Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
By the time she quit playing games, all I could do was whip my cock out and come on the innocent white cotton, grunting like a bull in heat. She made up for her teasing this morning, however, letting me rail her face down over the bathroom sink, her harsh breaths fogging up the mirror, crying for Daddy through her teeth.
I’d be shocked if she isn’t pregnant by now.
Christ, that possibility makes my pulse slam violently in my temples, my stomach muscles hardening with pride. With hope.
A week ago, I had no use for the royals.
Now, I can’t fucking exist without the princess. I will suffocate without her—it’s as simple as that. She’s vital to my survival. I’m vital to hers, too. She tells me so with every touch, every smile, every spreading of her thighs. Every whisper in the dark. Every secret she tells me. Every time she clings to me in sleep.
I’m in down and desperate love with Princess Greta.
“Commander, do you dance at all?”
I’m so deep in a fog of Greta’s making, I don’t comprehend the instructor’s question at first. “I’m sorry, what? Do I dance?”
Greta giggles at my utter incredulity. “I believe someone has finally succeeded in rendering the commander speechless.”
“I only thought it might help to dance with someone taller. With sturdier shoulders.” The instructor clasps her hands together beneath her chin. “After all, you’ll be dancing with a prince soon.”
A snake coils dangerously in my chest, rattling its tail. It’s easy when we’re alone to pretend the real world isn’t preparing an attempt to tear us apart, but the inevitable trip to meet Greta’s potential match is always smoldering in the back of my head, scorching my temper whenever I think about her marriage to another man.
Hearing it spoken about out loud is insufferable.
My instinct is to take Greta and run. Start a life with her somewhere far beyond the palace walls. Never allow another man within ten feet of her as long as I live. But the more I consider that plan, the more I see it for what it is. A selfish fantasy. Wishing to take her away from this safe, leisurely life, one which leads to her becoming queen someday.
Maybe she wouldn’t want to run away from that. With me.
Maybe she wants to marry a prince, not a bodyguard.
I’m afraid to ask her and find out.
I’m also very sure that I will kill this prince if she goes through with a wedding, which could lead to me being put to death, in which case I won’t be able to be with her, either.
What the hell do I do?
Ignoring the fire raging out of control in my esophagus, I cross the floor in Greta’s direction. “I’ll dance with the princess.” I take Greta in my arms, lowering my voice so only she can hear it. “I’ll do anything for the princess.”
“Perfect,” says the instructor behind me. “His height makes your posture even more perfect, Princess. Now.” She begins to clap a beat. “Lead the way, Commander.”
It’s a good thing I’ve been watching these lessons for a full week or I would have no fucking clue how to proceed here. But not being capable of tearing my eyes off Greta has paid off, because I lead her in a sweeping box step, our hands clasped tightly, my left one meant to be resting in the center of her back, but I slip my fingertips inside of her dress, instead, watching her pupils dilate in response.
“I did not see this coming,” Greta laughs breathlessly. “You’re quite good. Did you learn as a child?”
“This is my first time.”
“Impossible.”
“I might not be an expert at dancing, Princess,” I say against her temple, “but I know how to anticipate your body. How it moves. How to keep it close.”
“I see,” she murmurs, her chest rising and falling a little faster now against mine. “You’re an expert on my body.”
“Do you dare disagree?”
“Oh, no. I agree. Thoroughly.”
Holding her like this in the sunlight, out in the open, is flooding me with warmth. With the kind of contentment that I didn’t know was possible. Almost, at least. There is a prince waiting in the wings to take her away from me. “If we were just two people who met at a fancy ball,” I rasp, “what would you say to me?”
She purses her lips. “I’d say, thank you for your service, Commander. And then I would inquire about your hobbies, obviously.”
“Obviously.” I smirk against the side of her face, inhaling her perfect scent. “And I would say, chasing around an adorable princess. Hunting the palace for dark shadows where I can get a fix of her mouth.”
Her breath catches. “Is my mouth so addictive?”
“A life without your mouth is a life of poverty.”
“I suppose I should continue to donate to your cause, then,” she breathes, pressing closer, in a way I know will not be considered appropriate in front of the instructor, but I don’t have the willpower to keep us the correct distance apart. All I can do is fit her hips to mine and let her witness the results of her flirting—aka my stiff and heavy inches. “Would you please excuse us a moment, Millie?” she asks the instructor, who walks out of the room without a word. “Conrad?”