Page 15 of His Prince (Unexpectedly Twisted #2)

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ANGEL

M ikhail isn’t in our room that night. After we spoke about his accounts in his office, something changed in him. He stormed off, and I haven’t seen him since. But I didn’t look for him that hard, not really.

I may have inquired about where he went, but no one knew.

Or if they did, no one told me.

Not even my cookies could drag it out of Ivan. He was still pouting about my threat earlier to keep his beloved doodles from him.

So here I am, just lying beneath the sheets, trying to remember that I don’t like Mikhail anyway, that he’s been nothing but cruel to me.

But we had an arrangement. A sex-arrangement.

And he’s breaking that already.

But why am I surprised? He’s broken everything else. I’m in shambles.

I stare at the ceiling, my open book lying on my chest, and force myself to not think of him.

It doesn’t work. I only think of him more. He consumes my thoughts, my shriveled, exhausted heart.

I pull out my phone and stare at the text messages we exchanged over those few months before the wedding. Those days I spent looking forward to his video calls, feeling my stomach flutter with butterflies when his name would appear on my screen.

It’s been too hard to look at them, to remember what a fool I had been, but I force myself to look at them now. To remember what a liar he is. Why he doesn’t deserve my time. Not anymore.

Mikhail

I’ve missed you.

Me

I’ve missed you, too.

Mikhail

Tell me what you’ve done today.

Me

I got my orchid to bloom. Would you like to see?

Mikhail

Always.

I stare at the picture of my plant, the one I slaved over for weeks, remembering the pride I felt when it bloomed.

Mikhail

Beautiful. Just like you. My rare bloom.

I scoff and shove my phone under my pillow.

Lies, all of it.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply from my nose, hearing a low tap, tap, tap from somewhere in the room. My heart rate increases, my eyes popping open.

What is that?

Another tap, from the far end of the room.

I sit up in bed, listening intently to try to make out what it is. But then it stops, nothing else but the sound of the trees rustling outside filtering through the room.

Perhaps it’s rats , I think as I lean back against the headboard. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was it.

Suddenly, the door opens and I turn my gaze to Mikhail. He looks tired, his body drenched with sweat, his cheeks red from exertion.

I don’t say anything as he moves to the bathroom and the water flips on. I listen as he washes himself, and minutes later, he returns, a towel around his waist.

“Where were you?” I ask, hating that I even care to do so.

“Working. Working out.”

I say nothing as he drops the towel onto the floor and falls onto the bed, his eyes closing, his hands behind his head.

Why does he have to be so hot? I hate that, hate that despite it all, I want to fuck him again.

“Were you worried about me?”

“No. Also, I think you have rats in the walls.”

He huffs and then arches his hips slightly, his cock settling on his thigh, making my body tense and warm.

“Probably. It’s an old house.”

We sit in silence for a moment when finally Mikhail asks, “What are you waiting for?”

I turn toward him and purse my lips. “Nothing. Right now, you look tired and old. I don’t want you to go into cardiac arrest.”

His eyes slam into mine. “Since when do you care about my feelings?”

“Don’t want to be arrested for manslaughter.”

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose.

“I’m not old. ”

“You are. You’re a cold, old man. You’re half in the grave already.”

“Shut the fuck up, little devil, and ride my dick. I won’t touch you, as per our agreement, but I will show you I can keep up with you.”

The emotionless way he says that makes me angrier than I have any right to be. Touch me? Ride his dick? Keep up with me? We’ll see about that.

I roll up and move to his side of the bed, pulling my shirt off as I go, exposing my naked body to him. His eyes are focused on me, sliding across my skin, his gaze intent, his breathing growing more labored as I stop in front of him. His cock begins swelling between his legs.

I wet my lips and force my gaze away from it.

I don’t want it. Not really. Just the pleasure it can bring me.

I crawl up on top of him, straddling his hips and letting our dicks touch. The sight of it, the two of us together is almost too much. He’s so much bigger than me, angry and fierce. But I swallow the lust down, reminding myself who this is.

