Page 80 of Their Princess

“Your skin might be pink.”

My eyes went round.

Before I could ask, he clarified, “The leather dye will seep out if it’s not properly conditioned. I assume it’s real leather.”

“I wouldn’t buy anything less.”

“Then don’t be surprised if you’re hot pink underneath too.” He made for the door. “You sure you don’t want any soup or tea?”

I shook my head again. Graff’s sweetness hurt my teeth, and it made me sad that he was leaving me alone. He was too kind for this club and for me.

Stopping, he glanced back. “I need to talk to Sas. You should take a shower. Warm up.”

I followed him to the door and slapped it shut behind him, needing the wall between us. Otherwise, I might’ve reached out and pulled him close and gotten him beaten—or whatever the MC would do to him for kissing another’s promised wife.

When we had been on the motorcycle, flying down the road, I had felt the hum of the motorcycle in my bones and my core. Graff had been situated between my inner thighs. I wanted more of that ride and more of what almost happened in the park. But the fucking Rojas brother ruined the nearly perfect moment.

My little stunt had been carefree and stupid, ignoring all the danger at hand. But Graff had made me forget, if only for an hour. The draw to him was dangerous and ridiculous, and if I was smarter—and I liked to think I was smart—I would turn away from him. And this.

I would escape this life once and for all.

But back in reality, all I managed to do was peel off the wet leather and stare at my now hot pink skin in the mirror.

I watched myself as I let my hands run down my body toward my wet pussy. When my finger slipped between my lips and brushed my most sensitive spot, a small tingle ran up my spine, pleasure echoing in me.

I was too wound up. Too bottled up. All I wanted, or thought I did, had slipped through my fingers. I wasn’t a Mafia princess anymore, just a random bunny or sweetbutt. So I would do what a bunny did best.

Leaving the leather in a puddle on the floor, I laid down on the bed. For the first time since I arrived, I ignored how the blankets were itchy—definitely not Egyptian cotton—and how lumpy the mattress was. Instead, I focused on the pressure building between my thighs, stroking myself, as I closed my eyes and remembered how Graff had felt pressed against me in the maze.

How my thighs had fit around his on the bike.

The hard ridges of his muscles.

I pictured how he’d looked at me when he told me my skin would be pink... with curiosity and fire in his gaze.

My mental images scrolled through the day and how he had licked his lips from time to time.

In the maze, his eyes had lingered on my lips.

At the stoplight, his rock-hard bulge under my palm.

I rocked on my fingers, the pressure and pleasure building, as I sank my teeth into my lower lip. I imagined his lips on mine, trailing down my skin. His bulge finally bursting free. I dropped my jaw, imagining how I could take him in my mouth, and then I worked my hand faster against my clit. He would move inside me and fill me so deliciously. And then... Then, I would scream out his name as I fucking came—like I did now.

The orgasm ripped through me, stealing breath. I gasped and moaned, then flopped over.

Spent, but still craving more.

I couldn’t dream of ever having my fill of the pleasure I was certain Graff could draw from my body. He would be so different from Sas. But the thought of them both drove me mad and had me reaching between my legs again, wishing I was so full I would lose every ounce control I fought so goddamn hard to maintain.

Chapter Seventeen

RAFE

Unlike some,I didn’t long for the scent of the ocean. Or of ports. The gasoline stench mingled with fish and sweat. I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead, missing the dry heat that came from being landlocked. The desert, whether Las Vegas or the Middle East, might be hotter, but it didn’t make my skin sticky and gritty with salt.

The roar of motorcycles thundered across the concrete dock, drowning out the yelling workers and beeping forklifts.

Something backfired, and I flattened myself against a wall in the shadows. My eyes roamed the scene, searching for anyone with a gun, any abandoned packages, or a barrel peeking out from a window, rooftop, or car.

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