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I shake my head, tears pricking my eyes.
“Then do as I say. Get that tight little ass downstairs and speak to my father again. Tell him you’ll marry me.”
Marry him? This unhinged, violent, brutal, cruel monster?
I glare at him through my tears.
His grin widens. “Have it your way.”
He inches forward inside me slow and smooth, and my entire body jerks forward as I scream and clamp myself against his relentless invasion.
“Did you save yourself for me, sweet poison? You shouldn’t have. I’m not a gentle fuck.”
I try to move away, despite the pain of pulling against his fist in my hair, his hold on the belt.
“You should have let me play with the bitches throwing themselves at me. But you didn’t want the easy way, huh?”
He withdraws, and my body finally relaxes, relief flooding me.
“You wanted a reaction out of me. Congratulations. You got it.”
Without a single warning, he’s back in one smooth, hard thrust, buried inside me to the hilt.
My breath is completely caught in my throat, my entire body immobile. If I move, even an inch, I might break in two.
My insides are in an amount of pain I can’t comprehend. Like he shoved a red-hot fire poker in there.
“You’re so fucking tight, aren’t you, poison?”
He’s the true poison.
As I lay helpless, so hurt I can’t even breathe, I wonder if he’s going to kill me. He could. And now I have no reason to think he wouldn’t. He has no limits. He doesn’t live by the rules of society. He takes what he wants. Does what he wants. And he knows, without a single doubt, that he can get away with it.
This is the royal no one else sees.
Mypoison.
After a moment so unquantifiable it might have been a day or a second, he moves back. I wince through it, the pain still too much. He’s slow, as though strangely realizing he might have broken me. But just when I think he’s given me a modicum of pity, he shoves right back in.
I scream again, as uselessly as the first time. And again. And again. He thrusts out, and then back in, his own muffled grunts joining mine.
My fingers tighten around the rug underneath me, as I realize, to my utter horror and confusion, that my body isn’t only allowing it, it’s…enjoying it.
Somewhere in the torture, something shifted, and now the fire has morphed higher, settling in my core. Instead of begging for mercy, for the pain to stop, I’m desperate for it to grow stronger.
And it does.
The monster behind me lifts my hips higher, repositioning me, and the next thrust hits a corner so sensitive I think I might pass out. Reading my body like the pages of an open book, he chuckles and plows right back in, at the same spot, again and again, until I’m whimpering, wiggling, and begging all over again, but for a very different reason.
Less removes the belt, the handkerchief, and even his hand pulling my hair, to circle my body and cup my breasts through my shirt, while his other hand moves lower, right between my legs, pressing against my clit as I lose control of my mind, body, and soul.
I should scream. I’m completely free to do so. I should tell the world to come and get him and remove him from me. But if I do, they might, and then this maddening pleasure will stop.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Playing with his toy.
Controlling me in a way he knew was going to work, when other methods failed.
