Page 13 of His Prince (Unexpectedly Twisted #2)

11

ANGEL

M y mind is all over the place, Mikhail’s request playing over and over in my mind. Sex wasn’t mentioned in the contract, aside from the standard consummation, but monogamy was.

The fact he tried to break it with that woman…

I feel angry all over again.

But at the same time, my body wants it.

I used to have these notions of romance, of love. But now I realize that was all fanciful, na?ve. There’s no such thing. It’s all a fantasy.

The only things that are real are sex and the pleasure it can give me.

As I plant the geraniums and the Shasta daisies, I let myself ponder his gruff request earlier. Casey and Felix notice that I’m a thousand miles away as they work beside me, but there’s no way in hell I’m telling them anything. This is between Mikhail and me.

Would it really be so bad to let him fuck me?

I would at least be getting something from this marriage .

Mikhail will never love me, but maybe I can at least find some kind of sexual satisfaction.

I bite down on my bottom lip and think of all the ways this could go wrong.

I could end up catching feelings.

I could grow addicted to his dick, his body.

Leaning back on my heels, I close my eyes, tilt my head up to the sky, and let the rays of sun warm my face. Nothing provides clarity anymore. Everything is a jumbled mess.

But even so, I want this.

I think I really want this.

So I decide that I’ll come up with rules, ways to keep myself from falling.

Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll be smart about it.

My father didn’t raise a fool.

Despite Mikhail’s request ringing in my ears, I manage to get through the interviews Casey helped me schedule.

All seem like promising, eager candidates. One is an older gentleman with a thick mustache who seems like he’s no nonsense and knows what he’s doing. He could definitely handle the men here and obviously has the knowledge to take care of the garden if I ever grow too busy. The other prospect is a bright-eyed woman who knows a lot about East Coast vegetation and how to cultivate a garden, but the way she stares too long at Casey makes me uncomfortable. It’s almost as if she’d rather follow him around than tend to the garden. And if she’s like that with him, what will she do when she sees the other bodyguards?

I don’t know and I’m not sure I want to find out.

As I’m interviewing the last candidate, he’s sitting before me on the porch, completely silent. He’s younger than the others and slightly nervous, his long hair swept back in a bun, his jeans torn at the knees. The soles of his shoes are worn and I see his nails are bitten down to the quick.

“Hello, Jake,” I say. “I got your resume...” I reach down and grab it from my bag as I continue talking. “It’s very impressive…”

“Do you mind looking at me when you speak?” he asks, his voice slightly different than I’m used to, some of his words coming out differently. An accent of sorts. “I can sort of read lips if you’re facing me.” My head jerks up and my eyes meet his. And then I see him start to sign and speak at the same time. “I’m Deaf.”

“Oh,” I reply, unsure of what to say now. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to not meet with me.”

My mouth opens and then closes. “I wouldn’t do that.”

He shakes his head. “Can you say that again? I missed it. Lipreading isn’t very accurate. Like at all. Unless it’s following a script. Sometimes it’s a guessing game.”

I do as he asks and then he nods, replying in both sign and spoken words, “It happens. Don’t worry about it.”

I glance down at his resume, realizing that I don’t need to go through this with him, not when it’s already on paper. So, I set it aside. “Would you like to see the garden?” My hand moves up to make the universal sign for see and Jake grins.

“You’re doing well.”

“I will learn,” I say, tapping at my head.

His grin widens and we both stand up, walking side by side down the path leading to the garden. Casey follows us closely, clearly still unsure about Jake, but I’m not. I’m getting great vibes from him.

Even if he can’t hear.

It really has nothing to do with anything. It just means that I need to be more conscious of speaking to him while facing him and learning some signs to make communication easier. No, I will learn American Sign Language to communicate. I’ll do my best.

As we walk, Jake shows me the sign for garden, flower, and tree, and I mimic his movements, loving the way my hands can convey meaning like this.

I already like him.

He grins at me, almost proud that I’m attempting to converse in his language.

I love it.

“Here we are,” I say and sweep my hand out in front of me, watching as Jake moves into the space and kneels down on the ground, his fingers sinking into the soil. I watch as his eyes close and he inhales.

I don’t know what he’s doing, but I let him have time. Maybe he’s conversing with the soil. Maybe he has some magic in him, a woodland fae. He almost looks like one, with his lean figure and his long hair.

A minute later, Jake opens his eyes and stands up, brushing off his hands as he moves around the space, bending over to look at all the plants, touching them gingerly.

