Page 11 of His Prince (Unexpectedly Twisted #2)

9

ANGEL

T hat 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.

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 blinking as 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 to still 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.”

I swallow, feeling my stomach churn as George nods at me and walks away. For some reason, George worries me the most. Perhaps it’s his aloof, cold nature. At least Bane is fun, at least he makes me smile in his own, weird way while he’s taking out eyeballs.

I stare down at the bags of shorn clothes and let out a shaky exhale.

Well, Mikhail may send me to George—and he might after what I just did—but I was so angry when he left this morning.

I bite back a manic laugh before squaring my shoulders and breathing deeply. I just need to clear my mind and get back to the garden. It’s starting to take shape. More plants are arriving today—roses and hydrangeas, azaleas and bleeding hearts.

So much color, so utterly alive.

So unlike me.

I inhale deeply once more, centering myself, and get to work. I lose myself in the plants, my fingers brown from dirt, my skin pink from the sun. I need to call the applicants for the gardener position, one standing out in my mind. But I won’t know who would work best in this environment until I meet them, until I feel their vibes.

I make a note to do that before the day ends when suddenly Felix is at my side.

“You okay, little husband?” he asks, and I sigh, realizing what time it is.

“Shoot, I missed lunch, huh?”

He nods and I stand up quickly, swiping at my eyes and smearing dirt across my cheeks. “Give me like ten minutes and I’ll whip something up.”

“We can?—”

“No, I want to.”

I march toward the house and see everyone lingering and chain-smoking, almost unsure what to do.

“I’m so sorry. I have a lot on my mind,” I say as I move past them into the kitchen. I pull open the fridge and stare at the ingredients inside.

“What is it? Can we help?” Titus asks, and Casey frowns as I shake my head.

“No, I’m okay. Just distracted. I’m fine, really.”

They whisper to one another in Russian as I assemble their sandwiches, none of them believing that I’m truly okay.

Maybe I’m getting worse at lying.

“You getting sick?” Casey presses the back of his hand to my forehead, but it falls to his side when he realizes that I’m, in fact, not burning up and delusional from a fever.

I’m just…I’m tired.

It’s only been a week and a half, and I’m exhausted.

Not from cooking and working in the garden, but from the emotions rolling through me. I’m tired of lying to myself, of pretending everything is okay.

It takes a lot of energy to be angry all the time .

I don’t understand people who can hold onto it for years.

I’d wither and die.

When everyone grabs their food, I move outside to sit with them, leaning my head against Gael’s shoulder and closing my eyes.

He pats my head and threads his fingers through my hair as I doze off.

I’m jostled awake and startle slightly as Casey helps me up.

“You want to lie down for a bit? I can take care of dinner,” he says, and I sigh, tucking myself into his side.

“I’m okay. I just needed a small nap.”

“Angel, you’re going to work yourself to death.”

“I’m not. I’m just…It’s been an adjustment. I just needed a nap. I’m okay. I want to work in the garden some more.”

“Fine, but I’m cooking dinner tonight. I’ll have one of the guys help me.”

“Okay,” I say and nuzzle up to him, loving the feel of being held tightly, but it has to end.

Casey isn’t anything more than a friend to me, an older brother of sorts, a hovering mother hen.

I need to make my way on my own.

I move to the garden when my phone rings. I pull it out, a wobbly smile forming on my face, and when I answer the video call, a telltale sniffle exits me.

“Hi, you two,” I say, my eyes glittering. I swipe at them quickly, and I can see Tatum frowning as he watches me, my father in the background.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Oh, yes. Just a bit homesick, but I’m fine. Really.”

Lies. All fucking lies. That’s what I am now, a liar. A wave of homesickness rolls through me, and I suddenly feel nauseous. I just want to go home.

I miss home.

Tatum leans forward and purses his lips. “You can tell us, Angel.”

“I really am fine. It’s so beautiful here. The types of flowers that can grow in this environment are wonderful. And Mikhail has a large greenhouse that’s just for me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. It’s lovely here.”

I don’t tell them I’m planting the flowers in the overgrown garden and that I bought the greenhouse with my own money, but still…

“We can come visit, right?” Tatum asks, looking back at my dad, who is watching me intently.