How much he’s hurt me.

I reach down and touch it, dragging my fingernails up the length of him, watching as his pupils dilate, his breath coming out with a hiss.

“Trying to hurt me, little Angel? You need to do better than that.”

I feel my cheeks redden as I reach over and grab the lube from the bedside table.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I say as I drip the liquid onto him, watching as it slides down his hard length before doing the same to mine.

He watches it all, inhaling when I grab on to his cock and then my own, bringing us together and jacking us.

His nostrils flare, eyelashes fluttering.

“I’m not riding your dick,” I say, and his lips part as I lean over him, our faces just inches apart. “You’re going to have to settle for this hand job, my old and tired husband . ”

“Your mouth is so pretty when you talk like a filthy whore, sólnyshko.”

I feel my cheeks flush at those words, hating that any sort of praise from him makes razor-sharp wings start to flutter in my stomach. They do nothing but make my breathing grow shorter and my heart constrict in pain.

He shifts slightly and then suddenly his hands slip out from behind his head, his muscles flexing as he moves. I can smell him, the scent of soap and something musky and masculine. He doesn’t touch me, but even so, I can feel the flutter of his fingertips dancing just beside my skin as he grips the sheets next to him and ruts his hips up into my fist.

“Harder. Tighter.”

I grit my teeth, loosening my grip on him and making him huff a laugh.

I’ve heard it so rarely that it makes me hesitate a moment, not sure what to do.

“You’re a filthy, tempting boy, aren’t you?” he asks when I wet my lips, the pleasure of our cocks pressed together, the pressure I’m placing on them still light as I shuttle my fist slowly up and down, my breath coming out in desperate pants.

“I’m not filthy or tempting,” I say even as I groan when I twist my wrist and feel need shoot through me, tingles pulsing up my spine as I spread my legs a little wider.

“You are. You’re my little devil. You make me sin.”

Those words…

The arm that’s propping me up starts shaking as I hover above him, wishing I had the strength to keep myself off him just like this, but I have to move. I can’t stay like this. I’ll fall on top of him if I keep this up.

“Here. Let me,” Mikhail says, the blue of his eyes almost entirely gone, an eclipse of his pupil.

“That would mean you get to touch me,” I groan as I try to keep myself steady, but between my shaking arm and the pleasure zinging through me, I can’t hold out much longer.

“Just this once,” he whispers as his fingers remove mine from our cocks, allowing both my hands to rest near his head. And then his fist squeezes our combined lengths and I arch back, my body shaking from the feel of it, the sensation of him jerking us in tandem.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispers, and I bite my bottom lip so hard I swear I draw blood. I will not let his praise crack my hardened heart. I won’t. “So. Fucking. Good.”

I want to tell him to be quiet, to shut his sexy mouth, to not look at me while he gets us off, but all I do is cant my hips up into his fist and try to hold back the orgasm that’s pulsing through me. This is my fault. I should have just fucked him like I’d planned, facing away from him and closing my eyes, but I chose this.

I did this to myself.

“You going to come?” he asks, his chest heaving, his biceps flexing over and over.

“No. Never.”

“Come for me, my little sinner.”

“Fu—oh god,” I moan and then close my eyes, feeling my balls draw up, and my release explodes from me. My mouth opens in a silent scream as I empty myself across his abdomen and Mikhail follows me over, his dick pulsing against mine, his body trembling from the force of it.

As we come down from it, I continue to hover over him, wondering what the hell I’m doing. Finally, I peel myself away, rolling onto my side and burrowing into the pillow beneath me. I’m still trying to find air for my lungs when Mikhail shifts next to me, and I open my eyes to see him swiping a finger through our combined release.

His gaze slams into mine, and I force my eyes shut again.

“You can pretend all you want, but I know,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t elaborate, just moves up and into the bathroom as I let his words roll around in my skull. What the hell is he talking about? What does he know?

That I like it?

I fucking liked it.

I turn on my other side, hugging the edge of the bed and curling beneath the covers. I hate myself.

I’ll do better next time. I won’t let him know how much I enjoy sex.

