Page 1 of His Princess

1

MATTHEW “COLT” COLTRANE

BETHANY HAD LEFT.

I knew she was gone the moment I walked through the door because everything was quiet, a lull of silence that wasn’t normal at our house around two in the afternoon on a Friday. By that time, she was usually drunk and singing raucously as she danced half naked around the house. Sometimes she had friends over, just as drunk on wine as she was, and sometimes she was alone, complaining about “her shitty life.”

“Married to a man who cares more about work than me,” she would whine.

I usually ignored her.

Our relationship hadn’t been happy for over a year. Being cheated on did that to a man. I hadn’t expected to come home early on a sunny Wednesday last summer to see my brother balls deep inside her, so excuse me if my love for her had vanished. She’d stuck around, and I’d let her, but we didn’t fuck anymore.

Her stuff was gone. The house was quiet.

I went straight to the bar in my den and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, poured three fingers into a tumbler, and then downed it. With a sigh, I filled the tumbler again before collapsing on the red leather wingback chair I loved.

Her adult son, Quin, hung around, too.

At the moment, he was taking classes at NGU, but he’d lived with me since the day I’d married his mom. There was no other way of describing Quin except lazy as fuck, just like his mother. He didn’t help around the house. He lived in my home overlooking Lake Ontario, ate my food, and used my electricity for free—and I let him.

The cash was barely a blip on my radar, and I was married to his mother, after all.

So, I wasn’t surprised at the sound of the front door opening and Quin’s bemused voice calling out, “Mom, are you home?”

I laughed, taking a sip of the whiskey. The delicate hints of malty spice hit my tongue and I moaned at the taste. I closed my eyes, relishing the flavor. It wasn’t often I had the time and peace to quietly contemplate life, but I supposed that came with marrying Bethany. She’d always been a free spirit, but not a great mother or wife. She’d had Quin at fifteen, and while he was her baby boy in every way, her selfishness always won. She’d taken the chance to flee without him and I wasn’t shocked.

“Mom?” His voice grew nearer to my den—or mancave, as Bethany liked to call it—and I leaned farther back into my chair. Finally, the door opened, and Quin popped his head through the gap. He scanned the room, gaze stopping at my desk first, before he focused on me. His long brown hair was flipped over his shoulder and swayed with the sudden stop of his entire body. “Colt, have you seen Mom?”

“She’s gone.” I stared at him over the rim of my tumbler, curious about his reaction. Did he know? Probably not.

“What?” Quin’s shoulder tensed and he glanced around my den as though he expected his mother to jump out and yell just joking! “What do you mean she’s gone? Gone shopping? Gone out for drinks? Gone where?”

I shook my head. “You’re not stupid, boy. She packed her shit and left.”

“What did you do to her?” Quin shoved his entire body through the door and stalked toward me, but he wasn’t much of a threat. He barely came to my shoulders, and while he was taller than his mother, his height didn’t pose a risk. He was naturally sinewy, all small compact muscles with soft lines. He had a gentle face—feminine—and his Cupid’s-bow mouth was even prettier than Bethany’s. The only thing I could see him doing in the future was putting those lips to good use around someone’s cock.

I snorted at the thought. “Nothing.” I drained the rest of my drink and rocked the empty tumbler in my fingers. “She was gone when I got home.”

He stalked forward, hands curled into fists at his thighs. The tight top he wore shimmered in the afternoon sun that spilled in from the window, the glittering blue almost blinding. He wore simple skintight black jeans and black boots, but the belt had rhinestones around the edges. He looked good, but then, Quin always did.

“You must’ve done something,” he snapped, his hazel eyes flashing angrily. “She wouldn’t have just left without me!”

I chuckled and rose from the wingback chair, staring down at him for a long moment before I sauntered over to the bar. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and refilled my tumbler. “You honestly think you’re that important to her? You’re twenty-one, a kid she had when she was fifteen. It’s time you stand on your own two feet, and obviously she finally realized what a spoiled brat you are.”

I didn’t expect the shove on my back, but I barely moved. He didn’t have the strength to do much damage, and the attempt only made me laugh harder as I turned around slowly and took in the frightened gaze that shot from me to the whiskey to the door of the den, like he couldn’t decide whether or not to escape.

My mouth curled wickedly. “Run,” I whispered, tone low and threatening, but also teasing. “See how far you get.”

He hesitated, then spun on his heel, but I reached out and caught his small bicep before he had the chance to flee. With one hand still clutching the tumbler of whiskey, I hauled him back toward me, and he stumbled right into my chest. I set the tumbler on the bar and used my free hand to grip his chin firmly, startling a gasp from his sweet mouth. Quin was entrancing.

I’d never quite considered him beautiful.

I’d never been into men and had no interest in dicks, but Quin wasn’t what I would call classically masculine. He was all slim lines and pale skin with a feminine touch that made my cock swell. He had full lips prettier than any woman’s and eyelashes that went on for days, long and dark and curled like his mother’s. His voice didn’t have the deepness that should’ve come with puberty, and his long hair danced over his shoulders and stopped in the middle of his back. The shiny strands looked soft to the touch. He was, in many ways, more attractive than his mother.

I hummed and dragged the tip of my pointer finger over his hairless jaw, curious. “She was never happy here, you know?” I whispered, glancing up into his eyes to take note of his reactions. They flickered with uncertainty and fear, and that drove me to keep going, digging the figurative knife into his already deep wound. “With me, sure, but with you, too. She left you behind for a reason, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

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