His Princess (A Royal Romance)

by Abigail Graham

  I lean back to retrieve the bottle of lubricant and coat my cock in a thick slippery layer of it, and gingerly probe at her tight rosebud with my finger. She tenses and sucks a breath through her teeth.

  “Relax.”

  “Don’t hurt me.”

  “I won’t, I promise. Remember the special word.”

  “Okay.”

  “Lie like this.”

  I turn her onto her stomach across the bed, facing the mirror. I can barely contain myself now. My every movement is quivering agony, fighting to restrain the beast that demands I thrust inside her and come, come now. More lubricant, and then I caress her ass with the head of my cock, watching her lips part in a gasp.

  I press against her and she tenses then relaxes, gripping the edge of the bed. The tension builds, and builds, and builds.

  I rip the blindfold off as her body yields and I enter her.

  14

  Rose

  The blindfold comes away and I’m treated to a look of utter shock on my face as my body opens and accepts Quentin. God, it feels weird. I can’t help but stare in the mirror, shuddering as he presses deeper. I can see over my own back in my reflection.

  I can see his body, every muscle tight with restrained power, power I feel flowing into me, barely held in check. Excitement and fear and the pleasure of a strange new sensation swirl inside me as I watch his cock disappear into my red, freshly spanked ass. I groan as he goes deeper, and deeper still. Is it ever going to stop?

  A breath sucks in through my teeth as he rests on my back, my ass pressed against his hips. It feels so strange. I feel filled up and hollow at the same time, the invading presence of his cock inside me weirdly satisfying, like scratching an itch.

  I’m yielding to him. I relax under him as he wraps his arm around me, around my neck, and holds me still as he starts to thrust. With every movement I can feel him restraining myself, power in his body ready to make me scream, but so gentle, so slow. There is a hint of pain but it fades as I relax and the sensation grows familiar, pleasant, even.

  I’m his, totally. He spreads his legs and enters me deeper, straddling me as he rolls his hips. His cock is his ownership, stealing my body from me as I surrender myself to him willingly.

  I feel protected and used, saintly and slutty. It’s dirty and I like it.

  He murmurs in my ear. “It’s going to take me a long time to come going this slow. That’s why I had you swallow. So I can fuck your ass until you can’t take it anymore.”

  I offer him one simple word, not a command, nor even an invitation, a plea. A single word of undoing and surrender.

  “Harder.”

  Oh my God, I can’t take it, it feels too good and too strange. I grip his arm and arch under him, pressing my back to his chest as he slides against me, his cock filling me more than I’ve ever filled before.

  His other hand is under me, under my stomach. God, he’s fucking big, I think if he pushes too hard with his hand he’ll poke his palm with his cock.

  His hand moves down, down, down, settles between my legs. Oh God, Quentin, it’s too much.

  He starts to move his hand, not deftly, with his fingers, just rubbing his palm lightly over my mound and my sensitive lips, now and then touching his finger against me like it will enter me before pulling back. I want to draw my legs up but he has me pinned, the ache in my muscles melting into the pleasure that ripples through my body.

  “Like it?” he purrs in my ear.

  I can’t answer. I just croak out a soft moan.

  Quentin’s finger slips inside me, teasing me with agonizing slowness. Instinctively I try to grind on him, and it changes the angle of his thrusts, sending new ripples of pleasure through my body as his cock fills my ass.

  “Look in the mirror. Look how beautiful you are.”

  I’m sweating like I’ve been running a marathon. My hair is soaked, my skin flushed red and shining wet, my eyes dull and unfocused. I lick my lips and Quentin kisses my cheek as he drives into me deeper, always deeper.

  Please give it to me, I want it.

  A second finger enters me. His palm works my clit. My legs are shaking. Being spread open like this changes the feeling, flavors it. My body tightens around him in brief spasms that make him moan in my ear. Fear and excitement blend as he starts to lose himself in the moment, fingering me and fucking me in steady rhythm but faster, harder, using my body, my pleasure enhancing his own.

  I close my eyes and bite the sheets as my peak rises, pushing through me, slipping under my skin to steal me away on a tide of pleasure that bursts through my body. I thrash under him as my body grips him, and Quentin jerks and moans wordlessly in my ear. His moans are strained, almost like he’s in pain.

  I can feel every inch of his throbbing cock, and I can feel it as he explodes inside me. Oh God.

  “You’re mine,” he growls in my ear. “You’re mine and nobody can ever have you but me.”

  I want to scream yes but the cry comes out as a wordless moan as I squirm under him, twisting the bedsheets.

  I catch my breath. He’s still inside me, still on top of me. I try to move but he grabs my wrists.

  “It can hurt a little when I pull out. I’ll go slow, you relax. Relax, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  I groan as I feel him drawing out of me. He takes his fucking time and I think he likes the feeling, the sound, and the look on my face. He watches me in the mirror, his eyes hungry, a smirk and sneer on his face.

  Finally he draws all the way out. I feel my body close and it’s the first time I’ve felt pain from it, but it’s over quickly.

