Page 73 of His Prince
I finally just called it a loss and went down to make breakfast, forcing a smile on my face and chatting with everyone, insisting to Andrew that even though Mikhail told him he needed to leave, he didn’t. That I would love him to stay and spend a few more days here.
Truth is, I miss my home. I miss my family.
I’m not ready for him to go.
And I’d like to see Bane more. He’s been very absent, doing god knows what.
While I’m serving up waffles, Mikhail wanders into the kitchen, the lively conversation dying off when he approaches. He looks beastly, his shirt rumpled, his hair askew, his unshaven face set in a severe frown.
When his eyes meet mine, I arch an eyebrow at him.
“Where were you?” he asks, but I just ignore him, handing a plate to Andrew and beaming at my friend.
“I was thinking the two of us could spend some time in the garden today,” I tell him. Andrew peers over at Mikhail and then nods. “Jake is here today and he’s going to be helping piece together the broken fountain. Perhaps we could do a picnic lunch together.”
Mikhail moves up beside me and I feel his breath on my earlobe as he whispers something to me in Russian. It’s foreboding and yet it still sends heat directly between my legs.
But I don’t let him know the effect he has on me. I just continue to ignore him, and Mikhail moves closer until he’s pressed against my back, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt and dragging across my skin.
“You still need to apologize,” I hiss, and I feel his nails dig into my hip, but then he soothes the bite with a gentle rub of his thumb.
“Andrew,” he says lowly, his lips at my ear, his teeth grazing my lobe. “I apologize for protecting my home.”
I roll my eyes and then nudge him in the stomach.
“You can do better.”
“That’s as good as it gets, little devil.”
I shiver at the sound of his low rumbling voice and then feel Mikhail pull me backward toward the hallway.
“I said you need to give a sincere apology and you still need to clean up the mess in the greenhouse,” I protest, but he doesn’t stop, just twists me around and picks me up. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me down the hall to the guestroom that I destroyed with the shears.
He kicks the door open and then slams it shut, pressing me up against it. I can feel the hardness of his cock against my own. Myarms wrap around his neck and my fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the strands. His eyes look wild and bloodshot, as if he didn’t sleep at all.
His forehead meets mine, and I feel the pull of breath against my lips.
“You are a menace, a thorn in my fucking side,” he says, and I roll my head slightly, arching my hips up into his.
“Those with the thorns always smell the sweetest.”
His nose trails up my neck. “Mm, you do smell edible.”
I shiver again, rocking up against his dick, feeling need ripple through me.
“You can’t woo me into fucking you,” I manage to say, despite my body wanting it. “You still need to clean up the mess you made in the greenhouse. And I want new pots as well. Nice ones.”
“Put it on the credit card.”
“I want you to buy them for me. When I have those, I will think about fucking you again, Mikhail. Then and only then.”
His teeth sink into my jaw lightly, and I let out a gasp of pleasure.
“Hm, if you must think, then let me give you an incentive…something to ponder.”
I don’t know what that means, have no idea what he’s getting at, but then he pulls away, my hands slipping from his neck.
As my feet hit the ground, he spins me around and his hand slides down to the bulge in my shorts, squeezing it gently.