Page 22 of Her Royal Daddy
“Say it,” he commanded, my stuttering admission amusing him.
“Please, Daddy,” I groaned. “Please p-punish my ass.”
It wasn’t a punishment, not really. What he did to me was far too hot, too sensual, too perfectly brutal in all the right ways to ever be considered a real punishment. He started hard, but slow, and by the end it was a wonder he didn’t break the bed with me. There was nothing tender or exploratory about the way our bodies came together. Skin slapped against skin as he took me, claimed me, and I gave him everything. I lost track of how many times he pulled out long enough to flip me into a different position, only to slam back into me and keep right on going. We fell off the bed and just kept fucking on the floor, on the desk, up against the wall—it didn’t matter. We came together in a blur, our bodies colliding until I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began. He was the breath I gasped in, only to scream out again each time I came.
I lost track of how many times I did that too.
Daddy had that effect on me.
* * *
Mazi was still lying naked on the bed, with his arms folded behind his head and a cocky grin on his face, when I peeled my hot, sticky body off his sweat-soaked sheets and limped into the bathroom. Soaking a washcloth in cool water, I braced a hand on the counter and stared at my naked reflection as I bent and very gently pressed the cool cloth up between my butt cheeks.
Stifling a moan, I rolled my lips to stop myself from making any other telltale sounds that Mazi might hear. Back home I had a girlfriend who would be cheering me on if she knew about this. I could hear her voice in the back of my head saying how a hot island prince was just the ticket. A cure-all for what ailed me and the first step to a brand-new, devil-may-care, grab-life-by-the-horns version of myself.
She was wrong, of course. Every bit of this situation was a complication that I didn’t need. Mazi was a stripper, and a prince, and the daddy who curled my toes and made my heart beat wild inside my chest. But the very last thing I needed right now was a hot, torrid love affair with the fucking crown prince of Osei, who coincidentally also happened to be my boss’s son. And who also happened to make my body flush and my nipples harden when I thought about him, as my reflection showed clearly right now.
Back home, I was used to being in the background. The wing woman. The third wheel. Forgettable. Disposable. But with Mazi, I felt none of that. Under his dark, intense gaze, I felt beautiful, strong, and desirable. I felt both empowered and weak, especially when he kissed me. When he fucked me... well, let’s just say it was hard to remember what my reservations were. Right now, they all just seemed ridiculous.
It was kind of hard to hold a cool washcloth up against your freshly ravaged booty-hole and still care about things like propriety or tradition. At this point, I didn’t care what his father or Jax or, really, what anyone back home might think or say about my hooking up with a prince. Somewhere around the third or fourth orgasm, I’d even stopped carrying about how complicated my life was going to get if I got fired less than one week into my new job. I was screwed.
Figuratively and literally. I gave my reflection in the mirror a wry grimacing smile.
“Still upset?”
I startled when Mazi stepped into the bathroom far enough for me to finally notice him watching me.
Straightening slowly, I dropped the washcloth into the sink. “A little, maybe. You?”
“That would depend on what my newly discovered reporter plans to write about me.” He snapped sideways and struck a sultry pose, complete with hip thrusts as he waved his hands through the air to simulate imaginary newspaper headlines. “Dancing King: Prince Mazi of Osei, a former exotic dancer, has even better moves inside the bedroom than he did on the club stage.”
I snorted and pushed past him, abandoning the bathroom for the bedroom so I could find my clothes in the castoff puddles scattered around the bed. “Prince Mazi,” I said, correcting his headline as I shimmied my jeans up over my hips. “Self-Important Playboy, spends his days throwing fits and his nights claiming every common chick he comes into contact with.”
It was a shitty headline, and I knew it, but I wasn’t prepared for Mazi’s reaction.
He came at me as I was shrugging into my t-shirt, grabbed my arm and almost before I could protest, bent me over against his hip and smacked my ass. Hard.
Every half-hearted protest I’d had vanished behind a yelp and a kick, but just as quickly as it had happened, he released me. I vaulted upright, grabbing my stinging butt and rubbing fiercely.
“What the hell?” I demanded, but the second I locked eyes with him, I checked my attitude.
Catching my chin in the hand he’d just spanked me with, soft and stern, he said, “Don’t ever call yourself common again. You are nobody’s ‘ordinary,’ least of all mine, and I won’t put up with it.”
I blushed under his stern gaze. “Sorry.”
If anything, he became even more stern. “Sorry, what?”
My blush got instantly hotter. Knots tangled in my stomach, affecting my tongue as I quickly stammered, “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t really mean that.”
“I know, but nobody talks about my girl like that, especially not my girl.”
And right there at the foot of his bed, we came butting up against a hard, non-negotiable truth.
“Mazi—” I started. He rolled his shoulders, but I just could not call him Daddy just then. This was all getting so real, so fast. I had to take a step back. “I can’t be your girl. You are the Prince of Osei. Like it or not, there’s going to be rules against this sort of thing. Those rules aren’t going to let me be your girl. Your mistress, maybe, if we’re discreet...”
“Do I seem like the kind of guy who’ll let other people dictate my life for me? Who I choose to spend time with is my decision and it is not up for discussion with anyone else. Not my father, or Jax, and unless you want to be sitting on an icepack for the next week, I really suggest you never bring up mistress to me again.”
“This is my job, Mazi!”