  I… I don’t know what’s happening. I’m so cold. I can’t move. Quentin gathers me up in his arms. I watch in the mirror as his muscular body flexes, my tiny form draped in his arms like a newlywed carrying his bride. He lifts me farther up the bed and wraps a blanket around me.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t go,” I plead. “Don’t leave me, I’m cold.”

  “I know, baby. Just a second. Trust me.”

  Trust me.

  I close my eyes and wait for him. True to his word, he isn’t gone long. He comes back wrapped in a towel and sits on the bed with me, pulls me into an embrace, and tips a glass of water to my lips. I forgot how thirsty I was. I drink greedily, draining the glass, not caring that frigid drops spill down my chin.

  He doesn’t say anything. He holds me against him, all curled up, and rocks me until I stop shaking.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Relaxed,” I sigh.

  “Good.”

  “My butt hurts.”

  “I know.”

  “You spanked me.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I’ve never done…the other part before,” I confess.

  “What a waste. You liked it, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  He strokes my cheek.

  I sob.

  “Shhh.”

  “Who are you?” I demand. “Why are you here? What is all that stuff in the basement? What’s going on? I don’t know what’s going on. I’m scared.”

  He shushes me again, gently. “I know. Me too.”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “I’m not sure now is a good time. You’re a little naked.”

  I slip my arms around him. “There’s never going to be a good time.”

  “You’re right,” he sighs.

  “So tell me.”

  “There’s no easy way to put this.”

  He leans back, and if he’s trying to pull away from me it doesn’t work. I lock my arms around him tighter and fall on his chest as he sinks into the pillows.

  “You’re not going to let go of me, are you?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  I squeeze him even harder for emphasis.

  “Just for the record, I’m not a piece of meat. I’m not your property.”

  “You were all about being my property when I had my dick in your butt.�
��

  I flinch. “Can’t you be a little more romantic about it?”

  “My throbbing love rod in your flesh pillows?”

  “Shut up.”

  I rest my head on his chest.

  “Tell me, Quentin.”

  “You’re not going to like the answer.”

  I sigh. “I know. Just tell me.”

  He looks at the ceiling and touches my hair, and my shoulder, like he might not get another chance. Quentin toys with a lock of my hair, curling it around his fingers.

  “I love red hair. Yours is just perfect. Whoever named you Rose…”

  “Tell. Me.”

  He lets his arms slide from my back.

  “I kill people,” he says flatly.

  I sit up and stare at him. “What?”

  “I…kill people. I’m a hitman, I guess you’d call it. I never do though.”

  My mouth falls open. It takes me a moment to shake my head and clear my thoughts. Dread swirls in my stomach, pushes up into my lungs. I hug myself and start to shake.

  Quentin touches my shoulders then pulls me to him. He puts his arms around me again and, God help me, I let him.

  “What people?”

  “Criminals. Criminals put out contracts to kill other criminals. People like me take them.”

  “How many?”

  The dread deepens. Oh my God, I just slept with a killer.

  “I don’t know.”

  There’s something in his voice that makes me want to break. Is he playing me, or is he truly remorseful? I put my hand on his chest. I can feel his heart.

  I can tell if people are lying, too. I’m a mom. Moms know.

  He’s telling me the truth. He’s a hired killer.

  “How?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do you do it?”

  “However I’m paid to. I don’t…”

  “You don’t what?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never known anything but this. I killed my first man when I was sixteen years old. I made a mess of it, too.” His voice thickens. “How was I supposed to know the difference? I…”

  “What are you doing here, then?”

  “I’m running. I made a mistake.”

  “You killed the wrong person?”

  “No,” he says very, very softly. “I refused to kill the right one.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I lie on my side and he turns to face me. I can feel in his embrace that he’s thinking this won’t last much longer, this is the end. It makes me sick. Why? It’s not fucking fair.

  “I took a contract to kill a man.”

  “What man?”

  “It doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t know him. Very powerful people wanted him to die and paid very well.”

  “You didn’t do it?” I ask, a note of hope in my voice.

  “No, I killed him. The problem was, I was supposed to eliminate any witnesses.”

  I swallow. “What witnesses?”

  “This man was a trafficker.”

  “Trafficker? Like drugs?”

  “People. Girls.”

  I shiver. “Girls?”

  “For labor, and for prostitution.” Disgust twists his voice.

  “Somebody wanted to stop this man?”

  “No. Somebody wasn’t getting their cut, so he had to be made an example of.”

  “They sent you.”

  “I volunteered.”

  “Because of what he did?”

  Quentin sighs. “Because they paid well.”

  “Go on.”

  “He wasn’t alone. It was fast. I shot him three times, two in the chest, once in the head. He was dead before he knew what was happening. Problem was, he wasn’t alone. This was at his place, a…a villa, I guess you’d call it.”

  His arms tighten around me. “Some of the girls were there in the room. My instructions were highly specific. I was supposed to kill them, too. It wasn’t about hiding what happened. It was to send a message. Show what happens when you fuck with the higher ups.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I… I was going to. I… The youngest one was little, I mean she was like thirteen fucking years old, just staring at me with those big dead eyes. Never said anything, just looked at me like, get this over with.”