With him.

The next day it’s raining and I hate this for me. I want to be out in the garden, working, but I’m stuck inside as thunder and lightning roll across the skies.

Perhaps when it’s just drizzling, I can go out and get back to work.

I need to escape this tomb of a home. Although, with the paint and wallpaper, new pillows, and rugs, it’s starting to feel a little more alive.

It helps that everyone seems to be spending more time inside as well, and Mikhail has made himself scarce. Anytime he shows up, people seem to disperse and disappear, leaving me alone.

Well, everyone but Casey.

He seems to linger longer around me, his gaze moving around the room as if looking for danger. Whenever Mikhail or Ivan approach, he moves to stand next to me, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed.

Mikhail glowers at him as he moves past, but Ivan doesn’t seem to notice. I think that bothers Casey the most.

Not many people can overlook my bodyguard. With how tall and broad he is, the tattoos on his arms, the piercings in his ears.

Not many want to pretend he doesn’t exist. If anything, they flock to him.

But Ivan seems oblivious.

“I could get an umbrella and stand outside with you,” Casey says just as a crack of lightning pierces the sky.

“And get electrocuted. I’m sorry, Casey, but I’m not as brave as Thomas Edison. I’ll be staying inside until the coast is clear.”

I hear footsteps behind me, and I see Ivan make his way to the kitchen, rustling around in the fridge for something to eat.

“There’s chicken and rice in that Tupperware container,” I call out, to which Ivan replies with a muttered thank you . He missed lunch, too busy holed up in that cluttered office of his.

I mentioned cleaning it out yesterday and he just blinked at me wildly. Casey told me not to bother trying to help him because according to him, Ivan is an ungrateful shit.

“I think I’m going to work on painting this entryway,” I say. “That will keep me occupied until it stops raining and I can go outside.”

“What color are you thinking?”

“Maybe turquoise. I have a can of it.”

Casey nods in agreement. “I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to. You should take the afternoon off.”

“I’m fine, Angelo. I’d like to help.”

I sigh, knowing the use of my full name means business, so I relent, letting him help me tape off the baseboards and place plastic on the floor. Nina eventually assists, tutting and grumbling under her breath in Russian, but I’m not deterred. I need to keep my mind off Mikhail, this house, and the people who occupy it.

“This house is so bright,” Nina says as she peels some painter’s tape off the roll and adheres it to the window frame. “It’s not been this way since ages ago.”

I glance at her, wanting to ask her to explain when suddenly footsteps resound behind me and I whip around in a panic, paint splattering against Mikhail’s shirt and tie, some even hitting his cheek .

He glowers at me, not moving a muscle as bright blue paint dribbles down his chin.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, a giggle pulsing up my throat.

“You look good in blue,” Nina says, her words dry, her accent heavy.

It’s too much, the sight of him, the way he’s glowering at Nina. I explode, laughing so hard I double over, my hands on my stomach as I fight for air. I gulp it down, trying to breathe, but there’s not enough of it. And it doesn’t help that Mikhail does nothing but stare at me, his eyes darkening, paint dripping from his face.

“Oh god,” I wheeze and then swipe at my dripping eyes. “You look…”

It sets me off again and I double over, holding my cramping stomach. It finally subsides, but it takes ages. The paint has dried and the rain has stopped.

An eternity has passed and still, he doesn’t move.

I stand up and shake my head, trying to force myself not to devolve into fits and giggles again. Luckily, it’s subsided and I’m able to toss a rag at Mikhail who just smears the paint around his face and neck.

“Oh my. So, so funny.”

He doesn’t think so, but Nina is chuckling in the corner, carrying on with the painting while Casey huffs in amusement.

It’s then that the doorbell rings and Mikhail moves to answer it. I’m unable to move for fear of laughing again.

The door opens and I listen intently as a familiar voice drifts toward me.

“Andrew,” I squeal, tossing the paintbrush down and running toward the front door. I barrel into him, throwing my arms around his broad shoulders and squeezing tightly.

As I do that, another familiar face makes an appearance.

