Page 37 of His Prince
The front door opens, and I hear the three of them maneuver the mattress outside, so I walk toward the guest room, the place where I took my husband for the first time. But when I step inside, my nostrils flare as I take in the destruction all around me.
There are holes in all the walls, the carpet is torn up, and the bedframe is hacked to pieces. How I didn’t hear this is beyond me, but I was distracted by Ivan and his constant blathering about his findings in the bank accounts.
“Fuck,” I murmur as a huff of laughter erupts from me, but I swallow it down, an odd feeling forming inside of me. I haven’t laughed in years.
She broke something inside of me.
“Don’t do this, please. Please, Mikhail.”
I push the sound of her pleas as I slit her throat from my mind and shut the door with a snick, letting this room rest for now.
I don’t need to fuck to survive. It’s more of a biological compulsion than anything.
My mind moves to my husband, and I wet my lips.
Perhaps if I’m hungry enough, I’ll taste him again.
9
ANGEL
That night, Mikhail isn’t in the room when I sink into the tub for a relaxing bath. Between cooking meals and working on getting the garden back to looking like a place where I’d be happy to spend my days, I’m sore and exhausted.
When I finally slide beneath the covers, smelling like honeysuckle and vanilla in my pajamas, I lean against the headboard and pull out my book. I’m halfway through a chapter, my eyes starting to droop when Mikhail enters, his shirt spattered with gray paint, his face set in a scowl.
I’m immediately awake, damn him.
He huffs in frustration when he sees me and my heart twinges. I don’t see the man I thought I loved. He’s nowhere to be found.
But he’s still sexy as sin as he strips his shirt off his head and tosses it onto the ground, his pecs flexing, his biceps straining. It’s almost as if he’s doing it on purpose.
He undoes his pants slowly, and I swallow roughly at the sight.My throat makes an obscene clicking sound, one that he clearly hears.
His eyes slash to mine and his lips twitch.
Jerk.
I force my gaze back to the words on the pages before me, listening as he disappears into the bathroom. Only for him to reappear minutes later—naked, damp, nothing covering his body.
My dick plumps up, pressing against the sheets, a desperate plea for attention, so I bring my knees up to my chest, not wanting him to see how he’s affecting me. Not that he even looks my way. He ignores me completely.
He walks to the bed and slides on top of the covers, not even bothering to tuck his ridiculously hot body under the sheets. He just lies there, his soft dick nestled in the dark hair at his groin, his legs spread wide.
He places a hand behind his head, the muscles of his biceps rippling, and drags a hand across his chest, the smattering of hair there so delicious.
I hate how good he looks, that I’m nearly panting as I sit here, trying to get my dick to go down.
But it doesn’t.
It only grows harder.
Mikhail inhales, his chest rising, abs flexing and he slowly drags a hand down to his cock and strokes it.
My lungs are full of air, the act of breathing a distant thing as I watch him grow hard.
The sight of his hardening cock makes my own leak. I remember the feel of it on my tongue, the taste of him, the way he smelled.
How he pushed inside of me and made me moan. He made me believe that I could reach nirvana here on Earth.