Page 162 of Their Princess

“You’re drenched, princess,” cooed Sas, smirking. “Or should I call youLina?”

I gasped but gave no answer. I hated to admit I liked my childhood nickname falling from his lips.

“Is this wetness all from thinking about me?” he growled in my ear.

“No,” I lied.

“Graff then?”

I squirmed again, and he stepped back, pushed me over to the wall with no handrail, and pressed his body against mine. My back now lay flat against the mirrors. With his height and weight bearing down on me, I couldn’t move. He bent his head, and his hot breath brushed across my forehead.

“Don’t lie to me, Princess Lina,” he warned.

“You want me to admit it was Graff?” I asked breathlessly.

“If that’s the truth.” He moved his head, breathing raggedly in my ear. He wasn’t even moving his hand, but I let out a small whimper. “Your body says it wants me too.”

I was becoming putty in his hands and arguments I could toss back faltered on my tongue. “Believe what you want.”

“I do.” He smirked. “I’m thinking I should list off every guy and see which ones you would be a whore for.”

“And if I’m a whore for them all?” I challenged him.

“I should give them a piece of you,” he said. “My brothers can take turns while I watch. How many cocks do you want in your mouth? Between your tits. In your cunt. Here?” He slipped up my backside and pressed against the pucker.

I whined.

While it didn’t feel as good as his cock in my sheath had, it awoke another craving. He was right, damn him. I had been horny all night, and the episode during Papà’s toast only made me want more. I had to stop myself from rubbing against my seat cushion at dinner or excusing myself to the restroom to give myself another bit of relief. The rest of the night, I had been standing and avoiding any movement that would send the slightest sensation into my core.

He kept one finger against my back entrance and stretched his hand to slip a different finger inside me, and when I tried to move, he pushed me harder against the wall. I could barely breathe.

“Don’t fucking move,” he ordered.

“Sas,” I whined.

“Don’tmake a sound.”

“But—”

“If you’re good”—he glared at me—“I’ll fuck you with my finger. I’ll use both holes until I have to cover your mouth, so you don’t alert all of Vegas that you’re fucking coming. Do you want that?”

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

The hot need took over my body, and I turned into nothing but hormones, hot blood, and chemicals ready to detonate.

“You can play the whore for me all you want, Adelina, but you don’t come until I give the order.”

I gulped, unsure I could hold my orgasm at bay. I was so desperately close now.

Still, another part of me was trying to speak up. I wasn’t his bitch or his wife—not until tomorrow, at least—and I wouldn’t answer to him. But my pussy... it fucking answered for me, clenching against his fingers like it hoped to suck him all up inside of me. It wanted it.

I wanted him so much.

Just give whatever you want!I felt the desperate plea on the tip of my tongue.

But my body’s response was answer enough. He stretched me slowly, and his long finger pushed deeper into me and retreated. Then he added a second. Pleasure inched through my veins, from my toes to my fingertips, and all the way into my addled brain.

“So, so eager,” he cooed.

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