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Chandler’s private jet was twice as big as Grey’s. The exterior was all black with traces of chrome on the wings and engine. Inside was a soft cream with sleek gray leather sofas that faced each other, a flat screen television, and a wet bar—and that was just the main part. After takeoff, Chandler stretched out on one of the sofas with a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. Who was he texting? Who had his attention when I wanted it so badly?
I curled up in the corner of the other sofa with one of my books. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’tnotstare at him. At the way his tongue snaked out and wet his full lips when he was in deep thought, the sharp outline of his jaw and the dusting of hair there. I wondered what that scruff felt like between my thighs. Was it soft and ticklish or coarse and rough? My thighs clenched on their own accord, and my nipples peaked against the thin fabric of my blue sundress. This was going to be a long flight.
“Let me in,” I asked, finally breaking the silence that was spreading between us like a plague. “You don’t want me to wear my mask. I want you to let me in.” I’d found a way inside his room. Maybe I could find a way inside his head.
He looked up from his phone, his bright eyes penetrating. A shadow crossed his face. “I can’t do that, Little Rebel. It’s dark in here.”
At least I was back to being Little Rebel instead of Princess.
“I don’t need all your thoughts. Just the ones you’re thinking right now.”
Chandler no longer scared me. I knew he was dangerous, but I’d already tumbled down the rabbit hole. There was no going back now. I was standing in the chamber, ready to drink his poison.
“Right now?” His gaze traveled from my eyes down my body, and a current buzzed between us. Heat blossomed all over my skin as if he were already touching me.
I nodded.
He got off his sofa and slowly walked over to mine. A predator stalking his prey or a shark smelling fresh blood. “Right now, I’m wondering if your precious prince makes your pussy drip for him every time he’s near.” He crawled on top of me, wedging himself between my thighs and inching my dress around my waist. His hips rocked back and forth, rubbing his erection against my center. “Make you scream his name when you come on his cock?” He gripped my throat with one hand. My head fell back over the arm of the sofa. My entire body tingled, nothing but a bundle of nerves. “Leave bruises on the insides of your thighs?” He reached down and cupped my pussy in his other hand.Oh my god.“Does your prince fuck you like a villain should?”
I arched into him, my body desperate, needy, wanting more.Please.
He leaned down and grazed his teeth over my nipple through my sundress. His scent, that masculine woodsy scent, filled my lungs and left me high on him. “Right now, I’m wondering what kind of noises you’ll make when I fuck you.”
I buried my fingers in his hair and rocked against his hand.
He pushed his finger through my cotton panties, soaking it through the fabric. “Fuck, you’re just as fucked as I am,” he gritted out. He was right. I was so very fucked. This invisible cord that had been pulling and stretching between us, bringing us close together then yanking us apart, was finally about to snap. No rituals. No audience. No games. Just me, him, and this undeniable force.
“Get this off.” He lifted himself up and yanked my dress, peeling it over my head, then let out a low, guttural groan when he saw I wasn’t wearing a bra. “Fuck, I’ve been dying to see those tits again since that day I saw you in the bath.” His hands flew to his own shirt, slipping it over his head and tossing it on the floor beside my dress. He pulled a gun from behind his back and placed it on a table. A gun. I would have froze if I wasn’t so turned on. He unbuttoned and slid out of his pants in a heated rush, leaving us with nothing more than the thin fabric of our underwear between us.
This was wrong for so many reasons. I shouldn’t have wanted it as much as I did. My betrayal would likely start a war—even if only a silent one—between our kingdom and Norway. And Chandler was going to leave me with nothing more than a few bruises and the scars of a broken heart, cutting me deeper than any blade ever could. But I didn’t care. I wanted him, wanted this. I’d never wanted anything more.
He worked his hand over my pussy, rubbing back and forth as his middle finger ran along the seam. Then, with three fingers pressed together, he slapped my clit. Hard. “You still want in, Little Rebel?” he asked, allowing me one last chance to turn back.
I arched my back and whimpered, “Yes.” My voice was quiet even though my mind and heart were racing.
He rubbed his hand back down my center. My hips ground into him, and he pushed back harder.
He pulled his boxer briefs down past his hips, then kicked them off with his feet, freeing his cock.
Dear Jesus, there was no way that ever fit inside me. It bobbed and slapped against his sculpted abs, the head thick and glistening with precum. So long. So thick. And the veins… God, the veins. Even so, it looked smooth as silk and my mouth watered to taste it.
Chandler wrapped a fist around his length with inches to spare, then rubbed the tip along my seam through my panties.
I moved to take them off, but he stopped me. “Leave them on,” he said as he slid them to the side, exposing my pussy—wet, bare and completely at his mercy. “When you walk into your palace and give your dad a hug, when your prince kisses you on the cheek and welcomes you home, I want you to feel me between your thighs. I want them to smell me on your skin.” He eased inside me, just the tip, but it was enough to feel myself stretch around him. “I want them to know who you belong to now.”
I’d been on birth control since I was sixteen years old, thanks to irregular periods and poor genetics, but Chandler didn’t know that. He didn’t even ask. All he cared about was making sure all of him had claimed all of me. There was something seriously messed up but erotically primal about that.
His fingers dug into my hips as a darkness blazed in his eyes. He lifted my ass, just the slightest bit off the leather sofa, then with a single thrust, plunged inside me. Chandler wasn’t gentle. He took. He claimed. He owned.
“You like being fucked like this.” He pounded me, deeper, harder, until every crease and curve of his toned body was coated in slick sweat. “You want it rough.” I grabbed hold of his biceps and met his every thrust, every time he used his grip to ram my body against his. It was feral, frantic and animalistic, but that was exactly how it was supposed to be when a cord snapped, when insanity took control. Chaos. Raw and real. That was Chandler. “You need what I can give.”
I hooked one leg around his waist, making him go even deeper, so deep it hurt. I’d never craved pain more in my life.
“Fuck,” he grunted, breathless and ragged. “Ani, fuck.”
He said my name, my actual name.
He moved one hand to my throat, gripping tighter every time he slammed into me. His skin slapped against mine, echoing in the air. I clutched at his chest, trembling, crushing, melting until I was nothing but a pool of molten lava.
