To Dare a Dark Prince

by Sasha Byrne

  Her reverie was broken the moment his breeches fell to the marble floor. Beatrice focused on the useless bit of cloth. Focused on the coarse brown fabric. On his toes as they peeked out beneath. Focused on anything but him… and that!

  “Look at me, Bea,” his rough voice darkened with desire.

  “No one calls me Bea,” she breathed, keeping her eyes trained down.

  “I do.”

  Beatrice could not resist looking at his face then. His green eyes were warmed to the deep, rich color of forest moss. In their depths she could see his intent. This was no seduction. No limp-wrist attempt at wooing her like the men her father was constantly parading in front of her like male breeding studs.

  No. This was domination. This was taking. Conquering. This was raw, primal behavior by a man unaccustomed to the formal gentilities of high society. The stable master. A servant.

  “This has gone too far. Untie me,” ordered Beatrice, unable to hide the note of panic in her voice.

  “No.”

  “You are my subordinate. You are not permitted to say no to me.”

  “By the time the night is through, you will be the one subservient to me.”

  Pulling at her tight binds, Beatrice’s chest rose in anger. The movement only pushed her soft round curves and hardened nipples more prominently into view. “How dare you?” she spat out.

  Rhys placed one hand at her side as he edged himself onto the bed, slowly prowling till he straddled her hips.

  Pinning her under its weight. Just like in her dream. The beast claiming what was his.

  Digging his fingers into her thick curls, he forced her head up. With his free hand, he fisted the heavy weight of his cock.

  “Look at me,” he once more commanded, this time more fiercely.

  Beatrice looked down at the shaft in his hand. Even in his large hand it looked substantial… long, hard and thick. The bulbous tip alone looked to almost be the size of her closed fist. Living on a country estate, Beatrice was no stranger to the natural ways. There was absolutely no imagining how he would fit that… that… member… inside her body. This was just further proof why the upper class did not mix with the lower. They were incompatible in every way imaginable.

  Gripping it tighter, Rhys moved his hand up and down the shaft to give him some ease. Beatrice watched in horrified fascination as the skin turned a purplish crimson.

  It was a beast! He was a beast. She must escape.

  With renewed vigor, Beatrice pulled at her binds.

  Rhys shifted forward. Placing his thighs along her ribcage, he squeezed them, pressing against her sides. Leaning up on his knees, he placed the tip of his cock within a breath of her lips.

  “Open your mouth.”

  Beatrice stubbornly thinned her lips tightly closed. A look of defiance flashed in her golden eyes.

  Rhys had been thinking of feeling her tight wet mouth enclosed on his cock from the very first moment she opened it to insult him. He would not be deterred.

  “Open your mouth or I will force it open.”

  Beatrice kept her mouth closed. How could he possibly force it op…

  Without taking his intent gaze off her, Rhys reached back and spanked her still swollen cunny.

  Beatrice cried out in surprised pain.

  Rhys shifted his hips forward, placing the head of his cock between her lips.

  Beatrice opened her mouth wider, preparing to use her teeth.

  “Bite me and I will turn you over and whip your backside with a leather strap till you beg for mercy,” he warned ominously.

  Beatrice’s eyes grew wide at the threat.

  “Swirl your tongue around the head. Taste me.”

  Beatrice had no choice but to obey. Tentatively, she brushed the tip of her tongue against his flesh. She was surprised by the salty, musk taste. Earthy. Male. Him.

  Using his grip on her hair, Rhys pushed her head forward, forcing her to swallow more of his cock.

  Beatrice choked. The bottom of her tongue scraped against her teeth as his shaft pressed deeper into her mouth. The large rounded head struck the back of her throat. It was too much. Her lips felt stretched and pulled. She could taste the metallic sting of blood from where her tongue pressed against her own teeth. Her breath became labored. Tears sprang to her eyes from the sharp pull on her hair as she tried to pull away.

  Rhys pulled his cock free from her lips.