His eyes finally meet mine and he signs and speaks again, “This place has mixed energy.”

I cock my head at him as Casey scoffs. “What do you mean?”

“Can you repeat that?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Oh. Um, something happened here. Something bad. Death. But I can feel the place is coming alive again.”

He doesn’t elaborate on this, just moves toward the greenhouse, and I follow, not sure what to do with that odd information. He does seem in tune with the plants and his work experience really is quite impressive. But what does he mean by death?

Did something die here?

Someone?

I put that into the back of my mind as Jake leans down and breathes in the plants, touching them gingerly, sinking fingers into the soil once more.

“This place has good energy,” he comments accidentally smearing some dirt on his chin as he signs the word for good .

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to things starting to grow.”

He grins at me and then he starts to speak and sign rapidly, missing some English words as he goes, replacing them with signs instead. I can still understand him though. His comments about weather patterns, growth points, and parasitic pests make him seem not only in tune with the plants but knowledgeable about them as well.

I want him to work with me.

I have a great feeling about this guy.

“You’re hired,” I say when he finally stops speaking, his hands falling to his sides.

“Really?” he asks, his eyebrows raised, his finger scrunching up and down before him.

“Yes,” I reply, nodding, and his grin widens, showing off slightly crooked teeth.

I like him even more.

“Thank you. I’m excited.”

And he is. I can feel it.

“I hope it’s okay that we’ll be paying you under the table.”

“Of course.”

He nods and pulls me in for a hug, smelling like patchouli and grass.

“Thank you. When can I start?”

“Now?” I ask, and he nods.

I lead him to the small shed where the tools are kept and he gets to work, Casey eyeing him suspiciously.

“I don’t trust him,” he says, and I glance at him with a raised eyebrow. “That thing with the soil was weird as fuck.”

“He seems nice.”

“He seems too hippie for this place.”

“But that’s the best kind of person to take care of the garden, Casey. ”

He runs a hand across his jaw and then sighs. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything weird.”

“You do that. I’m going to go in and get dinner ready.”

But Casey is already stalking toward Jake, and I’m left to wander back into the house alone.

My mind is suddenly reeling with the fact I have someone to help me in the garden who I think will become a good friend, as well as the information Jake gave me about death permeating the space.

I need to ask around about that.

No one has mentioned anything to me before.

Mikhail did mention his family had passed, but I never thought to push.

Maybe it’s time I do.

Maybe it’s time for some answers.

I try to ask around about the garden while I’m making dinner, but everyone dodges my questions. Nina even warns me against bringing it up. At that moment, I realize I’m going to have to ask Mikhail about it.

But not tonight.

Tonight I have plans.

When I make my way into our bedroom after dinner, Mikhail is already there, his chest and feet bare, his legs clad only in flannel pajama bottoms. New ones, I assume, since I shredded the others.

That thought makes me incredibly gleeful in the midst of what I’m about to do.

I close the door behind me and lock it, catching Mikhail’s eyes as I do so.

I don’t say anything, words unable to form on my lips, and instead move into the bathroom and shower, washing the scent of food and dirt from my skin before exiting and staring at myself in the large bathroom mirror .

I can keep sex meaningless.

It means nothing.

Bending down, I grab the lube from underneath the sink, shoving that cute plug out of the way. It just reminds me of our wedding night and how he left me. Alone. Hurt.

I grit my teeth as I work myself open, stuffing myself full, making sure there’s enough lube inside of me to make the sting of sex almost nonexistent. When I’m satisfied he will enter me without any issue, I wash my hands and make my way toward him, the bottle of lube clenched between my fingers.

As I approach, his eyes slash to mine, taking in my naked state, and I see his cock start to stiffen beneath those pajama bottoms.

Seems he’s somewhat attracted to me. Or maybe he’s just eager to fuck a hole.

That’s all I am to him, I remind myself.

A hole.

I come to a stop near the edge of the bed and stare down at him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give me any indication of what he’s feeling. Then again, looking back, he never has.

He’s always kept that tucked away.

“I’ve decided. I’ll fuck you, but you don’t get to touch me.”

He blinks and then dips his chin in affirmation, still unmoving, saying nothing.

If he’s surprised he doesn’t say it, doesn’t acknowledge it. Which is fine. Romance is dead. Sex is the only thing at play here.

And I don’t want his hands on me.

“Take those off,” I command, pointing to his pajama pants with shaking fingers.

He lifts his hips, his abs flexing as he works them off, and I force myself to look away, not wanting to be even more turned on. It’s bad enough that my dick is already hard. But at least his is too.

