Claiming His Princess: A Beauty and The Beast Romance (Filthy Fairy Tales Book 4)

by Parker Grey

  “You do not have those rights,” I say, keeping my voice low, soft, and commanding.

  She doesn’t move. I step around the desk, slowly walk closer to her.

  “Those rights apply to citizens,” I tell her. “And I have a feeling that we both know, Isabelle Marchand, that those rights are revoked when a citizen is charged with treason.”

  I’m a foot away from her now, the full power of her glare directed at me.

  “You have no evidence,” she says, her voice just above a whisper.

  “We have all the evidence we need,” I counter, coming even closer. “We have intelligence that points directly at you, mademoiselle, and because of that I suggest you behave yourself while you’re our guest.”

  “I’m not your guest, I’m your prisoner.”

  “I don’t see why we need to make that distinction.”

  I step closer. Now we’re nearly touching, and I’m towering over her.

  Belle bent over a chair, hands tied, pussy dripping with her juices as I run the flat of my hand over the welts rising on her perfect ass, her gasp of pleasure as I take aim again…

  “You don’t? I do,” she says. Now her voice is shaking, but she still doesn’t stop talking. “One means I can leave, and one means I have to stay here against my will.”

  I take her chin in my hand. She doesn’t jerk her head away, just keeps staring me directly in the face.

  “Then I suggest you get used to whichever one you prefer, Belle, because until further notice?”

  She holds her breath, her whole body stiffening. My cock is rock-hard, and I’m praying that she doesn’t notice.

  “You. Are. Mine.”

  Chapter Seven

  Belle

  There’s complete, utter silence in this room as soon as Julian says that.

  I don’t know what to say, what to do, besides stare up into his eyes — one beautiful, one ruined — as my mind goes blank.

  I don’t know what he means by that. Not exactly, but he’s got his big, rough hand on my face, thumb stroking along my jaw, his body close to mine, the energy in this room practically vibrating.

  And I know that he doesn’t mean it in any sort of official capacity. Prince Julian isn’t saying I’m his subject or his citizen.

  He’s saying I’m his. It’s deeper, more sinister, and his words rock me to my core.

  You. Are. Mine.

  Right now, he could do anything he wants, and I’d be helpless to stop him. There are guards outside the door to this room, fifty feet away, so even if I tried to run I’d be instantly caught and hauled back.

  But the weird thing is that I don’t want to run. As fucked up as it is, as much as I know that I shouldn’t be here, I’m being held for reasons I don’t understand on false pretenses, I don’t want to leave.

  I want Prince Julian to tell me what you are mine means.

  I take a deep breath. I close my eyes, can’t help but feel his body heat from this close, smell his delicious scent, all musk and pine.

  No. I don’t want him to tell me.

  I want him to show me.

  The realization rocks my eyes open again. I think I gasp, softly, looking back and forth from his good eye to his ruined one, and suddenly my mind goes berserk.

  Prince Julian, wrapping his hand around my hair, tugging, pulling my head back, dragging me to my knees…

  I shudder, blinking. I’ve never had a thought like that before, but I’ve never felt so overwhelmed in the presence of a man like this before, either.

  “I suggest you remember that,” he growls, his good eye still boring into mine. “You’re in a comfortable bedroom and not a cell because it’s my pleasure that you be in a bedroom.”

  Something about the way he says that makes heat twist and writhe, deep inside me. I ignore it.

  “This is unlawful,” I whisper, but there’s no force behind the words because despite everything, I don’t want him to let me go. I want him to step closer, I want him to put his hands on me, I want him to…

  Prince Julian drops his hand to his side, turns, saunters back behind the desk. Every move he makes is the move of a man perfectly in control, the movements of a man who knows exactly what’s going to happen next.

  “Isabelle Marchand, I am the law in this castle,” he says, his voice a low, deep growl.

  Julian leans forward across his desk, hands flat on the mahogany.

  “You’re dismissed,” he says.

  At last he breaks his gaze on me, sits in his huge chair, turns his attention to something else.

  I exhale in a rush, suddenly breathless. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until right now, when I’m suddenly lightheaded and shaky.

  But I force my feet to move. Dreamlike, I get myself to the office’s massive wooden doors, and just as my hand is on the knob, Julian speaks up again.

  “I’ve sent your father home, by the way,” he says.

  I whirl around, look at him, but he’s speaking as if he’s speaking to the pile of papers on his desk.

  “You’ll be brought a telephone later on today and you’ll be permitted to speak with him.”

  Relief prickles through me, my hands and toes suddenly warm with it. Even if I’m a prisoner, at least my father can go free.

  “Thank you,” I say stiffly.

  Julian finally looks up, pierces me with his good eye.

  “I’m a man of my word,” he says softly, and coming from anyone else those words would be comforting.

  But from Julian, they’re a promise. A vow, an oath that he won’t forget what he said to me earlier: you are mine.

  Again, heat builds in my core, and I shake my head, open the door to try and lessen it.

  It doesn’t work.