  “Stop fighting me. The more you fight, the rougher I will get,” he growled. If she was going to be his wife, he would have to show her who was master now. There was no point in pretending she could pull her usual temper tantrum games in their bed.

  Gripping his cock, Rhys tapped the head against her stubbornly closed lips. “Open.”

  Beatrice glared at him with narrowed eyes.

  “Open.”

  Rhys raised an eyebrow as he raised his hand, shifting his shoulder back, ready to strike her already pained cunny.

  With a sob, Beatrice dropped her sign of defiance and opened her mouth… slightly.

  Rhys grinned. Feisty till the end. Good.

  Raising up on his knees, he straddled her narrow shoulders with one strong hand gripping the headboard for leverage. Leaning over her, he saw real fear flash in her eyes before guiding his cock past her lips.

  He was going to force her to take every long, hard inch. Pushing his hips forward, he watched in fascination as his thick shaft painfully widened her lips. Her muffled cries did nothing to deter him. He pushed onward, feeling the edge of her teeth on the soft underside of his cock and her tongue as it hopelessly tried to dislodge him. Felt the squeeze of her cheeks as she fought for breath.

  Rhys pressed further, feeling her throat tighten and contract around the head. Each cough, each gag, sent a ripple of sensation up his shaft. Taking pity on her, he pulled back slightly, allowing Beatrice a few hurried gulps of air before continuing his assault.

  Beatrice’s eyes were tightly closed as she tried to endure. She couldn’t breathe. His shaft filled her mouth and throat. Her jaw ached. She was surrounded by the feel, sound and scent of him. It was all him. Nothing but him.

  Never in her life had she been so taken over by another. Her mind and body were not her own. They were his to command.

  It was galling.

  It was infuriating.

  It was strangely thrilling.

  Her stomach twisted at the undeniable thought. His raw power. His domination. His forcefulness made her feel… made her feel vulnerable, small… feminine. She loathed and loved the impression.

  Damn she was magnificent, thought Rhys. Her mouth on his cock was one of the most exhilarating experiences of his life. Had she been a weaker woman, it would have merely been a needed release. But this was Beatrice. His Bea. His fierce feline. Holding power over a spirited woman was an awe-inspiring, precious gift. A strong woman did not relent to just any man. Only to the man. Their mate. The one who was strong enough to take them on but intelligent enough to give them some rein. He was that man for Bea and he would make sure she never forgot it.

  Her throat was weakening. Her resistance ebbing. Rhys thrust till her nose touched his abdomen, feeling a primal sense of pride at her ability to take him down her throat whole. Now that she was primed, it was time to unleash his faltering control.

  “Time to put that lovely mouth of yours to far better use than to sling insults my way,” he gritted out, still trying to hold back.

  Beatrice tried to shake her head no but was prevented by his grip on her hair and his cock still lodged just past her lips inside her mouth. What more could he possibly do, she thought frantically. He had already shown her that men do put their members in a woman’s mouth. Was there more to it than that?

  Rhys released his hold on her tresses and placed his hand on the headboard. He didn’t want to bear down on her with his full weight, at least not this first time.

  Pulling back, he thrust deep, straight to his lust-tightened balls… but this time he didn’t stop. Pul
ling back, he thrust in again, harder. Beatrice started to scream, the sound sending delicious vibrations up and down his cock. Still he thrust, watching as his cock disappeared straight down her tortured throat.

  “That’s it, love. Take it. Take all of it,” he ground out between shortened breaths.

  Beatrice struggled. Pulling on her binds, she kicked out her feet. Her hips rose and fell against the soft bed covers. She tried twisting her body to and fro. Nothing would dislodge him. Nothing would stop the unending thrust of his cock down her throat. She was being used. Used by him. By the stable master. She tilted her head back as a final recourse. Then she heard it. He moaned. A moan of pure pleasure. Beatrice felt a small spark of power. She tilted her head again, the movement causing her throat to tighten around his shaft. Another moan. She moved her tongue, caressing the underside and the crest. Yet another moan.