“Bane!” I cry out and he grins at me, waving happily.

“Angelo,” he replies as I squeeze him tightly, feeling my eyes start to water .

“What the fuck is going on?” Mikhail asks, his voice low and grumpy. “Who let them through the gate?”

“I did. I told the guys that my friend was coming,” I reply and then pull out of Bane’s embrace.

“Why are they here?”

“Well, I invited Andrew here to look at your accounting books. I don’t know why Bane’s here, though. Not that I’m complaining.”

He waggles his eyebrows at me, his hair askew, blood perpetually caked beneath his fingernails.

“He snuck into my baggage,” Andrew says with a sigh and then shakes his head. “Seriously. Don’t ask. It’s too much at the moment.”

“It was the only way to get here. I heard you were sad. And I had to see for myself,” Bane adds, throwing his arm over my shoulders, and Mikhail nearly growls from behind me. But I ignore him. I’ve missed this—a piece of my home. As insane as it is, I’ve missed it.

“I’m okay, Bane. Really. But thank you for coming,” I say, my voice choked.

He grins at me and then his eyes turn to Mikhail, waggling his hand around in front of him. “You have a little something…”

Mikhail murmurs something in Russian and then says, “I know.”

Bane keeps staring at it, and I bite back another contagious laugh as Andrew turns toward me.

“Well, I know I’m a day early, but the whole Bane thing threw me. When he popped out of the suitcase, I nearly ran off the road. But two people driving helps to make great time. And so, here I am.”

“I’m so glad you’re here, Andrew. I just…” I choke on a small sob, and Andrew pulls me into his strong arms once more.

“I didn’t ask for a fucking accountant to look at my books. I have three of my own,” Mikhail says, but I dismiss him, knowing he didn’t ask me to do this, but I did it anyways. In his stubbornness, he would never have asked for help.

And he needs someone he can trust. And I trust Andrew.

“I know you didn’t,” I tell him, stepping toward him and dragging him to the hallway. “Why don’t you go change your shirt and then come back down? I have a charcuterie tray in the fridge and I think we can discuss this over drinks and some cheese.”

“Angel,” he grumps, but I shove him lightly away.

“I mean it, Mikhail. I know best.”

His eye twitches, and I glower at him until he finally retreats. I don’t know why I’m trying to help him with this, but then again, it’s more than just him at stake. He employs people here that I’ve come to care about. If he goes down, so do they.

And I’ve put so much work into the garden, into this house.

I won’t let the ship go down.

Not anytime soon.

I stride back out to the foyer and link my arm through Andrew’s, showing him into the kitchen. “Sorry about that,” I say. “You can take a seat if you’d like. Let me grab you guys something to drink.”

“Anything strong would be preferable.”

“I can do that. I do live in a house full of Russians.”

I pull out a bottle of cognac and pour them both a glass before doing the same for me. I think I need it.

This entire day has just thrown me off completely.

“You always were a great host, Angelo. Seems you’ve really settled in here,” Andrew says, taking his drink from me.

I peer over at Bane, who is pressing up against the walls, his hands dragging across them, his ear against the drywall.

“He’s not settling in, don’t you see?” Bane says and then knocks on a panel before moving on.

Andrew looks at me and then back at Bane.

“You’re not? But you look so happy.”

“I am,” I reply, even though I’m lying. “I’ve made a lot of friends here.” My husband not being one of them, but I digress. “And I am settling in.”

Bane snorts but continues to wander around the room, his ear pressed against the walls, knocking here and there until the front door opens and George appears .

He comes to a stop in the kitchen, brushing his hands down his suit jacket, and Bane’s eyes slam into him.

“Who is this?” George asks, his eyes moving from Bane to Andrew.

Bane doesn’t wait for an introduction, just pushes away from the wall, moving up to George quickly and waggling his fingers at him.

“Hello, handsome man. I love your eyes. I’m a friend of Angel’s. Bane, at your service.”

He holds out his hand and George looks at it before taking a step to the side and avoiding him altogether.