  Chapter Eight

  Julian

  I have more than enough to do. I have paperwork to fill out, the endless fucking paperwork of ruling a kingdom. I have pointless commendations to give, I have bullshit to sign, I have new housekeepers to interview because the butler my father chose won’t hire someone without my final approval.

  I don’t give a shit who’s cleaning the floors, I just want them to stay clean. But instead, I have to micromanage every task in this huge, cold, drafty palace.

  I walk back to my office — it’s one of the rooms in my suite, along with my master bedroom, two extras, a kitchen, and a parlor — and I’m not thinking of the paperwork I have to do or the household staffing issues I have to deal with.

  I’m thinking of Belle. Again. She’s all I can think about the last day. The look in her eye when I told her she was mine, something I shouldn’t have said. The way she looked so defiant when I said it.

  The way I want so desperately to prove her wrong, to rule her body and mind, to hear her gasp it as she comes, I’m yours…

  “Stop it,” I growl out loud.

  The guard walking in front of me stops instantly, and I nearly run into the other man’s back.

  “Not you,” I mutter as he looks back at me, mystified. “Keep going.”

  Just as quickly, he starts again.

  Get yourself the fuck under control, I think.

  I force myself to work for a while, even though I can’t concentrate. Instead I think about a thousand things I could do to Belle, a thousand ways I could make her say my name like she’s begging me.

  A thousand ways I could make her feel things she’s never felt before, pain followed by intense pleasure, the utter submission she could give me. I want to watch her give up control completely, give herself to me, let me rule over her…

  Something beeps on my desk, snapping me out of it yet again. It’s just an unimportant email, so I go back to signing boy scout commendations or whatever the fuck it is I’m supposed to be doing.

  Even so, every couple of commendations I let my eyes sneak over to the monitor. It’s on Belle’s room, obviously. For the last few hours she’s just been sitting in her recliner, reading one of the books we allowed her, getting up every so often to us
e the bathroom or refill her water glass.

  I watched her talk on the phone with her father as proof that we really did let the old man go.

  And then, finally, she stands. Yawns. Tosses the book on the bed and heads into the bathroom.

  I make a mental note: have a camera installed on the shower. Right now, we don’t have cameras in the bathrooms, but we’ve never had a prisoner I wanted so badly to watch shower before, either.

  A few minutes later, she comes out. She lowers the blinds over the window, and now she’s got my full attention as she looks around the room. Turns the lights off, toggling the camera’s night vision.

  That makes Belle blurry as she unbuttons the pants we let her wear, but I can still see the perfect swell and curve of her ass as she bends over, pulls them off. She tosses them on the chair and then, with her back to the camera, pulls her shirt off over her head.

  I’m hard as fuck, pen still gripped in one hand as I watch her. I want to sink my fingers into the notch at her waist. I want to tie her hands to the bedpost, raise welts on her back with my flogger, alternate between showing her exquisite pain and pleasure as I tease her clit so close to orgasm that she whimpers…

  One last time, Belle peeks between the blinds, her back still to the camera. I wonder what she’s thinking, what she’s checking on, but then in a flash she’s turning to the bed, naked except for her panties, and slides between the sheets.

  I only get to look at her for a second, but I can’t help myself. I’ve already unbuckled and unzipped my trousers, and my cock springs out at full attention.

  I can barely see her — she’s in night vision, after all — and can only barely make out the form of her body under the sheets, her full, perky breasts rising and falling, her dark hair spread out on the pillow.

  I wrap my fist around the base of my cock, breathing deep. She doesn’t know it but she’s already submitting to me, giving me what I want, and I stroke myself slow and hard, watching her breathe as she turns slightly, moves her arm—

  I stop.

  Belle shifts her hips in the bed, her thighs parting under the sheets as her hand steals downward, skimming past her breasts, over her belly, until it’s unmistakably between her legs.

  Her hand starts moving. I can’t see detail, between the night vision camera and the sheets covering her, but I can tell she’s pleasuring herself. Her legs part a little more and she turns her head to one side, her face in the pillow as her hips buck.

  Watching, I stroke myself harder, faster, my thick cock filling my fist insistently. For a moment I wonder what Belle’s thinking about, but then a certainty fills me that I already know.

  She’s thinking about this afternoon. About me telling her that she was mine. That’s what has her wet and naked in this bed, getting herself off in the dark when she thinks no one knows.

  My fist tightens more, and a growl comes out of my throat at what she’s doing. I’m wildly, unstoppably jealous, that domination desire building deep inside me. It’s indignation that she’s doing this on her own terms, without me.

  She’s mine. That means her pain and her pleasure is mine. Her body is mine. Her orgasms are mine.

  Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

  On the camera, Belle gasps, her head thrashing to one side as her hand moves even faster, her other hand clutched on the pillow beside her head. I grunt, fist tight on my cock, eyes glued to the screen.

  Her hips buck again, hard enough that the sheet slides down her body a few inches, revealing one perfect, plump breast. Belle gasps into the pillow again, her other hand automatically going to her nipple and pinching it, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger with her eyes closed, totally lost to pleasure.

  She’s about to come. I can tell, and so am I, thick cock throbbing in my hand, the head purple, nearly ready to explode.