  “Damn, woman. You’re going to be the death of me,” Rhys groaned through clenched teeth as he moved his hands to place them over her tied ones.

  Beatrice felt a delightful little rush, to be completely dominated and yet still have power.

  Unable to contain himself a moment longer, Rhys pulled free of her tight, wet mouth.

  Moving over her sleek body, he positioned his hips between her soft thighs.

  Beatrice’s torso shot off the bed as his mouth closed over one pert nipple. Still slightly swollen from his punishment of earlier, it was extremely sensitive. The feel of his harsh tongue as it lapped and sucked sent shocking waves of pleasure coursing through her limbs.

  “No. Stop,” she begged, her voice hoarse and rough.

  Placing both hands on either side of her head, he leaned down to harshly command. “Ask me to fuck you.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I-I… I cannot!”

  “You can, and you will.”

  “Please, don’t ask it of me. You don’t understand.”

  Rhys did not know whether she was objecting because she thought him nothing but a servant or because of the engagement her father had arranged… to him. He didn’t care. She was not allowed to object to one of his commands in bed. Ever.

  Beatrice was not thinking of his station in life or her father’s edict. It was the curse. The beggar woman said only through pain would she know love. Was he her curse? Was it only through his promise of pain and punishment, his overpowering of her senses that she would allow herself to relent and fall in love? The idea frightened Beatrice more than his hold on her.

  Bearing down on her, his cock brushing the entrance to her cunny, he growled, “I understand all I need to know. You need this. Whether you want to admit it or not. You need my strength. My power. Your body is begging to be tamed. To be claimed. By me.”

  “Untie me first,” she demanded. Then added a soft, “Please.”

  Without breaking eye contact, he reached over their bodies to release the knot holding her wrists. Beatrice’s hands immediately went to his face.

  Despite the obvious threat of harm, Rhys held his position.

  But it was not with her claws that she touched him, but rather her fingertips. Soft and gentle, she traced the planes of his face. The sharp edge of his jaw. The outline of his lips. The scratches he received from her earlier.

  Every bone in his body. Each pulse of blood. Every aspect of his very being, screamed out to just fuck her. Claim what was already his. It took all his control to remain still. To allow her this small concession before he took all from her.

  Her amber eyes still shone with uncertainty when she breathed, “Please… please fuck me.”

  He felt more than heard her capitulation. With those few hesitant words, his control snapped. Rearing up to tower over her, he placed his hands on the delicate skin of her inner thighs, spreading them wide. Shifting his hips to place the head of his cock at her tight entrance, he thrust forward.

  Her body accepted the tip of his shaft but not without a struggle. Gliding his hands up her thighs, he placed them on her hips, raising her up. This time when he thrust, he pulled her body forward with his powerful arms, ruthlessly impaling her straight to the hilt. Driving through her delicate maidenhead.

  Beatrice opened her mouth on a silent scream as she fisted the bed covers. The sharp inescapable ache brought tears to her eyes. Her body felt stretched and pulled as it strained to accommodate his girth. He was inside of her. Part of her. Taking over her body. A pulsing, throbbing heat.

  Rhys continued to thrust in a building rhythm. Leaning down to kiss the sensitive spot just below her ear, he ground out, “You are mine now, princess.”

  His words caused her already tight sheath to clench down on his cock. Beatrice reached around to clutch at his back. Her nails dug in, and she drew them down the full length, leaving her mark on him as he had on her. The touch of pain drove him on. With increasing vigor, he pounded into her delicate passage.

  Beatrice, overcome with new and complex emotions, clung to his broad shoulders. Still it was not enough. She needed more… something… more. In her ardor, she bit down on his neck. As her sharp teeth sunk deep into his flesh, she felt a primal surge. All her senses were alert. The rich, earthy scent of him. The acrid tang of his blood on the tip of her tongue. The sound of his harsh breathing in her ear. The feel of his chest hair brushing against her nipples. It all rushed over her with crystal clarity.

