Page 46 of The Princess Tied

“Tonight you cannot be my ruler. Or anyone’s.”

Then, with her pinned by gaze and hand, and with his fingers making dents in the flesh of her breast, at his own deliberate pace, he removed his hand from her breast and lifted her dress. He pushed it between her thighs. His fingers slid in her arousal. When his fingertip circled her entrance, her pussy squeezed in.

“Welcoming me in? Nice.”

She closed her eyes.

Savoring her reactions, her sounds, he pushed in small distance, wetting his finger to the depth of a knuckle. Her expression faltered when his finger paused inside her. He waited, watched. Po whimpered and lowered her head so that her hair swung and concealed her face. But not enough.

Her lips were open in an O he direly wanted to fuck; the woman writhed against his strength. Her lower body and legs strained as if to make him fuck her deeper.

Smiling grimly, he pulled away, then wiped his wet hand on her dress.

“This doesn’t lie. Your cunt.”

She shook her head. “Unfair. You know this. It’s just—”

“That you want me.”

Her mouth pinched in, and she shuddered. “No.”

“I fear the princess is a liar.”

Fuck this. Fuck being the polite brother, the one who apologized.

In that second his resolve became close to solid.

In three days, he could make her his whore—his princess, his slave.

“We will go back into the tent, and either you will strip, or I will do it for you. If I have to do it, there will be consequences. Any deviation, any hint of speaking without looking to me for permission, and there will be consequences.”

“There must be another way. It’s unseemly. Uncouth.”

“It is. And you’ll do it because it is what we must do before we can leave. Else you risk all our lives. All. Tonight you do as I say because I’m right.”

“You…” Her throat moved, and she stared, one eye half-hidden behind the sway of her red tresses. “Want me.”

“This is also true.” And so he kissed her one more time, hard, to hammer home his power over her.

Then he released her, took a step away, and let her rearrange her clothes. Her breathing took a long time to settle into anything approaching normal.

“I will not forget this, John. How you treat me tonight. Take care.”

“Noted, princess.” He let his smile freeze into a rigid line. “In advance, let me add that I will not be treating you in any way except as a man would his slave.”

“Oh.” She swayed, looking into his eyes, searching, as if that had been shocking news.

His chest hurt. “I won’t be letting them harm you.”

With her wrist in hand, he led her back inside, directed her to stand on the table, and folded his arms. Once she was standing up there, he said, “Strip for the prince.”

And then… then his doubts came crowding back in.

Being the bad man wasn’t simple. She’d been trembling when he released her hand.

The gathered men looked nowhere except to her with their greedy eyes, sucking her in, this voluptuous siren with the innocence of her soul seemingly written in the whiteness of her garment. She faced the head of the table where the prince sat, elbow on knee, leaning forward. The exposure of her pert, perfectly rounded rear was for him only, thus far.

The hem of the dress tapered into a frivolous translucency, and the laces winding down her back reminded him of his favorite activity—tying her up in rope.