“Once you’re recovered,” Anthony replies to him.

My brow furrows, realizing that I’ve missed something major. “Recovered from what?”

Tatum sighs and then waves his hand at the camera.

“What is that? What happened?” I gasp.

“I was kidnapped and they…well, they stole a piece of me.”

My eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, and my heart aching for my friend, for what he must have gone through. “I hope my dad found them. And has ripped them to pieces.”

“Currently in the process,” my dad says, and I nod in approval.

“Good,” I say and then sigh. “I really do miss you all.”

“We will plan a trip. I promise. I want to see how you’re doing,” Tatum says. “I miss you, friend.”

“Same,” I reply and then reassure them once more that I’m well and taken care of.

When we hang up, I bury my face in my hands and weep.

That night, Mikhail doesn’t come to bed while I’m tucked in and reading. He appears sometime in the middle of the night, tension in the air as my eyelids peel open. I’m groggy from sleep, but still, I can feel it.

He shucks his clothes and crawls onto the bed, my body sliding slightly toward his as the mattress dips .

“You okay?” I ask, regretting it as soon as the words exit my mouth. I don’t want him to think I care.

Because I don’t.

“It’s been a long day,” he finally says after what seems like minutes of waiting for a response.

I hear the sound of a cap being flicked open and a sigh as Mikhail starts to jerk himself off.

Honestly, this man.

I’m glad I took scissors to his clothes.

“You couldn’t do that somewhere else?” I ask, and he huffs.

“I could, but I won’t.”

I listen to his wet hand rubbing his slick cock. The sound is different from the other night, almost louder. I can’t not listen.

“You have very bad manners,” I murmur, and he huffs.

“I never said I was polite.”

“You’re not. You’re the rudest.”

“You married me,” he retorts, and I bite my lip so hard it nearly bleeds.

“It’s because you tricked me.”

“Oh, my little Angel. I’ve never lied to you.”

I roll my eyes so hard it makes my head hurt.

His hand slows and then something bumps my arm. “Here.”

“I’m not getting off with you.”

He turns his head, and I can make out the features of his face in the moonlight.

“You used to like getting off with me.”

“Not with . Never with. I was alone in that.” I can feel his gaze burning into me so I add, “I wish I never did that.”

His hand stops moving entirely, and I turn away from him, pulling out my phone and staring at it, a picture of my garden back home.

I stare at it for so long that the colors start to blur, tears forming in my eyes.

A moment later, I hear the stroking start back up and rage fills me once more. I pull up a death metal playlist on my phone and blast it.

I can’t hear the stroking over the noise, my brain rattling from the percussion and guitar riffs.

“Turn that off,” Mikhail says, but I just turn it up louder.

The tears that were forming in my eyes are gone now, replaced by heated anger.

The bed shifts and my phone is wrenched from my hands and the music shuts off. I gasp, struggling to grab it back, but Mikhail is pressed up against me, the phone tossed onto the floor, hitting it with a soft thud.

“You can’t just let me be, can you?”

“No.”

I shove at him, but he pulls my arms above my head, his body fully on mine now, his slick cock hitting my bare stomach. I hate that this only arouses me.

Hate that despite it all, I’m attracted to him.

“If I’d known you’d be such a nuisance, I’d never have married you,” he says, his face over mine.

“Maybe we should dissolve the contract then.”

“Never,” he hisses and then drags his body up slightly, rutting into me. “I’ll make use of you.”

I should be afraid, but honestly, my sex-starved body is craving it, craving him.

“You won’t touch me.”

“I’m touching you now. But you’re right,” he says as he drags his cock up my stomach once more, “You’re not quite right…”

He stares down at me and then he’s pushing off and walking to the bathroom, making my chest heave.

It’s no longer rage that’s crashing into me. It’s everything all at once, the loss, the injustice of it, the sadness.

I push up onto my feet and stride toward the bathroom, smashing into it, the door hitting the wall. Mikhail turns to stare at me over his shoulder, his hand on his cock, his other hand on the wall in front of him.

I don’t stop, just barrel into him and slap his hand away, reaching for his dick and sliding my palm down it.