  Biting. Clawing. Clenching. Thrusting.

  Rushing towards a mutual release.

  The room spun, faster and faster. The colors merging and melting, swirling about her. As her world tilted, she could hear his roar of completion. Beatrice stopped fighting it and gave in, reveling in the pleasurable whirl.

  Rhys moved to her side, keeping a strong arm around her waist. As the euphoria ebbed, Beatrice tried to sidle away. Rhys only pulled her closer.

  “Well… um… I am very tired so—”

  “I’m not leaving,” uttered Rhys as he moved to pull the covers over both of them.

  Beatrice felt her irritation rise. “You got what you wanted. You can leave now.”

  She needed him gone. Needed to be alone to reflect on what had just happened. How she had let it happen. She had just given her maidenhead to a man she barely knew… and a servant no less. Yet, somehow, she wasn’t feeling the rush of guilt or panic that was expected. It was wrong, but it still felt right. The very least of her concern was how her supposed fiancé would feel on the subject. He probably was old and fat. He probably didn’t even know what to do with a woman in bed, let alone be concerned if his purchased bride was not pure.

  “I haven’t even begun to take all that I want,” warned Rhys.

  Beatrice shivered. It was a long time before she ventured to speak again.

  “I don’t know your name,” she whispered with mortification into the darkness, half hoping he had fallen asleep.

  Rhys paused. Now was not the time to reveal his true identity. She was not quite ready to learn he was more tied to her fate than she realized.

  “Rhys,” he responded finally as he nuzzled her neck, hoping she did not draw a connection between that and the Prince Rhysmont of her engagement. “Now sleep, love. I plan to wake you early in the morning with more of the same.”

  Realizing he truly had no intentions of leaving and being both emotionally and physically exhausted, Beatrice yielded. And it had nothing to do with his promise of more pleasure, she resolutely lied to herself. She would see that he left the way he had come in before the servants stirred in the morning.

  For the first time in years she did not dream of the beggar woman or the curse that night. Nor did she dream of the beast; he had become a reality.

  Chapter 7

  “You have to leave!”

  Rhys opened one eye, took in Bea’s beautifully disheveled state and then promptly closed it.

  “I’m not jesting! You have to leave, now!” Beatrice urged as she shook his naked shoulder.

  Rhys rolled onto his back, pulling her down on t
op of him.

  Beatrice placed her hands on his warm chest, running her fingers through the thick black hair which did nothing to hide the deep valleys and ridges of each muscle. She blushed as she watched his lips form a knowing smile. Before sunrise that morning, he had awakened her in a very creative, if not mortifying way, insisting she straddle his shoulders. Beatrice swore if she looked closely, she would see nail marks in the headboard she had grabbed onto it so tightly.

  “Please, whats-her-name will be here soon,” she pleaded.

  “Whats-her-name? You mean, Dolores, your lady’s maid?”

  Beatrice was astonished. “How do you know my maid’s name?”

  “I know more about you than you might think,” he responded cryptically.

  Shaking off the warm feeling knowing he had taken the time to learn about her produced, Beatrice gave him another pleading look. “Well then, Dolores, will be here soon. You must leave!”

  Rhys took pity on her. Once his identity was revealed, there would not be much fuss about finding him in her bed, even though they were anticipating the wedding a bit. However, he would not have her bear the brunt of innuendo and crude talk till that day. Reluctantly rising, he reached for his breeches. However, thinking better of it, he laid back down

  Grabbing his breeches, Beatrice held them out to him. “What are you doing? Don’t lie back down! Put these on!” she beseeched.

  “Only if you promise me a forfeit,” he teased.

  “Yes! Yes! Anything you please! Just get dressed.”

  “Anything?” he asked with a seductive tilt to his mouth.

  Beatrice paused. Perhaps in her zealousness to get him out of her bed chamber she had been incredibly hasty. The man had a wicked mind. Who knows what kind of pleasurable torture he had in mind.