Page 17 of His Prince (Unexpectedly Twisted #2)

15

ANGEL

T he broken pots sit on the floor of my greenhouse, my stubbornness not allowing me to clean them up. And I don’t go to our bed either, spending my night sleeping fitfully with Bane in the guardhouse.

Bane snores quite loudly and he talks in his sleep. All the usual things you’d expect. There was something about bread and eyeballs in there. I don’t know. And halfway through the night, he got up and disappeared, leaving the bed empty.

I finally just called it a loss and went down to make breakfast, forcing a smile on my face and chatting with everyone, insisting to Andrew that even though Mikhail told him he needed to leave, he didn’t. That I would love him to stay and spend a few more days here.

Truth is, I miss my home. I miss my family.

I’m not ready for him to go.

And I’d like to see Bane more. He’s been very absent, doing god knows what .

While I’m serving up waffles, Mikhail wanders into the kitchen, the lively conversation dying off when he approaches. He looks beastly, his shirt rumpled, his hair askew, his unshaven face set in a severe frown.

When his eyes meet mine, I arch an eyebrow at him.

“Where were you?” he asks, but I just ignore him, handing a plate to Andrew and beaming at my friend.

“I was thinking the two of us could spend some time in the garden today,” I tell him. Andrew peers over at Mikhail and then nods. “Jake is here today and he’s going to be helping piece together the broken fountain. Perhaps we could do a picnic lunch together.”

Mikhail moves up beside me and I feel his breath on my earlobe as he whispers something to me in Russian. It’s foreboding and yet it still sends heat directly between my legs.

But I don’t let him know the effect he has on me. I just continue to ignore him, and Mikhail moves closer until he’s pressed against my back, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt and dragging across my skin.

“You still need to apologize,” I hiss, and I feel his nails dig into my hip, but then he soothes the bite with a gentle rub of his thumb.

“Andrew,” he says lowly, his lips at my ear, his teeth grazing my lobe. “I apologize for protecting my home.”

I roll my eyes and then nudge him in the stomach.

“You can do better.”

“That’s as good as it gets, little devil.”

I shiver at the sound of his low rumbling voice and then feel Mikhail pull me backward toward the hallway.

“I said you need to give a sincere apology and you still need to clean up the mess in the greenhouse,” I protest, but he doesn’t stop, just twists me around and picks me up. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me down the hall to the guestroom that I destroyed with the shears.

He kicks the door open and then slams it shut, pressing me up against it. I can feel the hardness of his cock against my own. My arms wrap around his neck and my fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the strands. His eyes look wild and bloodshot, as if he didn’t sleep at all.

His forehead meets mine, and I feel the pull of breath against my lips.

“You are a menace, a thorn in my fucking side,” he says, and I roll my head slightly, arching my hips up into his.

“Those with the thorns always smell the sweetest.”

His nose trails up my neck. “Mm, you do smell edible.”

I shiver again, rocking up against his dick, feeling need ripple through me.

“You can’t woo me into fucking you,” I manage to say, despite my body wanting it. “You still need to clean up the mess you made in the greenhouse. And I want new pots as well. Nice ones.”

“Put it on the credit card.”

“I want you to buy them for me. When I have those, I will think about fucking you again, Mikhail. Then and only then.”

His teeth sink into my jaw lightly, and I let out a gasp of pleasure.

“Hm, if you must think, then let me give you an incentive…something to ponder.”

I don’t know what that means, have no idea what he’s getting at, but then he pulls away, my hands slipping from his neck.

As my feet hit the ground, he spins me around and his hand slides down to the bulge in my shorts, squeezing it gently.

I groan, my head hitting his shoulder, my hips arching up, wanting more.

I hate that he’s tempting me, trying to get me to break, but a little indulgence doesn’t mean anything. It just means that I’m allowing it. I’m allowing him to let me feel good with nothing in it for him.

His fingers snake up the leg of my shorts, cupping my balls gently in his palm before dragging his fingers up to my bare cock and stroking it.

I groan as he tugs on my dick, pulling it free of the confines of my shorts which sit sideways on my hips now. I glance down at it, his strong hand against my cock, and see precum pool at the tip.

“Mikhail,” I gasp, and he chuckles lowly, his lips dragging up my neck to my ear, whispering filthy things and dirty words.

“I’m going to make you scream. Going to make you say my name, sólnyshko.”

I thrust my hips forward, shuttling his fist over my cock, trying like hell to come, need pooling heavily in my balls.

The tip of Mikhail’s tongue slides into my ear and his other hand moves up to my lips, pushing inside, fucking my mouth.

I suck on his fingers, hollowing out my cheeks as he continues to work me toward the blissful edge.

And just when I think I’m going to topple over it, he lets go, his fingers slipping from my mouth and cock, his body no longer against mine.

