Page 31 of Tarnished Reign

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Your mother told you that all men are pigs. Yet you had boyfriends, so you clearly didn't think they were pigs.”

“Oh, I don't know. They tried to convince me to give it up, but I told them I wanted to wait. Eventually, they both left me for girls who gave them what they wanted on a platter. So you tell me; were they pigs? If they liked me enough, they would have waited, no?”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen with the first boy and nineteen with the second.”

I laugh softly. “There aren't many teenage boys who would wait around for a girl unless they were actually in love. Hormones are a powerful thing.”

“Exactly,” she says. “Because they are pigs. It wasn't just them,” she continues. “When I was thirteen-years-old, maybe as young as twelve—I can't quite recall—I started to develop curves and had to wear a bra. That’s when disgusting old men started staring at me. I didn't like it. My friend at school used to love it. The moment we left the school grounds she'd be hiking her skirt up to show more leg and loving it when the builders whistled from the scaffolding. I didn't like it. It made me feel cheap. Even though I wasn't asking for that attention. Getting it, however, made me feel like I was the one somehow in the wrong.”

She shrugs and drops the almonds back in the bowl. “It was easier to wear baggy clothes, pull my hair back, and not bother with makeup. If you keep your head down, kind of, I don't know, slouch a little, I suppose, it’s surprisingly easy to blend into the background.”

I reach out because she's looking at the damn table again. With my finger crooked, I gently notch it under her chin and lift her face. She swallows and holds my gaze as I look into her eyes.

“Your mother was correct. There are a lot of pigs out there, but I believe there are some princes too.”

I let go of her chin and offer her a smile. She takes a sip of her wine and smiles at me. “Let me guess,” she says. “You're a prince, right?”

Her smile stretches as she teases gently.

“I'm no prince, Littleblue, although I am an heir to a throne of sorts but my crown is tarnished and my reign bloody.”

“What are you then if not the prince of this story?”

“In your story?” I give her the truth. “I don't really know. All that I do know is this… I can protect you. Think of me as more of a knight. A warrior rather than royalty. I'll gladly stand between you and the world. I'll do that until anybody who's a threat to you is gone.” I might be a prince in the Bratva world but in her world, the one she lived in before her father inadvertently married into the mob, I’d be seen as scum.

She swallows hard.

“And you just do that for free, I suppose?” She purses her full lips and watches me. “Just like that, for nothing. Because you're a knight? You got the maiden and expect nothing in return.”

She’s not stupid, but she’s also wrong.

“I will guard you and expect nothing in return.”

Her brows raise slightly; she blinks at me a couple of times.

“But … I do want you. More than I’ve ever wanted any other woman in my entire fucking life.”

The flush returns to her cheeks, and it warms them to a rosy pink. She licks her full lips and swallows again. Her hands flutter to the almonds but abort the move as the last minute she reaches for the wine; I could watch her elegant throat swallow down that drink all day long.

For long beats, my mind replaces that image with one of her swallowing my cum as I pour down her throat.

“It's not for free then, is it?” she asks ever so softly as she places the glass carefully on the table.

The server arrives at that moment and places the first dish of the day down.

“Crab, kaluga caviar, and samphire. Served with our white burgundy.”

She moves back, and the sommelier pours the wine.

Adriana looks at the tiny plate of prettily arranged food, and it seems like her excitement and desire is once more banked and hidden underneath her nervousness.

Instead of tasting her food, she reaches for the glass of chilled white wine and takes a large swallow.

I watch her closely. I imagine dealing with Adriana is somewhat like dealing with a nervous, unbroken horse. If you want to ride it, you must be careful not to push too far, too fast. Or she'll bolt.

“I said that I want you, but I didn't say that I expected anything from you.” I take a sip of the wine and relish the sharp burst of flavors on my tongue. “There is no price for me finding the people who pose a threat to you, other than the one we originally discussed. That is, if we have a party on the yacht, you pretend that you’re with me. You sit on my knee if that’s what's needed, in front of the guests, and you let me treat you like an accessory on my arm. It's purely for show. The rest of it, me wanting you, that's just me being honest. There is no onus on you to act on it.”

---