“You think I’m not right ?” I hiss as I start stroking him roughly, making him arch his hips up into my fist. “You think I’m all wrong, don’t you? Well, you fucking married me, Mikhail. Me .”

He turns slightly, one hand still on the wall, the other curling up into my hair.

“I fucking hate you,” I add as I lean forward and bite his shoulder roughly, making him grunt, his hand tightening against me as I continue to stroke him.

It’s a hate hand job, nothing more. All of this is fueled by hate.

I reach down with my free hand and tug at his balls viciously, making Mikhail growl.

My teeth unlatch from his shoulder and then I tug his hand from my hair, slapping it away.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss and then drop to my knees and pull his cock into my mouth, dragging my teeth along his slick length.

He moans lowly and arches his hips forward, choking me, but I don’t let it deter me. I continue sucking him until his body starts to tremble and he unloads into my mouth with a loud groan. I hold his release on my tongue as I push myself up onto my feet and walk to the sink, spitting it out.

I see him in the mirror, leaning against the wall, his eyes on me as his chest heaves.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me again,” I grind out and then move to the bed on shaking legs and pull the covers over me, forcing myself not to touch my aching dick, to not run my tongue across my teeth and taste him there.

No, I force myself to fall asleep and forget about him entirely.

Problem is, I forget nothing and sleep like shit.

Because he’s beside me once more, and I can feel everything.

I remember it all.

Mikhail is still asleep when I wake, moving to the shower to scrub the scent of him off me. Minutes later, I’m washed and rinsed, letting my body stand beneath the stream of warm water pulsing from the showerhead, my head tilted back, my shoulders relaxing under the spray when suddenly Mikhail appears, his eye twitching rapidly, his fists bunched at his sides.

Through the water streaming down my face, I see it.

The missing cuffs of his shirt. The short, ankleless pants. Jagged cloth and thread dangle near his wrists and feet, and I bite back a manic laugh.

He looks ridiculous.

“Looking good,” I say with an arched eyebrow and his nostrils flare, like a bull ready to charge.

“You ruined my entire wardrobe.”

“That couldn’t have been me,” I say sweetly. “Must have been someone else. A raccoon perhaps?”

He moves toward me far too quickly. Before I can even protest, he’s pulling me from the shower and shoving me up against the wall, my skin still dripping and dampening his ruined shirt and pants in the process.

“I have meetings to attend and have nothing to fucking wear.”

“I didn’t do it,” I whisper as his hand presses against my throat, holding me in place, making my entire body light up with desire.

“I know it was you. You’ve walked into my fucking life, my home , and destroyed it.”

“I’ve destroyed nothing,” I hiss. “You did that to yourself.”

“No. You have,” he grits out. “I have no peace. Everything is bright and loud. Everything is…”

“Alive. Everything is alive.”

His eyes narrow and his hand tightens on my throat, my fingers gripping his wrist in an effort to keep him from choking me out entirely. But through it, I know he can feel my rapid pulse, the way my heart is hammering in my chest. And I can see his.

“I thought marrying you would be safe. You were a little angel, but now…” He pauses and his eye twitches. “Now I know you tricked me. You’re just a little devil.”

His fingers travel up my neck to my lips, brushing against them gently.

“Where did my sweet Angel go?” he asks, his voice rough, confused.

“You murdered him. He’s dead.”

His eyes flash and his fingers push into my mouth, brushing past my teeth. I snap down on them, making him grunt and his nostrils flare.

My tongue can’t help but swirl around the tip of his finger before loosening my grip on him, and a second later he slips from my mouth.

“Well, that angelic corpse can purchase me new clothes.”

He takes a step back, and I can’t help but let my gaze slide down his body, taking in his ridiculous outfit.

“Perhaps. But I must say, you look like you’re about to build a raft and sail down a river.”

He huffs and then removes his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. “Thanks to you.”

I hold up my hands and shrug. “I’m innocent.”

His eyes flash and his lips twitch.

“I don’t think you’re innocent at all.”

Then he turns and walks away, leaving my overheated body to shiver all alone in this oversized bathroom.

Fuck. What have I gotten myself into?