Page 38 of His Prince
But then he dashed it all away.
He crushed it, shattering me into a million pieces.
I force my gaze away, my eyes nearly watering from not blinkingas I stare down at the book in my hands. I’m not even reading the words, they’re just a blur of ink on the pages.
And Mikhail continues to stroke, slow and soft.
It’s a torture of sorts. Awful and erotic.
My breathing comes out labored, and I hate that he can hear how he’s affecting me, how audible it is.
With each of my shaky exhales, he matches his strokes until I’m nearly hyperventilating, my cock painfully hard.
A groan escapes him and then another until I feel as if I’m going to implode.
And then I feel it, his body shaking as he comes, the scent of him splashing against his skin.
It’s finally over, his breathing returning to normal, the sound of his hand on his cock completely absent.
I peer over at him and see him wiping himself up with a tissue, not even glancing my way.
Then he flips off the lamp and turns on his side, his naked body still exposed to me.
And I’m left to try to calm myself down, try to find a way back to the anger I had earlier.
But I’m left with nothing but lust and desire.
He did this on purpose. He did this in retaliation for scaring his fucktoy away.
Well, screw him for thinking he could get away with it.
As I sink into the mattress, I can’t help but wonder what to do next. How do I get back at him?
I fall asleep with plans forming in my mind.
“What are you doing?” George asks, startling me so badly that the bags I’m holding in my hands fall to the ground, the snipped fabric spilling out.
“Oh. George,” I wheeze and press a hand to my chest, trying tostill my thumping heart. “Where did you come from? I haven’t seen you in days.”
He swipes at his impeccably tidy shirt and shrugs. “Been busy.”
I swallow and then bend down, shuffling the fabric back into the bags.
I can feel George’s eyes on me, watching me as I murmur out a list of excuses. Damn George, sneaking up on me. Where did he come from? I only saw that one tunnel leading from Mikhail’s office to the bodyguards’ house. But perhaps there are others?
“Well, you are always welcome to come for meals.”
“I’m fine with what I make myself,” he says and then straightens his cuffs. I stand up and start tossing the dozen bags into the trash can, making George cock an eyebrow at me.
“You do realize if Mikhail finds out you’ve done this, he may send you to me.”
“We have a contract. He can’t hurt me.”
“Yes, but I can.”
“I can handle you,” I whisper, and George meets my stare.
“Trust me, varo´bushik, you can’t.”