Page 52 of I'm sorry, Princess

I jiggle it again, harder this time, but it doesn’t move. Panic prickles at the edges of my mind.

“Going anywhere, princess?”

His voice sends a chill down my spine.

When I turn, he’s already moving. Slowly, deliberately. His tall frame, looms over the room as he rises from his chair.

The handcuffs on his wrists do little to diminish his presence. If anything, they make him look more dangerous.

More terrifying.

More... devastatingly gorgeous.

I can’t move.

I just stand there, frozen, staring at him as he approaches.

He stops right in front of me, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

His hand reaches out, brushing lightly against my chin, trailing down to my neck, and then to my shoulder.

Freaking move, Serena.

My body screams at me to stay, to let him take this as far as he wants. My mind, however, knows better.

Do I really want to let him fuck me here, in a room full of cameras, where everyone could enjoy a porn show later?

My body answers with a resounding yes, but my mind refuses to be that stupid.

I step back, breaking the contact, forcing distance between us.

“Why is the door locked?” I ask, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and something far more dangerous, desire.

This cannot be happening. I hate being this weak. No man has ever made me feel, or act, so utterly stupid.

“I needed some privacy to enjoy you,” he says, his voice low and hungry, his gaze roaming over me like a predator sizing up his prey.

“Screw you,” I snap without hesitation, my voice laced with defiance.

“Agreed,” he replies, his eyes darkening, a promise lingering in his tone.

Before I can react, he’s there, right there, standing so close I can feel his heat. Too close.

I instinctively step back, only to find myself blocked in by the hard line of his arms. The cold metal of his handcuffs brushes against me as he traps me effortlessly.

The sound of the door opening snaps me out of my daze.

What the hell?

Someone steps into the room.

Without a word, they unlock his handcuffs, the metal clinking softly as they fall away from his wrists.

“You have one hour before they notice the cameras aren’t working,” the man says, his tone disinterested as if this was just another day at work.

His cold grey eyes flick to me for a moment before he turns and locks the door again behind him, leaving me alone with Lorenzo.

I freeze.