I turn around, confused and dazed, my balls drawn up tightly, my cock angry and red.

“Mikhail?” I ask, and he just smirks at me.

“Two can play this game, my little Angel.”

I gasp at him, my cock twitching at his mischievous smile and then he adjusts his own dick which is hard and pressed out from his slacks before turning and walking away.

He leaves me standing there, pressed against the wall, mind muddled, and dick unsatisfied. It’s only when I start to regain some sense that I push away from the wall and begin plotting my revenge.

He may think that he’s won, but he hasn’t.

I can promise you that.

I spend the day outside, the sun hiding behind clouds, the spring breeze cool and refreshing. I lay out a nice picnic lunch with Bane and Andrew, and everyone else, as well. I didn’t want them to feel left out .

Mikhail is nowhere to be seen though, disappearing into the house somewhere with Ivan, I’m sure. Jake is working on rebuilding the fountain with Titus and Gael, the two of them smoking while Jake refrains. But the three of them seem to get along, the guards fondly nicknaming Jake, ‘Yakov’. They teach him how to say things in Russian, grinning like loons when he can’t quite pronounce them right while Jake shows them how to sign a slew of cuss words.

They’re getting quite good at it, actually. I’m impressed.

“Seems you have a good crew here,” Andrew says, and I nod.

“I got lucky in that respect.”

Andrew cocks his head at me as he leans back on his elbows just as Bane appears from the woods, a loopy grin on his face.

“Guys, guess what? I found George’s house. He won’t let me in, locked the door, but I found it,” he flops down next to me and places his head in my lap. “He glared at me through the window real hard. So I gave him a nice show.”

“A show of what?” I ask, and Bane sighs, turning his body so he’s facing me.

“I jacked off right onto his plants. A nice big load.”

Andrew chuckles, and I flick my fingers against his forehead. “He’s not going to like that.”

“He’s not, but he watched the entire time. So I feel like I’m winning. Maybe he’ll give me a spanking later for being a bad boy.”

I grin at him just as Felix approaches with a dolly full of boxes, both large and small. “Delivery for you, little husband.”

I stare at it and then swat Bane away, reaching for the boxes that Felix places near my side and prying them open. Inside each of them are beautiful pots, each with brightly colored mosaics on the sides in all shapes and sizes. So much more than the two that he broke. There’s at least half a dozen in here.

My eyes water and I glance at the house, seeing Mikhail on the porch, a cigarette in his hand.

I’ve never seen him smoke before, but fuck, it’s hot, the smoke filtering around him in a cloud .

“Boss is smoking. Thought he quit,” Felix says with a grin and then ruffles my hair. “Seems you got to him.”

I don’t know what that means, but I stand up and brush my hands down the front of my shorts, slightly nervous, my heart thumping, my gaze focused solely on him.

My husband.

“Felix, can you bring these to the greenhouse? I’ll be right back.”

I can feel all eyes on me as I move toward the house, and the closer I get to my husband, the more he inhales the cigarette, smoke billowing around him, the orange of the end glowing brightly. When I am finally standing before him, he inhales one last time, blows the smoke out the side of his mouth and crushes the butt beneath his shoe.

“You satisfied now?” he asks, his accent a little deeper than normal.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you. I love them.” My words are watery and our gazes clash, a crackle of lust and need. Perhaps it’s the failed hand job earlier or the fact I didn’t fuck him last night, but either way, the two of us move simultaneously into the house, his footsteps following closely behind me as I enter our bedroom.

As soon as the door shuts, he’s on me, his hands ripping the shirt from my chest, the fabric tearing across my body and falling onto the floor, my skin stinging from the force. My dick instantly stiffens to full mast, and I groan as it digs into my jean shorts.

The zipper is pulled down and Mikhail is shucking them down my legs, his fingernails dragging down my thighs. I let them pool around my ankles and then step out of them, leaving myself completely naked except for a pair of lace panties.

He growls when he sees them, his nostrils flaring, his lips parting in a pant, and then he grabs me, lifting me off the ground and tossing me onto the mattress. I bounce roughly, the air in my lungs leaving me. And when I inhale, he grasps my thighs and tugs me toward the edge of the bed, his thumbs moving under the thin strap of my panties and dragging them slowly down my legs, exposing my cock to him.

His tongue peeks out and wets his lips as he takes me in, my lace underwear now stretched between my thighs, my cock hard and leaking.

I let out a long breath as he just stares at me. It’s silent, the only sound is the air moving in and out of our lungs. And then he moves, his fingers ripping the lace from my legs and tossing it aside, leaving me completely bare.

He spreads my legs further, so wide it almost hurts, and his hands lift my ass off the bed, his thumbs spreading my cheeks open so he can look at my hole.

“Mikhail, what are you doing?” I groan and he presses a fingertip to it, feeling the way it clenches against him.

