Page 57 of I'm sorry, Princess

“You’re expensive when you’re moaning and screaming my name, darling,” he growled, his voice low and rough, dripping with possession. “And I’m the only man rich enough to hear it.”

Before I could catch my breath, he grabbed a fistful of my hair, tilting my head up so I was forced to meet his gaze. His eyes burned into mine, dark, unrelenting, full of a promise I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

“There’s no going back, Serena,” he said, his tone dark and final, each word settling deep inside me like a brand. “You’re mine now. You belong to me, no matter if you want it or not.”

His words hit me like a shockwave, claiming every part of me, and then it happened, another orgasm tore through me, sudden and overwhelming. I cried out, my body shuddering violently as pleasure wracked every nerve. It was too much, too intense, and I could barely hold myself together.

Somewhere through the haze, I felt him tense, his thrusts turning erratic before he groaned, deep and primal. I felt him fill me, hot and thick, his release spilling deep inside me, so much that I could feel it begin to drip down my thighs.

I’d never felt anything like this, one orgasm was unthinkable, but two? In less than an hour? My body wasn’t built for this kind of pleasure. I was trembling, spent, and utterly shattered.

The world blurred at the edges, darkness pressing in as exhaustion overtook me. My last thought before slipping under was his voice, his words still echoing in my mind.

You’re mine.

And then everything went black.

Chapter Fifteen

Lorenzo

I’m fucked and it’s been three days since I saw her and well, fucked her.

Her moans, those soft, breathy sounds, are still ringing in my ears like a goddamn melody I can’t shake. I shouldn’t remember them. I shouldn’t remember her.

I’ve been inside more women than I could ever name, and they all serve the same purpose. Disposable. Replaceable. And yet, here I am, in this cell, and she’s all I can think about.

Pathetic.

It’s been four weeks and a half since I’ve been locked in this shithole. Four weeks since I’ve fucked anyone decent. That’s the only reason she’s stuck in my head. Deprivation does strange things to a man, makeshim weak, makes him cling to scraps of memory like a drowning man grabbing for driftwood.

But let’s be clear, she’s nothing. Just another body, another fuck. She’s no one special.

I’m not the kind of man who gets hung up on a woman. I don’t have that luxury. During the day, I close billion-dollar deals and watch men cower under my gaze. At night, I fight like an animal, run weapons across borders, and make moves that keep entire syndicates in line.

Fear is the currency I trade in, and business is booming.

So why the fuck can’t I erase her from my mind?

It pisses me off, this weakness, this crack in my armor. She was a mistake, an indulgence I didn’t need and didn’t want to remember. And yet, my mind keeps circling back, replaying the way her body writhed under mine, the way she screamed my name like I owned her.

I clench my fists, the itch to fight crawling under my skin. She’s nothing. She means nothing.

But, when I get out of here, I’ll fuck her again. Maybe then I’ll finally break her hold on me.

A knock sounds at the door, but whoever it is doesn’t bother waiting for me to answer. Andres walks in, eyes glued to his phone, his expression as blank as ever. Lately, he’s been acting strange, distracted. I can only hope it has nothing to do with that caramel latte he’s been chasing around like a horny teenager.

“Why bother knocking if you’re going to barge in anyway?” I ask, a smirk tugging at my lips.

“Courtesy,” Andres replies with a smirk of his own, not even glancing up from his screen.

He finally looks at me, tilting his head slightly. “It’s time to go home,” he says flatly, his fingers still flying over the keys of his phone.

“Did they finally decide to release me?” I ask, leaning back in my chair, my voice dripping with mockery.

“It’s time to go and throw your birthday party,” Andres says, a flicker of enthusiasm breaking through his usual composure.

Ah, yes. My birthday. Twenty-eight years old today.