Page 46 of Broken Princess

“Please,” she replies as she heads to the little dresser we brought down for her. Rummaging through the drawers, she grabs some clothes. “Be right back. Just gotta get changed.” Then she pauses at the door, before adding, “Er… Sinclair said he’d be right down for the meeting.”

I chuckle a little. She’s nervous to admit where she’s been all night. I can see her neck and ears colour as she tries to hide her blush from me by turning and walking out the door. Does she think I’ll judge her? She’s a grown-ass woman and she can do what she wants. I would never judge her for that. Heaven knows she’s had far too little autonomy over her own life or her own body for far too long.

But I am jealous. It was difficult hearing her with Sinclair.

There’s not a cell in my body that believes I’m worthy of Aurora. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I were.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

BENEDICT

Entering the med-room, my eyes clock each one of the guys and noting Rory isn’t here. I can’t help but smirk at the state of my friends. They look like they’ve been up all night—they probably have. Fuck knows why Zo looks like death, but I can only assume he was up all night planning our next steps. I know I kept Nico busy most of the night, and from the noise coming from Sinclair’s room, Rory was being taken care of extremely well.

I don’t begrudge Sinclair his happiness, but it was hard to listen to them together when these feelings I have for her won’t subside. It drove me wild and triggered some of the most profound orgasms I’ve ever experienced.

It unlocked a part of my submissive side that had me whimpering on my knees, begging for Nico’s dick like a needy cum-slut. I blush as I remember how I used the soundtrack of Sinclair and Rory fucking to imagine the filthiest of scenarios. Last night, when he finally let me come and took me to bed, I quickly passed out, dreaming of the things I wanted to do with Rory—and Nico.

How he’d sit in his armchair and impale Rory, her back to his chest, grinding on every rung of his ladder. How he’d spread her wide and have me on my knees for both of them. Demand that I tongue her clit, lap at her pussy, tease his balls, and finally lick them both clean, savouring every drop of their cum.

I feel a sense of guilt fantasising about her. How would she feel if she knew the things I imagined? Would she feel violated? Fuck, I hope not.

Sinclair catches me staring at him and glares at me. “You got a problem, man?”

“Sorry, I was miles away,” I say, shaking my head to drag me out of my concerns.

Nico brings me a coffee and steers me to the couch. He leans close and whispers to me, “Stop overthinking, Bambi.” He captures my jaw and turns my face to his so he can hold my gaze. “Are you okay?”

I cast my eyes down, ashamed. “I feel… lots of things.”

“I know.” He moves his arm behind me across the back of the couch and gently strokes the back of my head. It instantly soothes me and dampens the thoughts running through my mind like a herd of wild horses.

I don’t know what last night means—whether she’s with Sinclair now. What I do know is that she’s not mine, she’s not Nico’s, she’s not ours, and it feels like she never will be. That causes a dull ache in the centre of my chest that no amount of rationalising seems to quell.

It’s ridiculous. The chance of her ever being mine and Nico’s to share were non-existent to start with. Now it feels like all hope is lost. She’s the only person other than Nico that’s made me feel this way, and it’s hard to process.

“Have patience, Bambi,” he whispers so softly I nearly miss it.

I have no time to dwell on his words as Rory enters the room, looking fresh faced with her slick ebony locks trailing down her back, dripping on the back of an oversized hoodie. I have no idea whose sweatshirt it is, but it’s one of ours. It’s really fucking difficult not to fantasise about a woman who walks around in your clothes.

She looks far too refreshed for someone who remorselessly slaughtered a traitor and then spent hours being fucked six ways from Sunday. Nico’s a shining example of what she should look like. Haggard and exhausted.

Bless him. I tuckered him out last night. After Rory commandeered his kill, it left me with a wound-up rage bunny in need of release. And I’m precisely the type of brat for that job.

She looks like a weight has been lifted—like she’s coming back to life.

She catches me staring and smiles, looking a little sheepish. Deciding to put her at ease, I avoid mentioning Sinclair. “Next time, you’re helping with clean-up. When you’re choosing weapons, the answer is rarely a machete, Rory. We found pieces of him all over the place.”

For a second, I think I’ve gone too far as her expression falters. Just as I’m about to back pedal, she bursts out laughing.

“There’s never not a good time to use a machete, Benny. But you’re right. Next time I’ll clean up after myself.” Her smile is magnificent—breathtaking. It does nothing to help me tamp down my feelings for her.

She glances across to Sinclair and sees that he’s taken a seat on the armchair. She hesitates, obviously not having a clue where her place is. Enzo steps forward and takes her hand, pulling her up onto the gurney that has served as her bed since her arrival. Since we now hold all our meetings down here, it feels like a throne in its elevated position. Something that uplifts the person we value.

I realise after last night’s demonstration, this person we revere may be precious to us, but she is no longer the fragile victim she was when she arrived.

“We need to figure out the next steps,” Zo says, calling our focus to him. “We have a body to unload, and a rat problem.”

Throwing my hand up, I say, “I’ll get rid of the body. I have some charges to test out. It might be fun to put them inside an oil drum with our friend Carlo and see what kind of soup he makes.”

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