Page 18 of His Prince (Unexpectedly Twisted #2)

16

MIKHAIL

I definitely shouldn’t slide into the tub with my husband. I should let him have his time alone. But the warm water looks inviting and the bubbles growing under the faucet are calling to me.

Fucking Angel is exhausting.

My entire body aches.

Maybe I am an old man, after all. Maybe my life and the choices I’ve made have aged me more than I realized.

I glance toward the bedroom and then back to the tub. I most definitely shouldn’t slide in.

And yet I do it anyway, sinking into the warm water just as Angel rounds the corner, his footsteps faltering. He hesitates, almost unsure of what to do.

And while he contemplates, I find myself feeling ridiculous, the large tub almost too small as Angel’s lips turn up into a small smile.

“I see how it is, husband,” he says as he moves toward me. I can’t take my eyes off him, his lean, tight body, the pink of his pebbled nipples, the dusting of hair on his legs and around his soft cock. “Can’t stay away, hm? You aren’t ready for this to be over.”

“I just saw an opportunity to save water.”

“I’m sure you’re so concerned with that,” he replies with a small laugh as he steps in between my spread legs and sits down opposite me. Our thighs brush, his toes digging into my sides as he leans back and rests his head on the edge of the tub.

“My ass is so sore,” he says softly as his eyes close.

I preen as I sit there. Yes, his ass should be sore. I took him. I fucking took what’s mine.

“Don’t get a big head, though. Any dick could do that.”

My chest deflates and I glower at him, my eyes boring into him.

“I can feel you staring,” he adds and then lifts his right leg and sets it on my lap. “Since you’re just sitting there doing nothing, you can wash me.”

“So now I can touch you?” I ask, almost indignant.

“Mhm, just this once. I’ll make an exception.”

I continue to send him angry glares, but he doesn’t look over at me, just sits there like a fucking prince, asking me to wash him. Like I’m his servant. Well, fine. I can do that. I’ll wash the hell out of him.

I grab his foot and press it against my chest, dragging his body down a little more, his chin now submerged in the water, but he doesn’t complain. So I lather up my palms with the bar of soap and get to work, dragging my hands up and down his leg, massaging it as I go, making his eyelashes flutter and his lips part in a breathy moan.

He likes that. He likes me touching him.

Leaning forward, I drag my hands across his ass and he lifts his hips slightly, allowing me to cup those round globes. I squeeze them and he lets out a contented mewl before I drag my hands down his left leg, repeating the process. He has long legs, the perfect shape, the perfect feel. I should be more perturbed by the hair that tickles my palms, but I’m oddly unbothered by it.

In fact, I seem to like it .

When I’m done washing his legs, both now in the water, his eyelids flutter open.

Our gazes meet, and Angel has the gall to arch an eyebrow at me.

“You’re not done.”

“I can’t reach any other part of you.”

“And that’s my problem?”

My eye twitches, but so does my dick, apparently loving his sass.

I push myself up, water sluicing down my body as I go. Angel watches it all, his cheeks reddening and his tongue peeking out to wet his lips as I kneel right between his spread legs.

“Is this better, my prince?”

“Yes,” he breathes. I gently take his arm from the water and drag my hand up it, moving to his shoulder and tickling his armpit before dragging my hands to the other side and repeating the process, making sure every part of him is washed and touched by me.

Angel trembles beneath my touch, and I feel a power in this that I haven’t felt in ages. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way.

I tug on his fingertips and gingerly link my hand with his, loving the way our hands look entwined, before pulling away. I drag my hands down his chest, plucking at hisnipples as his body arches up into mine. I can’t help but pull him in further, my palms sprawling across his back and tugging him onto my thighs, his ass now firmly on my lap.

His face tucks into my neck, and I feel his breath against my wet skin.

I can’t let him in, and yet I don’t let go.

I don’t fucking let him leave.

We sit like that, holding onto each other until we finally pull away, the water growing tepid around us.

Neither of us speaks about it, words slipping away with the water rushing down the drain. But we both change in the closet, our eyes meeting almost shyly before we glance away. Only to repeat that over and over again.

There aren’t words .

It feels like there will never be words for what this means.

“You sure I need to go down there, boss?” Gael asks me as he fiddles with the cigarette behind his ear.

“Are you questioning me?”

“No…”

“Go down there and tell me where it leads.”

My bodyguard hesitates a moment, and I honestly consider shooting him. He’s wasting my time. I need answers. And I need them now.

“I’m a little afraid of the dark, boss.”

“Carry the fucking flashlight. Now go before I put a bullet between your fucking eyes.” I point at the hole in my bedroom floor, and Gael’s Adam’s apple bobs.

“Yeah, okay.”

And then he hops down into it, lights a cigarette, and I watch intently until the glow of his flashlight disappears down the narrow passageway.

As I wait for him to return, I stand there, mind spinning, wondering who created these tunnels. Was it my grandfather before he died? My father? But why would they keep it a secret from me? Could it have been Katarina?

I don’t fucking know anything anymore.

I asked Ivan earlier today, and he shrugged it off, telling me he has no idea what I’m talking about. So whoever created these kept it secret from both of us.

My eyes turn toward the edge of the bed and I stride toward it, bending down to pull that rusted box from its hiding space. I need to know what’s inside it.

Only when I reach for it, it’s not there.

Who the fuck took it? I’ll murder them. No, I’ll give them to Georgiy and let him peel their skin off. Slowly .

I’m cussing up a storm in Russian when Gael returns, his skin smeared with dirt and cobwebs hanging from his clothes. The cigarette is gone, and he lights another one with a slightly trembling hand.

“Bane was right. It leads to the outside gate.”

“Did you know about this?”

Gael shakes his head as he hops back onto my floor, leaving bits of dirt scattered on my pristine floor. Nina is going to have my hide for this.

“Only knew about the one leading from your office to our place.”

“Fuck. Ask the others and report back to me. Immediately.”

“Yes, boss. And uh, don’t tell Angel I’m smoking in the house.”

He turns on his heel and almost runs from the room, and I watch him go, needing more answers.

I peer down into that tunnel and then hop down inside, grabbing the flashlight Gael left, and decide to see for myself. Maybe I’ll find my answers down here. Anything to bring to light what the fuck is going on.

I move forward, my arms brushing against the walls as I walk. I can’t see more than ten feet in front of me, but I know that this leads out to the front gate. My steps falter for a moment, my gaze catching on something on the floor. Bending down, I pick up a bracelet. My heart thunders in my ears, my breath catching.

Katarina’s. I gave this to her on our wedding night.

The way she sighed when I placed it around her dainty wrist.

She was wearing it the night she died.

I clutch it tightly, feeling the poison of it seep through me. But the question is, how did it get down here?

I feel a breeze sweep through the tunnel, and I shiver at the damp air as it drifts by me. Through me.

I glance backward and see something move in the shadows. I startle slightly, taking a step away, and then suddenly something rushes me and everything goes black.