Page 31 of His Prince
“We have a contract,” he says forcefully.
“I know, but I think you don’t give a damn about that. You’re as corrupt as they come.”
His eye twitches once more and then he turns and stalks from the bathroom without another word. I hear the door click shut, and I let myself inhale deeply. The shaking travels up my legs, into my torso, and settles in my hands. I’m left to wash myself with quivering limbs.
By the time I get out of the tub, I’m more composed, but my chest is tight with nerves. I pull the towel around my waist and walk into the bedroom, only to see Mikhail lounging under the covers, his iPad in his hand, his chest bare.
I come to a stop and realize what he’s doing.
He’s calling my bluff.
He wants me to be the one to leave, but I fucking won’t.
I incline my head slightly and then disappear into the walk-in closet, pulling on some pajama shorts and atop—a slutty ensemble, the kind that shows off everything—before making my way back to the bed. I can feel his eyes on me as I move under the covers and pull out a book, perching against the headboard while I let my eyes slide over the words on the pages. I don’t retain any of it, just skim it, but I refuse to let him win this.
I only decide to go to sleep when my eyes start to droop.
He does the same, the two of us wordlessly sliding further under the covers, my heart starting to pound uncontrollably as he turns the light off on his end table and I do the same.
We lie there in the dark, neither of us saying anything, until he finally breaks.
“Goodnight, little devil.”
I don’t respond, just turn on my side, facing away from him and squeeze my eyes shut.
I fucking hate him.
I wake up pressed against something warm and strong, my dick hard and straining against my see-through sleep shorts.
Mm, so nice, so perfect.
I wiggle around, nestling my face further into the body next to me, inhaling the strong masculine scent, something unfamiliar and so unique, before stiffening.
No, this isn’t right. This is all wrong.
The last week floods through me, the loneliness, the anger, the despondency, and I try to shift away. But before I can, a strong arm locks me in place, keeping me right beside him.
Mikhail. My husband.
I was cuddling with my husband.
He grunts as he shifts slightly, his hand sneaking up the back of my lace shirt, and I try to wriggle away, but he seems intent on keeping me put.
He’s either a total creep or completely asleep. Because it’s not like he wants me. He’s made that clear. He doesn’t want me at all.
“Mikhail,” I hiss and then pinch his side, making him grunt. When it doesn’t have the intended result, I do it again, twisting his nipple with my fingers, hoping to dislodge him once and for all.
He jerks upright and then suddenly, I’m on my back, his body over mine, something sharp pointed against my neck.
“Mikhail,” I grunt as he blinks his eyes to awareness, his body crushing mine. “Get off me.”
He doesn’t move, just keeps me there, his bare chest brushing against mine, making me feel things I don’t want to.
Things like lust.
I should be afraid, but I’m sad to say I’m not.
I’m just turned on.