  “What did you do? Leave?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I got them out. I, uh, caused some problems.”

  “Problems?”

  “I sort of burned the house down and killed six guards, and there was a little explosion.”

  “A little explosion?”

  “It wasn’t like a bad explosion. Just a generator.”

  “The girls?”

  “I called everybody I could think of, made the older ones swear to watch the younger ones, and left them. I called for help. That was all I could do.”

  He rolls onto his back. “I hoped since I emptied the place out, nobody would know what I did. I met up with my contact after that. She was supposed to pay me. Tried to kill me. I ran. Here.”

  “Holy shit,” I say.

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “You never killed kids?”

  “Not kids. Never kids. I have a code. We’re supposed to have a code. That’s how I was brought into this. There’s supposed to be a kind of honor in the criminal fraternity. You don’t hurt civilians, you come straight at your enemies, and you don’t double-cross. That’s how it’s supposed to be, anyway. Honor among thieves.”

  He sits up.

  “I have to leave, Rose. Bad people are going to find me and they have orders to make me suffer. I have to leave. I don’t have a choice. I wanted to tell you but…”

  I cross my arms. “But what?”

  “I didn’t want you to look at me like that,” he says. “I didn’t want you to know. I wanted you to remember me cooking dinner for your kids and fooling around in the car. I wanted to be a happy memory even if it had a bitter ending. I wanted the same from you.” His voice tightens up. “At least then I’d have one fucking happy memory.”

  I stay quiet for a long time.

  “There’s something else,” he says softly.

  “What?”

  “I sprayed you with the hose on purpose.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “The hose. I did it on purpose.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when I opened the door and you started yelling at me about the car in the driveway, my first thought was, what does this bitch want, and my second was, damn, what a fine piece of ass. I wanted to see you all wet.”

  “If you’re trying to flatter me, calling me a piece of ass is the wrong way.”

  “You know you love it,” he says, stroking my arm. “You took that spanking like a champ. Queen in the streets, slut in the sheets.”

  “If you ever call me a slut again I’ll kick you in the balls.”

  “If you try to kick me in the balls I’m going to have to fuck your brains out.”

  “Quentin,” I whimper. “I don’t know how to feel about this.”

  “Me either,” he says. “What a fucking mess.”

  “I don’t want to believe you hurt people.”

  “Killed. Let’s not dance around the bush.”

  “I don’t believe you’re a murder. A monster wouldn’t have been so kind with my children, or…me.”

  I sniffle a little and scrub at my nose with his sheets. He deserves it.

  “When I’m gone I want you to remember me like that. Not like this. Remember how good it was.”

  “What if they don’t come? What if they just let you go? Why can’t you stay?”

  “Rose, you don’t understand what’s at stake here. A very, very bad man wants to kill me and he’ll hurt people to make me suffer first.”

  I sit up and grab his arm. “You’ll kill him first, won’t you?”

  “What?” He looks genuinely surprised.

  “You can protect us.”

  “Rose, did you miss the
part where I just told you I kill people for money? I’m not a protector.”

  “You protected those girls.”

  “I know, but…” he trails off. He sighs. “The best thing I can do to protect you is go.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I have to. Not yet. I can stay a while longer. I shouldn’t leave today with the fucking circus in town outside or whatever it is, but tomorrow I’m going to have to go.”

  I nod. “I need a shower.”

  “I need to join you.”

  15

  Quentin

  For a moment I only lie on the bed as I watch Rose stand up, her legs trembling as she shivers. She instinctively covers her chest with her arms, still embarrassed in her nudity. Innocence clings to her like the fresh scent of flowers after a summer breeze has faded. Once she’s on her feet I swing my legs over and stand up behind her, slipping my arms around her waist as I rest my chin on her head.

  Rose smirks and wriggles her ass against me. I start to stiffen and she giggles.

  “Easy there, give me a minute.”

  She pulls at my arms and I reluctantly let go and satisfy myself with holding her hips. She pulls me along into the bathroom and turns on the shower, sighing as the room fills with steam.

  “Stop sniffing me,” she says as I sniff at her neck.

  “No.”

  I like the scent, the way she smells when she’s covered head to toe in sweat. Before I let her ruin it by washing off, I grab her and stick my face in her armpit, and she squirms and squeals and halfheartedly struggles until I breathe my fill and let her go.

  She only stops shivering when she’s under the water, and the sight of it pouring down her back makes me harder. I step in after her and pull the door shut, crowding her.

  “I can’t move,” she protests.

  “Why do you get to stand under the water? It’s freezing in here.”

  “If you’re going to stand so close, you can help me wash up.”

  I don’t need to be told twice. I pull her back to my chest and grab a bar of soap from the wall and start lathering it up on her stomach, covering my hands in soap before I set it aside and lather up her breasts. No subtlety here. The end is getting close.

  I’m never going to see her again. I let her soapy skin slide under my palms with adoring resignation, committing to memory the silky feel of her flesh and the way she gasps when my palms run rough over her nipples. It’ll keep me warm on lonely nights when I’m running from nowhere to noplace.