  Belle whimpers on camera, her mouth open, her head thrown back against the pillow. She’s moments away, and even from here, I can tell it’s incredible, beautiful, a sight to behold.

  I turn the monitor off. I want the first time I watch her come to be in person.

  My hand tightens, pumping harder and faster, the familiar pull in my balls that means I’m seconds away. I exhale hard, head back.

  I come with one more stroke, imagining Belle underneath me, harder than I’ve ever come before. I come so hard I nearly hit the ceiling, grunting between my teeth as I do, fist locked around the base of my cock.

  Seconds later, I realize what I’ve done. It’s not that I just jerked off in my office, it’s that this girl made me lose control, and I don’t lose control.

  But where Belle’s concerned, I can barely help myself. For hours now, I’ve been doing nothing but thinking about her, fantasizing until I couldn’t stop myself any longer.

  I tuck my cock back into my pants. Sit up straight. Turn the monitor back on.

  Belle’s there, lying on her side. Both hands visible over the sheets, her breathing slow and measured, like she’s already fallen asleep.

  You will be mine, I swear silently.

  One way or another, Belle Marchand.

  You will be mine.

  Chapter Nine

  Belle

  A day goes by, then two.

  Nothing happens. I’m not even questioned about my alleged role in this alleged treason that I’m supposed to be a part of. I get three meals a day from a guard, sit and eat them at my room’s tiny table.

  After an hour or so, he comes and collects my dishes. That’s all the human interaction I get.

  At least there are plenty of books. That was the one request I made that they honored, and now I’ve got at least twenty novels in here. Good thing I tend to prefer books to people, since that’s what I’ve got now.

  Or at least, I’ve been pretending to read, and to be fair, I do read a lot.

  But I’ve also been thinking. Watching. Noticing.

  Spending a lot of time mentally tracking the noises of the guards outside as they change shifts.

  Spending a lot of time staring out the window, thinking about ways that I could get down. The bed in here is a king-size, and by making it every day I’ve estimated the diagonal length at about twelve feet.

  I’ve got two flat sheets, a fitted one, and a duvet cover. I’m about three stories up.

  I think it’s enough.

  The stone pathway down below isn’t well-guarded — just a guard at either end, a few hundred feet away, and they change around midnight. I think I can get down with no problem.

  That’s as far as I’ve gotten, though. I don’t know what happens once I’m out of this room and there’s a sheet rope announcing the fact that I’ve escaped. I have no idea where to hide or how to get off grounds, but I’ll think of a plan on my feet.

  Then, as fast as I can, I get to my father’s friends. He knows plenty of people who’ll protect me and who’ll raise hell about the prince taking someone prisoner without due process or any evidence at all. If I can get across a border to a friendly country, I’ll probably be fine.

  Besides, I have to get out of here. I don’t know what Julian has in mind for me, but I know it’s something.

  It’s something dark and deep and forbidden. Something that whispers its promises in the dark.

  And I’m afraid that if I don’t leave, I’ll give it to him.

  And like it.

  At 11:30, I take the sheets off the bed. I turned the lights out an hour ago and pretended to sleep, stirring every so often so the guards in the hall wouldn’t think I was faking it.

  I tie the corners together as securely as I can, tugging them tight. I remember reading once that to get a really secure knot this way, you should wet the sheets and then let them dry, but I don’t have time for that.

  At 11:55, I gather up the rope of sheets and stand next to the window. As quietly as I can, I tie one end of my rope to the bedpost, then pull the shades up over the window.

  It’s cloudy, the moon just barely glimmering through, which should make
it easier for me. In full moonlight, the white sheets would practically be a beacon.

  Quietly, I open the window. Quietly, teeth clenched against the possibility of making a sound, I pull on the window screen as hard as I dare.

  Then I pull harder. And harder. The thing’s not budging, and for a quick moment I wonder if it’s glued in place, if this was all in vain, but then it practically flies out with a pop and a scrape and I go stumbling backward, right into the side of the bed.

  I freeze. I’m weirdly crouched, the screen held in my hands, terrified that the guards are going to come in and find me at the worst possible time, clearly about to escape but barely even started yet.

  But nothing happens. Either they’re not listening, or I timed this well, right for the changing of the guards. I push the screen under the bed, trying not to make any more noise, and stand up straight, looking outside.

  Nothing. These windows don’t have bars, which seems like quite an oversight to me, but I’m not sure these rooms were ever intended to hold prisoners. They’re not cells, after all.

  I take a deep breath, sitting on the window ledge, and wrap the sheet around my shoulder. I’ve never tried anything like this before, and I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I know that I need to try.

  I give the makeshift rope a tug. The bedframe creaks slightly but holds, because it’s enormous and probably at least three times as heavy as I am. My heart hammers in my chest, and I’m starting to feel like the dinner I had might come back up.

  Despite all that, I look out the window. Neither of the guards are in their positions right now because they’re switching shifts, so for about thirty seconds, the coast is clear.

  That means I have to go now, ignoring my rabbit heart and my sweaty palms, ignoring the fact that it would be so easy for me to fall to my death or at least my paralysis on the stone walkway below.