Chapter 21 – Rowan
ROWAN
“Marcella,” I bite through clenched teeth, panting for my life as I work to rein myself in while fierce protectiveness unexpectedly surges through me. “Sweetheart, I’m only going to ask you this once, and I expect a real fucking answer. Who did that to you, and where the fuck are they now?”
She snarls, practically baring her teeth. “Fuck off, Your Highness.”
I grin. “I already did that once today. Now tell me.”
She’s lying to me, infiltrating my home under false pretenses, and yet the sight of those scars makes me want to destroy whoever caused them. Is that why she’s here? Is she under someone’s thumb?
“I thought you said you were only going to ask once.”
I growl. “You’re such a brat. Is anything about you real, or is all your formality just an ugly ruse?” Then something hits me. “I spanked you today. Hard.”
Guilt gnaws at me, and my anger falters. I take a step back, pick up her towel, and hand it to her, doing my best not to look at her body as she snatches it from my grip and holds it against her chest.
“I’m not as weak or fragile as you think I am. Besides, why would a prince care about a servant’s scars? Unless you’re worried you fucked around with damaged goods.”
The accusation stings, and I rub a hand along my jaw, trying to think, trying to calm down, trying to figure out just what the fuck is happening here. I stare down at the floor, at her adorable feet still in her ratty flip-flops.
“Is that what you think of me?”
“I don’t think of you at all, Your Highness.”
I lift my chin. “Liar.”
She huffs. “You don’t know anything about me.”
That’s probably the first real thing she’s ever said to me.
I fold my arms across my chest, squaring my stance. “Then tell me.”
“Your Highness—”
“Rowan. When we’re alone, when we’re like this, it’s Rowan.”
She smirks defiantly, knowing just how to push all my buttons. “And if I don’t?”
In a flash, I’m back on her. My nose brushes hers, and I bite her lip, my teeth sinking into the plump flesh as I work to control myself. “Pretty girl, unless you want me to spank you again and force my name from your lips, I’d start calling me Rowan.”
I reach around and grab her ass, feeling the soft, warm, supple globes and running my hands over them. Desire spreads through me like wildfire.
She glares, her eyes twin slits of hate. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”
I suck her top lip between mine. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
But she’s not pushing me away. She’s standing here when I get the impression that if she wanted to, she could easily beat the shit out of me. Or at least try to.
“Did I hurt you earlier?” I ask, moving to her neck and kissing the soft, sweet skin.
She pushes against me, but it’s not much. Barely a shove. “Don’t you dare do that. I’m not some fairy tale damsel in need of saving.”
“No?” I draw back and meet her gaze. “Then who are you? I’d love to know.”
She’s naked before me except for her towel, which is hardly covering anything. Her chest is heaving as mine is, the minuscule space between us charged. Maybe this moment was a foregone conclusion. Me coming down here. Us standing like this.
I don’t know what to make of any of it. I don’t know what to make of her.
I should walk out of here and tell Gabe, my security detail, Javier, and Sebastian what I found in her room and have her arrested.
But I don’t. There’s a vulnerability to her, same as there was the night at the chalet.
It’s as if she’s actually one thing while being forced to be something else.
The demand to tease and extract every secret she’s keeping from me is pervasive.
I cup her face in my hand, my thumb dragging along her cheek.
The way she’s looking at me right now is meant to sear flesh from bone, but she’s not fighting me anymore.
She’s not pushing me away. And there’s that something beneath her steely gaze.
That unmistakable softness she covers with pithy retorts and sharp sarcasm.
She’s not going to tell me. I know that.
Past all her determined hatred and forced fervor is a woman who’s scared.
I’ve seen this look on Bellamy before, and I see it in Marcella now.
She’s strong. No doubt about that. You don’t get those kinds of marks on your back and still fight if you’re not tough.
But never in my life has the need to protect someone and keep them safe been more pervasive.
With that, she’s even more dangerous to me than she was moments ago.
But looking at her right now, feeling her body, the slight tremble she’s trying to hide…
My lips sear down on hers in a kiss there is no coming back from.
It happens the way lightning strikes—sudden, electric, and deadly.
Every particle I’m composed of is tethered to her.
