Not me.
Him.
I lift up her skirts, bunching the fabric at her navel, and strum her clit through the lace.
“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, her mouth parting beautifully.
“Here. Look how needy you are for me.”
My cock stiffens past the point of pain as she lets her head fall against my shoulder, abandoning herself, and her soft whimpers drive me right past the point of madness into pure, selfish hunger.
“I’m going to fuck you right here. And I want you to look me in the eye as I do.”
Her gaze falls to the throne, and her face changes. Her voice is cold all of a sudden. “I can’t— We can’t.Stop!”
She sinks her nails into my arms, and I reluctantly let her go, the skirt of her dress falling back into place.
When she meets my gaze in the mirror again, her expression is unreadable. Impregnable.
The usual push and pull, the usual dance, subsides. A moment ago, her objections felt negotiable. Fragile. They were merely barriers she wanted me to break, but now, they feel absolute.
“I need to be alone tonight. Goodnight, E.”
Her green eyes drop to the floor, her sorrowful, conflicted voice sending a fresh rush of adrenaline through my veins.
Every instinct screams at me to stop her.
Instead, I flatten my hands to my sides. “Err—good night, little fox,” I manage.
She turns and walks away, and silence settles over the throne room.
I stare at the place where she disappeared long after she’s gone, my pulse refusing to settle.
Pathetic.
Did I misread her first few protests? Or am I misreading this one, and she actually wants me to follow?
I don’t think so, though, and the rejection doesn’t sting nearly as much as the shame of ignoring her demands in the first place.
My gaze drifts to the stranger in the mirror.
I look a lot like my father.
Our builds are slightly different. He's tall but lean, whereas I've got broad shoulders. Our eyes are basically the same—maybe mine are a slightly deeper blue—but I inherited a softer nose, and my shorter hair falls past my ears in messy golden-white strands.
The Crown Prince's face.
The man everyone insists I used to be, the one making love to Max in her dreams.
I hate him.
I hate that every time I push too hard, every time I see hurt flash across Max's face, I wonder if this is who I've always been.
A selfish man.
A careless one.
The kind who would take and take until there was nothing left.