“My pretty little menace,” he says as he sets me down and rips his shirt off, his bare chest heaving as he works his pants down his legs. His cock hits his stomach with a slap, precum beading at the tip, his thighs flexing as he leans over me and grabs the lube from the end table.

The position of his body over mine has our cocks brushing against each other and I can’t help it. I let my hands slide up his back, just once, before he pulls away, his eyes meeting mine as he sets the lube near my side. His hand gently grasps my left leg and pulls it over his shoulder, his other hand flicking the cap of the lube open.

I hold my breath, unsure of what he’s going to do, what he wants me to do. But he just carefully dribbles some of it between my cheeks and the cool liquid slides down to my hole just as his finger pushes it inside.

My eyes widen as he breaches me and then a low, keening moan escapes my lips. My hands clutch onto his thighs, holding him tightly as he works his way inside of me. One finger, two. A twist of his wrist, a flick of his finger against my prostate. My back arches off the bed, my body trembling as he plays with me, bringing me precariously close to the edge before he slides three fingers inside, stretching me wide open.

“Mikhail. Pl—please.”

My words are stuttered, my body strung tightly with desire.

“I need—please. I need more.”

He doesn’t let up, just continues to add more lube to his fingers, pushing it inside of me, teasing me, bringing me so close to the edge that I’m sure I’m going to come.

But before I can, he pulls out of me and slots his cock at my hole.

“You ready?”

“Yes!”

He doesn’t wait any longer, bracketing his arms near the sides of my face, and the blunt head of his cock pushes inside of me with one forward thrust. My back arches off the bed, my fingernails clawing down his skin, leaving marks. But I’m lost, I’m so fucking gone. The way he fills me, the way I stretch around him, the way he looks. His cheeks red, lips parted in a groan, arms shaking as he holds himself inside of me for a long-drawn-out second. His face is hovering just over mine, my body folded in half as he seems to almost grow in size inside of me. He lets out a slow shuddering exhale, and I can smell the smoke on his breath, his musky, manly scent infiltrating my senses.

I want him.

I fucking want him. Now.

But he doesn’t move.

He just stares down at me, his pupils blown out, the blue almost hidden behind the growing blackness.

And then slowly, his hand moves, grazing my cheek, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip gently.

I don’t move, unsure of what this means, if I should even allow it. But before I can say anything, it’s gone and I’m almost bereft in the absence.

“Fuck me, Mikhail,” I finally rasp, needing him to take me hard so I don’t feel this ache inside of my chest, the knowledge of what I’m missing. He obliges, pulling his hips back, a slow drag through my tight channel before tunneling back inside.

I moan as he starts to rail into me, his body slowly lifting off mine until he’s standing at the edge of the bed, both my legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands on my hips, holding me still as he pumps into me relentlessly.

I’m a mess, undone and unraveling. My hands are no longer on him but twisted in the sheets as my body trembles from the sensation of being filled over and over again. And Mikhail doesn’t let up, punishing me for not giving in yesterday, for making him do what he didn’t want to do, but hell, it was worth it.

I get this. I get him .

I know what he wants, what he needs—and it seems he knows me as well.

His hands tighten on me, and I see a bead of sweat move down his temple, lingering on his jaw before slipping down his neck. I want to sit up and lick it off, want to bite down and taste him. The image of us writhing against each other, our bodies completely enmeshed makes my cock jump between my legs and I reach down and squeeze it.

“Mikhail. I’m close. Please. I’m so close.”

“Sólnyshko. My little Angel. Little devil,” he groans, and then I feel him start to shake, his thrusts growing more violent, more uncoordinated. It’s over. I start to fuck my fist, my orgasm crashing over me. We fall over the cliff together and the tidal wave rises up to meet us, pulling us both out to sea, our bodies aching and trembling when we finally wade to shore.

Mikhail’s chin meets his chest, his breathing labored as he continues to hold himself inside of me. He hasn’t left me, not yet. My eyelids are drooping happily, my body satiated from my orgasm, my stomach and chest messy from my release.

I feel his hands leave my hips and my legs are gently pulled from his shoulders and placed on the bed. As he maneuvers me, his cock slips from me and I feel the gush of his cum spilling from me .

But I just lie there, trying like hell to move, but unable to conjure up the desire. He’s fucked me into a coma.

“You need a bath,” he says, his finger trailing across my knee and dragging up my thigh. “You made a mess.”

I can feel my skin trembling from his touch, can feel the sensation all the way through my bones. I should tell him not to touch me, but I can’t be bothered at the moment.

I’m easily wooed, it seems. A total pushover.

“It’s your fault,” I finally say. “You bought me very beautiful pots.”

His lips twitch and his hand leaves me.

“I’ll run you a bath,” he says as he strides away, leaving me to close my eyes and remind myself that this doesn’t mean anything.

It means nothing.

Nothing at all.