Page 56 of Rogue Alpha Prince
“Is there something wrong, Klara?” He asks, highly irritated. Either at the girl, or the fact that it looks like he is acting lovingly toward his wife.
The girl, Klara, is lucky she didn’t come during one of the times he kneeled before me—she wouldn’t have escaped him alive.
“Everything’s great, Alpha. Do you want tea, too? Your Highness?”
“Can you make us two teas with honey? You brought honey, right? I can smell it from here. And a squeeze of lemon juice. Don’t skimp. Thank you!” I send her a big smile.
She bows and turns to the tray again.
Cain uses this moment to push me into the water again but doesn’t hold me this time. I emerge annoyed at him, but don’t say anything, just push my wet hair back from my face. I catch the quick look that Klara gives us.
I guess she’ll no longer think her Alpha has any loving side to him, maybe that was his point.
Cain undresses himself quickly but shamelessly, and squeezes into the bathtub with me.
I shoot my brow up in a questioning look, but he ignores me and lays back—resting his head on the rim with closed eyes. His legs are bent on both of my sides, and his dick is floating freely before me.
“Your Highnesses,” Klara brings a tray with two steaming cups.
“Thank you,” I take both of them and give her a polite smile.
She bows and quickly leaves the room.
I hold two cups, waiting awkwardly for Cain to take one, but he is still ignoring me.
“Take one, please,” I say finally with a soft voice.
He opens his eyes, looks at me, and takes a cup. We start to drink at the same time.
It’s delicious. Probably Earl Grey, but with a strong taste of lemon and wildflower honey, it’s hard to tell.
“Fuck, itisgood,” Cain says, breaking away from his almost empty cup.
“Lemon.”
“Mmm,” he finishes it and puts the cup on a chair behind the bathtub.
I drink mine slowly and catch his gaze again. He looks down at my exposed body, and I can see his dick getting harder and bigger by the second. My breath hitches at the unwanted memory of its salty taste, so I look away.
I feel weirdly conflicted about having sex with him again. My nipples are hardening at the thought of being filled by him, but my elevated heart rate is caused by pure stress at the memory of him pushing me under the water just for his sick fun.
He doesn’t make a move on me, other than squeezing my waist with his arm later at night—which doesn’t do a great job of calming my confused mind.
Horny and scared, that’s what I am.
When RoguePrince doesn't try to take me the next day, either, I become suspicious.
It’s not like Iwantto have sex with him, but if he wanted to, I wouldn’t say no. Not because of who he is—I am just not opposed to having some pleasure while being stuck in this whole arranged marriage situation, and I know he could give me that… I think it’s weird that he doesn’t want to.
My ego doesn’t like it either.
I’m still on my period, but he seems like a guy who would just take out my menstrual cup if he wanted to fuck me. He’s a ruthless Rogue Alpha Prince, for fuck’s sake, he’s not afraid of a little blood. He’s probably even turned on by it.
My period is done after three days, like with any other werewolf female, and all my days keep looking exactly the same. Breakfast in bed from servants who seem to be impressed with my prowess. Dressing up like Cain and making him take me to the office—where he would not so discreetly test me about my strategy knowledge against his officers, for an hour or two. Then—forced on me—exploring the city with hot Gamma Atlas, who is quickly becoming my friend. Dinner in the hall with pack people and Cain, who has blood splatter on him in different patterns every evening.
I keep up my façade of being a royal princess and loving Luna in front of everyone, but it’s an act. Never in my life have I felt like such an imposter by doing all I was trained to do so perfectly. Only behind closed doors—alone with Cain—do I let myself feel angry, bitter, hotheaded, and truly myself.
When we are alone behind closed doors every night, he commands me to participate in his little ritual of scrubbing me clean against my free will—before he scrubs himself from all the blood, about which I’m too afraid to ask. Then we lay down under the covers, spooning, always the same way; while he wraps me with his warm, strong arms, burrows his face in my neck, and… falls asleep.