At least I’m not alone in my lust.

His uncut cock pops out and slaps his stomach, and without hesitation, I uncap the bottle and drizzle lube onto the tip of him, watching as it trickles down his thick, veiny length. Reaching out, I squeeze him, stroking up and down his cock, slicking him up for me. Anything to make this easier. Quicker.

He doesn’t move as I stroke him, his hands curled into the sheets beside him, almost as if he’s forcing himself not to reach out and take control. I drag my eyes away, telling myself not to stare at him.

I won’t look at him.

He won’t touch me.

This will just be physical.

When he’s slicked up enough, I crawl onto him, straddling his hips, my hands landing on my thighs, trying to find the best way to manage this with as little contact as possible. I drag his dick along my wet crack and when I realize it won’t go in without assistance, I reach behind me, slot his cock at my hole, and wiggle against it. I need to relax enough to let him slip inside of me, so I close my eyes and breathe in deeply through my nose, bearing down, feeling his bulbous head press against me. A second later, it pushes in and I gasp, my back arching slightly at the intrusion.

I forgot how big he is, how delicious this feels.

I work my hips back and forth, shifting up and down his shaft until he’s halfway inside of me.

My fingers curl into fists on my thighs, and I can hear Mikhail’s breath coming out in quick exhales. He’s panting.

I let my eyes open, and see him watching me, his pupils blown out, his cheeks ruddy. The sight of him is too much, too potent. I don’t want this. I don’t want it at all.

So I move off him, turning around and facing the opposite direction, slamming my eyes shut and working my way down his dick. It’s slow, a work in progress, but finally, I end up taking all of him inside of me. A long exhale escapes me when I’m settled against his hips.

The stretch of him and how full I feel. I wiggle my ass and Mikhail grunts.

But I refuse to open my eyes

Refuse .

Instead, I focus on how I feel. Because this is about me. Not him. I reach down and grab on to my dick, stroking it, feeling it harden even more in my palm. I let out a small groan as I continue to work myself closer to the edge, feeling my hole relax around his girth, enjoying the way I’m stuffed so full.

And then, right before I topple over the edge, I start to move.

I rise up and sink down. Slowly .

Mikhail lets out another grunt, a soft groan as I do it again, stroking myself in tandem, teetering right on the edge as I fuck myself on him.

If I’m nothing more than a hole, he’s nothing more than a dick I can use.

My movements grow more sure, my hips canting faster until I’m riding him, my head thrown back, eyes shut, hand shuttling up and down my straining, leaking length.

Mikhail is shifting beneath me, hips still, but his hands rustle against the sheets, almost as if he’s trying to find purchase. To find something to hold onto.

As long as it’s not me , I think as I start moaning, my orgasm incredibly close. So close I can taste it. It slips up my thighs, pooling in my balls, and the tingles of pleasure creep up to my throat, making me gasp and whine as the first rope of cum spills from my cock. Mikhail’s hips jerk, and a moment later, I feel him mark me, his release filling my slackened hole and leaking onto our joined bodies.

I come to a stop, my body trembling as I lean forward slightly, trying to catch my breath. I allow the pleasure to seep from my body, slowly replacing itself with cold, ugly dread.

I can’t believe I did that.

I can’t fucking believe it.

I peel my lashes open and peer over my shoulder. I see Mikhail lying there, his eyes wild, his lips bruised, his fists curled in the sheets pulled from the corners of the mattress.

“That was…” I don’t even finish the thought. Just huff as I move off him, causing his nostrils to flare as his cock falls from me with an audible squelch.

As I make my way to the bathroom, my legs shake and my ass twinges. Mikhail follows behind, quiet, brooding, almost thoughtful.

While he showers, I take a washcloth and wipe myself up carefully, palpably feeling the sting of being fucked. My stomach clenches and I feel a tingle of desire pulse through me before I tamp it down.

I will repress this. For my own sanity.

Nothing good comes from dreaming, from imagining things that aren’t there.

I’ve learned.

I’ve learned enough.

When I crawl into bed, I can still smell us—the scent of sex, sweating bodies, and cum. I close my eyes and breathe through my mouth, my heart thumping when the shower turns off and Mikhail moves toward the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he slides beneath the covers and turns the light off.

The darkness consumes us, consumes me.

I can’t believe we fucked. Twice since our wedding.

His cum is still inside of me.

I don’t know what I just did or why the hell I did it.

My mind swirls with worry, and I sleep fitfully.