“I don’t shake hands.”

Bane eyes him, his mouth parted slightly and then he sighs forlornly.

“But you have great veins.”

He wets his lips, and George’s eyes narrow.

“I am much stronger than you. I would think carefully about what you’ll do next.”

Bane bats his eyelashes, completely undeterred when he suddenly turns his head like he hears something.

“Oh, I knew it,” and then he scurries back over to the wall, making his way around the room, his fingers scouring the drywall as he searches for god knows what. And the entire time, he’s watching George as he does it.

It’s subtle, but I know him as well as anyone can know this guy.

He’s intrigued by George and his veins.

Mikhail appears a moment later as I’m pouring more glasses of cognac and pulling meat and cheese from the charcuterie board. He comes to a stop in the doorway leading to the kitchen and adjusts the cuffs on his new dark gray shirt before striding toward me.

“Is that my imported cognac?”

I grin at him and pour myself more.

“It sure is, husband.”

Bane giggles from across the room, and Andrew cocks his head as he watches me, a sparkle in his eye .

Mikhail must see it because he turns toward Andrew and states, “I won’t be discussing my finances with anyone I don’t know.”

Andrew stops chewing and eyes me with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s trustworthy, Mikhail. Better than the people currently handling your accounts.”

His nose twitches and he purses his lips slightly. “I trust my accountants.”

“Do you though? Because it seems to me they’re robbing you blind.”

He doesn’t like that comment. Not at all.

“I can handle it.”

“Don’t think you can,” Andrew interjects. “I’ve known Angelo a long-ass time and if he says you need help, you need help.”

“He’ll come around,” I say, feeling suddenly unsure. I honestly don’t know if he will. He may resist until the end of time. “Just give me the night to convince him,” I add, and Andrew nods, shoving more cheese into his mouth. I’ve lost Bane completely, but I notice a bracelet on Andrew’s wrist and sigh.

“Did he make you one of those?” I ask when I see the teeth lining his wrist.

Andrew nods. “Gave it to me when he popped out of the suitcase.”

“He sent me one too. Such a nice wedding gift. I’ve never gotten a body part gift before.”

Mikhail side-eyes me. “I can arrange another if you’d like.” Our gazes clash, and I feel my cheeks pinken. I don’t know why he has this effect on me. “It doesn’t change the fact that I’m not using his help. He can go back home.”

“They’re staying here tonight, actually,” I reply just as George approaches, brushing something off his sleeve.

“Your pet is…snooping,” he says to no one in particular and then disappears out the front door, leaving Andrew to huff around a mouthful of salami and pickles.

“He’s not my pet, just a little extra baggage I wasn’t expecting. ”

Mikhail leaves the room for a moment and returns with Bane, his hand on the back of his neck, Bane’s eyes twinkling.

“He’s not allowed in the house without supervision,” Mikhail bites out and then shoves Bane toward Andrew. “You look after him.”

“I don’t take responsibility for him.”

“I’m a free spirit, Mikhail. I do what I want,” Bane says with a laugh and then waggles his eyebrows at me. “I found a secret passageway.”

My own eyes light up, wanting to see which one he found, but Mikhail stops me, pulling me to his side.

“He’s lying. There’s only one and it’s not out here.”

“Nope!” Bane shouts, but Mikhail leans down and whispers in my ear. “Another time.” I feel that deep voice burrow into me, goosebumps cascading across my skin.

“I’ll have you know that when you’re not looking, I’ll have Bane show me what he’s found.”

“ Another time ,” he repeats, and I decide to let it go. For now.

I still need to figure out how to convince Mikhail to let Andrew look at the books.

And then figure out why I even care.

“You finally made it back to our room,” Mikhail grumps from the bed, his eyes following me as I shut the door. A yawn escapes me, my jaw cracking slightly, and his glower deepens. “Do I bore you?”

“Yeah, you do. And stop being such a grump. I was just catching up with Bane and Andrew.” I’m so fucking happy they’re here, nothing can dampen my spirits. I’ve missed my home, my friends. And even if these visitors aren’t my dad or Tatum, I’m glad a part of them are here.

