although I’ve started my residency, so I’m working at the Farcliff General Hospital now.”
“Imagine being sick and having royalty show up at your bedside,” I laugh, glancing over my shoulder at him. “That’s enough to give anyone a heart attack—if they haven’t already had one.” I walk over to the bookcases and run my fingers along the leather spines. “You’ll make a special kind of doctor, that’s for sure.”
Prince Damon walks up behind me as I stare at the bookshelves and slides his hands over my hips. His chest presses up against my back, and heat ignites between my thighs.
I knew this would happen if I was alone with him. I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist.
But I still followed him here.
I turn around in his arms to face him and slide my hands up his chest. He’s warm, strong, and everything I’ve been missing. He smells exactly how I remember. My breath hitches, and I feel myself melting into his arms.
He’s the sun, and I’m a fleck of space dust, caught in orbit around him. Of course I followed him here. Of course I couldn’t resist him.
“It’s good to see you,” the Prince says in a low voice. “I’ve thought of that night a lot over the past few months.”
“So have I.”
“Why did you block my number?”
His fingers sink into my hips and my heart does a flip. “I was scared.”
“Of my father?”
“Of my feelings,” I whisper, dragging my eyes up to his. “We’re not supposed to be together.”
“Maybe before,” Damon says, sliding his hands around to my ass, “but things have changed.”
I want to believe him. Every fiber of my being wants it to be true. He’s right—things have changed. The King has abdicated, the King’s advisor has been charged with regicide. The Kingdom is in turmoil.
For me, turmoil is good. Turmoil means my mother might be able to come back to the Kingdom. Through what the investigation uncovers, it means I might find out exactly what happened. My family might finally find some peace.
Turmoil means that maybe—just maybe—I can be with Damon.
I curl my hands around the back of his neck and take a deep breath.
“You look beautiful today.” Damon presses his hand against the bare skin of my lower back, slipping his fingers beneath my dress.
A spark travels up my spine, causing my head to angle up toward him. It’s like my body is asking him to kiss me.
Begging him to kiss me.
No matter what’s going on in my heart, no matter what my mind is trying to make me do, I can’t control what my body wants.
Damon knows it, and he crushes my lips with his own. He kisses me fiercely, sinking his fingers into my skin as a moan slips through my lips.
I want this. I want it so bad I’m trembling. The moment I walked into the Great Hall—into that room where Damon changed me all those months ago—I knew that I’d be in his arms before the night was over.
I’m sick of resisting, sick of trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t do this, sick of torturing myself with thoughts of the Prince.
Damon is here. I’m here. We both want this.
I pull him closer, tangling my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. I roll my hips toward him. My back slams against the bookcase behind me. I wince.
“You okay?” Damon’s eyebrows draw together.
“I’m good,” I pant. My lips fly back to his. What is pain? Pain is nothing.
Pleasure is everything.
Before I know what I’m doing, my fingers are working to loosen his tie. I slide it off his neck and toss it aside. Damon’s eyebrow arches and a grin curls his lips.
With trembling hands, I unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders. My eyes widen as I see mottled bruises covering his ribs, but Damon doesn’t even seem to notice. He helps me tear the shirt off, flinging it behind him and kissing me again. His lips are on mine, and then on my jaw, my neck, my shoulder. He kisses my earlobe, scraping his teeth against it as he grinds himself against me.
All the while, I feel him pulsing against me, thick and hard. Oh, I feel him—and everything falls away.
I run my hands over every inch of him.
I’ve missed this.
I’m a sexual person, and I haven’t slept with anyone in months. I haven’t wanted to, but the need has still been there.
Right now, that need is cresting. My whole body is trembling, screaming for him to fuck me. My lips are swollen and wet with his kiss.
Damon spins me around without warning. I yelp, gripping onto the bookcase as his hand runs down my spine. He slides the straps of my dress off my shoulders, laying a soft kiss where the fabric used to be. I let it fall to my waist, arching my back and grinding my ass against him.
His cock is hard. He pushes it against me and my breath catches in my throat.
How many times have I thought of him like this? How many times have I given myself a less-than-satisfying orgasm while dreaming of this very situation?
Prince Damon’s hands, broad and strong, slide down my sides and send shivers of pleasure running through my body. He presses his chest to my back, and the contact of his skin against mine makes my head spin. The Prince’s hands run up my stomach to cup my breasts as he growls in my ear.
There are no words, but I know what that growl means. It means he feels exactly like I do. It means he, too, has dreamed of this.
With one hand still on my breast, he slips the other beneath my dress as it hangs from my waist. When his hand reaches my mound, it stops.
“No panties?” He rasps in my ear.
“Didn’t want panty lines,” I say, breathless. “It would ruin the look.” My eyes are closed and all I can think about is his h
and between my legs. It moves down a bit further, and his fingers tease my slit. I’m already soaking wet. I’m glad I have my back to him, because I’m blushing so hard my face probably matches my hair.
“No hair, either.” His voice is breathy and heavy with need. “I won’t be fucking a rainbow pussy this time.” His finger slides between my legs and finds my bud.
My head is a mess.
“I got a wax yesterday,” I say as my fingers dig into the bookcase. My cheeks are burning. “I don’t know why… Is that okay?”
Damon lets out a deep, low chuckle. “Yes, it’s okay—and I think I know why you did it, Dahlia.”
“Why do you think?”
His fingers slide over and back through my slit as I continue to tremble against him. His other hand teases my breast as his lips brush over my neck. My wetness is almost embarrassing. I can feel it dripping down onto my legs as his hand slides further back toward my opening.
“You waxed that sweet, little pussy of yours because you knew you’d be getting fucked tonight.” His voice is a low growl. It’s commanding, and possessive, and rough—and it makes me whimper.
His finger slides into my opening, and my legs quake. He drags it in and out of me as his breath warms my neck and his cock pulses against my ass.
It’s too much. It’s not enough. I grip the shelves and gasp.
“You knew this would happen, or at least you hoped it would,” he growls, his finger still stroking in and out of me.
The friction of his palm against my bud leaves me breathless, and I can’t answer.
“You did it for me, didn’t you?”
My fingers dig into the bookcase and I hold on as hard as I can. I don’t trust my legs. Damon’s cock presses against my ass as his fingers pump in and out of me. He pinches my nipple and I moan.
“Answer me, Princess. You hoped this would happen today.”
“I told you,” I pant. “I’m not a princess.”
“You’re my Princess.” Damon drags his fingers out of me and moves them—soaked with my need—over my clit. I gasp, but I still can’t answer. My forehead is resting against a book, and it’s all I can do to stay standing.
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