It has been for months. Since that first giggle I heard.
Since that first smile and dance and kiss.
Since she gave me her first and made me hers.
A groan mixed with a growl climbs up my throat, and I squeeze her ass, lifting her with one hand and forcing her legs around me. I push her into the door, using it for leverage as I tilt her face with my other hand and take her from another angle.
“We can’t do this again.”
My lips trail kisses down her neck. “But we are, and this time, I’m not coming on your ass. I’m coming deep inside of you.”
Her head falls back, giving me better access to her throat.
“This is a mistake,” she presses, even as she grinds her pussy against my pants.
I’ll have the smell of her cunt on them.
With any luck, a wet spot from her, too.
Fuck. My cock surges with blood. With the need to be back inside of her, this time with nothing between us.
Except the millions of lies we’re keeping from each other.
She won’t tell me who she is, who she’s working for, or what she’s after. I’m playing dumb and pretending that I didn’t find the earring or know that she’s Ella. Nothing good comes from this. Other than me fucking her brains out.
“Probably,” I agree. “Definitely. I don’t care. I will later, but right now, I don’t.”
Her hands go for my shirt, ripping at the seam and sending the buttons flying. Not exactly how I’ll want to walk back across the palace, but again, I don’t fucking care right now.
She shoves the fabric over my shoulders, where it snags at my elbows.
I don’t want to put her down. She’ll run or we’ll lose this moment if my hands aren’t on hers, and I don’t have her pinned to something.
Still, I set her on her feet, drinking in the lines of her body, her large tits and smooth creamy stomach and pink pussy.
She could barely stand when I ate her the first time.
Her innocence radiated from her that night, but now there is nothing innocent about my siren.
My shirt hits the floor, and I take her hands and bring them to the belt of my pants to do this for me because I want to touch her. I have to touch her.
“Second thoughts?” I question when her fingers falter.
“A thousand of them.” She pauses. Swallows. And hits me with those green eyes through her lashes. “I’m choosing to ignore them. For now.”
“Good.” My hands cup her tits, and I lift them to my mouth. I sink my teeth into her plump flesh, biting hard enough to mark her.
“Ah!”
“Shhh,” I admonish. “I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me. But I saw your scars, and you will tell me if something I do is too much.”
“I already told you I’m not a damsel.”
“No.” I peek up at her with a smirk on my lips.
My tongue comes out and rings her nipple.
“You most certainly are not.” I take her nipple into my mouth, drawing a gasp from her.
Her skin tastes sweet. Addictive. I lave my tongue across her tits, licking and biting them, unable to stop.
Her skin reddens so perfectly. My teeth marks are visible lines, and I suck harder on the side of her breast until I get a smack to my head.
“What are you doing?”
I chuckle. I can’t help it. “Marking you without hurting you.”
“You’re giving me a hickey.”
“Yup.”
She smacks my face away, and I laugh harder, but the sound dies as her hands tangle in my hair and she jerks me back to her tits for more.
“Such a needy, bad girl.” I trail a hand down her belly to her mound, where I cup her. “But can you be a good girl for me?”
A moan escapes her lips. Fuck yes, she can be because that’s exactly what she wants to be. She’ll hate herself later for it. I know that. But right now, my girl wants to be so good for me. She wants me to spoil her. To kiss her. To touch her. To make her come and her pussy drip.
My hand slides lower, and I caress her bare pussy, running my fingers over the silky heaven of her. She arches against me, her right foot going up onto her tiptoes and angling her knee out to give me access while I continue to abuse her tits in the best way.
“Marcella,” I hum against her. My Ella. Is that what she’s been called? Is the name she gave me her nickname? For some reason, that small thought makes me sweat. She gave herself to me that night. Did she know we’d meet again? Did she know we’d find ourselves here only months later?
I move lower, mapping her body with my mouth. Savoring the softness of her stomach. The jut of her hipbones. Then lower. Her right leg is placed on my shoulder to ease the tension in her calves, and I kiss her inner thighs, one then the other.
“What are you doing?” she asks, breathless.
I grin as I nibble on her pussy lips, making her yelp. “Taking my time. Taking what I want. In that order.”
“You can’t do either.”
“Watch me try.”