“Andrew. Your accountant. I do not trust him. He looks at you far too long,” Mikhail says after a moment, and I roll my eyes, pulling my sweater off and tossing it in the hamper .

“You jealous, husband? Because you’re so old. What are you? Forty?”

“I’m not old. I’m forty-two.”

I let out a huff of laughter and then move to the shower, smelling of dirt and paint and food. I want to wash that all off so I can smell like him when this is all over.

“I’m going to shower, old man. Get your dick lubed up. I want to make this quick. My young twenty-three-year-old self doesn’t have time to dawdle.”

I shout this as I turn the water on, grab the lube and place it on the rack. Then I step under the water and get to work, scrubbing myself clean with a new hibiscus soap and a vanilla scrub that I ordered online. When I’m happy with how silky smooth my skin is, I work myself open slowly, savoring the feeling of something inside of me. If only this was enough, if only I didn’t need Mikhail.

I press my forehead to the wall and place my foot on the lip of the tub, pressing two fingers inside of myself, gasping as I graze my prostate.

“God,” I moan as I scissor myself open before adding a third finger. I can feel the easy glide of my fingers inside of me, the amount of lube I pressed inside of me verging almost on too much, but he’s so big.

Mikhail and his uncut cock.

My eyes shut as I envision it, but they pop open again when I feel someone watching me.

He’s suddenly moving into the shower right behind me, almost predatory in the way he moves.

“What are you doing?” I ask as my fingers slip from my hole and spread out on the wall in front of me, my breathing hitching as he moves closer and closer . He looks so fucking hot, his skin glistening from the spray of the water, his hair slightly damp and mussed, his cock slick and pressed out in front of him.

“Oh, little devil. Don’t you know? I’m tired of you telling me what to do,” he replies as he moves up behind me, his hands settling right next to mine. I feel the press of his chest against my back and his cock against my ass. “I’m going to take it. Take you .”

My eyelids flutter wildly and my fingers curl against the tiles. He huffs and then slides his dick against my crack, dragging it slowly over my hole.

“You can’t touch me,” I remind him. “You can’t. It’s the rules.”

“I don’t need to touch you to fuck you.”

He’s right. Oh fuck, he’s so right.

“You ready?” he asks, and I dip my chin slightly, my heart fluttering in anticipation.

And then he slots himself at my entrance and pushes in.

I cry out at the intrusion, my back arching up, but he doesn’t stop, just keeps pushing forward, a slow drag until he’s completely seated inside of me, his balls slapping against mine. I pull in a ragged breath, trying like hell to keep myself from moaning, but it doesn’t work. It’s just a needy mewl as he holds himself inside of me.

As I try to gather my wits, his thumbs slide closer to my hands, touching just a sliver of my skin, but I feel it all the way to my toes.

“See, little devil, no touching,” he whispers, his mouth at my ear.

“Yes,” I manage, feeling my hole clench around his hard length. But he doesn’t budge, just holds himself in me, leaving me impaled on him.

“You going to fuck me?” I nearly whine, but he just chuckles lowly.

“I think I’m going to wait…make you beg for it.”

“I’ll never beg,” I reply and then shift back slightly, my ass meeting his hips in a desperate attempt to get him to move. But he’s solid behind me, unwavering. And I’m stuck here, trying like hell to keep my cool, but god, I want him to thrust his hips forward. I want him to put me out of my misery.

“I think you will,” he says, his breath a whisper on my skin. “I think you’ll ask me nicely, too.”

I glower back at him, our lips impossibly close.

I refuse to let him kiss me .

Refuse.

And even as I have that thought, my eyes drop to his evil mouth, the cruel turn of his lips as he catches me peeking. Hate them so much. Hate him so much.

“Do you ever smile for real?” I ask, and his eyes narrow.

“No.”

So without a thought, I lean forward, brushing against him and then sinking my teeth into his bottom lip.

He hisses as I put pressure on it, making sure to break the skin, but he doesn’t pull away. Just lets me do it.

Almost seems to savor it.

When I finally remove myself, his bottom lip is swollen and I see the dark twinkle in his eyes. His tongue peeks out and slides across his mouth, lapping up the bead of blood that sits precariously on his bottom lip, and I feel his cock twitch inside of me.

“Is this the game you want to play?” he asks, and I swallow, realizing the mistake I made. This isn’t a game. This is my fucking life.

He seems to agree, his nostrils flaring, his face right by mine as he drags his hips back and then slams his cock inside of me.

My mouth parts in a silent scream, my ass arching back, wanting more. Wanting this to end. Wanting this to never stop.

“Little devil, wanting my mouth,” he whispers, our eyes connected. “Your husband’s mouth.”

He slams into me again, jostling my body so forcefully my hands slide across the tiles and scrabble for purchase. But he doesn’t wait for me to find my balance, just slams into me again. My cheek hits the shower wall, my ass being filled over and over again as he ruts into me, his lips at my ear, whispering things in Russian.

Oh fuck, what is he saying?

I don’t know. I can’t think. The way he’s entering me, the way he’s hitting my prostate is making my dick leak. It almost hurts. I need to come. I need to come.

But then suddenly, he stops, impaling me on his dick once more, his lips gliding across my ear, whispered Russian words melting into the sound of the water hitting the shower floor. It’s humid in here, the air filled with steam, and I find myself starting to grow lightheaded.

“You going to say please, my little Angel?” he asks, and I shake my head, my arms trembling as I reach back and grab on to his ass, pulling him further into me.

“Uh-uh, you don’t get to touch me,” Mikhail says and then grabs on to my hands, slapping them onto the tile above me, leaning into me. My aching, throbbing cock is now brushing against the cold, hard wall. “The rules apply to you, too.”

I whimper, and he chuckles.

I try to glower at him, but as soon as our eyes meet, I find my gaze moving down to his mouth once more.

“You want to kiss me? Hm?”

“No, I don’t,” I lie. “I just want to get this over with.”

His mouth curls and his eye twitches and then he leans even closer, making me gasp as his cock shifts inside of my tight channel, my feet pushing up until I’m on my tiptoes.

“Open your mouth,” he whispers, his voice cruel. “And stick out your tongue.”

And instead of shaking my head and telling him to fuck off, I do as I’m told, cursing myself the entire time.

His eyes slide down to my parted lips, my tongue hanging out, and then he leans forward and pulls it between his lips, sucking on it roughly. I cry out at the pain that slides down my throat, but then moan when he lets it go and starts to fuck me once more, slow and hard.

It’s too much.

“I can’t…”

“You can,” he whispers and then leans forward and bites down on my bottom lip, pulling it back and staring me in the eyes. Something cracks inside of me and I start to writhe and whimper, needing more, needing release.

When he finally lets go, I’m nearly sobbing.

“Please!” I cry out. “Please. Please !”

I know he thinks he’s won, but I’ll get him back. I will. When I can think straight. Right now my mind is jumbled, my body needing something that only he can provide.

He chuckles and then starts fucking me in earnest, his hips slapping against my ass, my face still pressed against the cool tiles, my body being used. My hand drops to my dripping cock and I stroke it quickly, needing to feel the release that’s been building inside of me. I feel my balls draw up and without warning, my cock explodes, my mouth screaming out his name.

He grunts at the feel of my ass contracting around his dick, a vise-like grip, and his hands slip to my hips, grabbing them roughly, fucking me at a bruising pace.

And then he’s unloading into me, his cock burrowed so far up inside of me that it verges on painful. Our bodies shake and tremble, and when he pulls away from me, my ass leaks wildly.

Maybe it’s the steam, the heat, but I feel like I’m going to pass out.

I start to topple to my right, but before I hit the floor, I’m in his arms.

“I’ve got you, my little terror,” he says softly and then picks me up and carries me out of the shower. He grabs a towel as he goes and stands me up near the bed, drying me off before lying me down.

I hate this , I tell myself.

Even though I know it’s a lie.