Page 93 of Their Princess

I was airborne for a second before landing on his bed. It was far more comfortable than my own, mattress and blankets included. From where I lay, I could see that he had a TV and even personal items. He had made himself a home here.

I marveled at his bedroom—trying to learn something about my husband to be—when he grabbed me by the ankles and pulled me toward the edge of the bed. I nearly bounced offbefore he grabbed my hips and shoved them down. His weight pressed down on me again, and...

Oh my God, this was hot.

Driving me insane.

I’d turned into nothing more than a bitch in heat. Just like I had been when riding his leg.

In one swift move, Sas hooked his fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulled them down to my ankles. His mouth gaped and his eyes went wide just before he scowled—angry or determined, I couldn’t tell.

“Did you wear the thong for Graff too, princess?” asked Sas.

Why hadn’t he called me a whore? I didn’t ask, just smiled. “I find them comfortable.”

He snorted. “Fucking sadist.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You’ve worn one?”

“Fuck no. I’m not tying my balls up with a string.”

“Men’s versions have a bigger area.”

He harumphed. “The bunnies wear them. All I’m interested in is getting them off.” He snapped the band of the thong to my hip, and I stifled a wince.

“They prevent panty lines,” I argued.

Sas snapped the band again. The pain wasn’t as harsh this time, but my skin buzzed.

He squinted at me. “You really do like it?”

“Yup.” I popped the P.

He hooked his finger into the wettest part of my thong, pulled back, and then released. The fabric slapped against my swollen lower lips. I let out a small hiss. Pain splattered against my thighs and hips, scorching my skin.

I placed my hands behind my head. “Did you like my leather today?” I asked, and his eyes flashed again, like I had said something wrong. I didn’t know why I had asked. I didn’t care what he thought.

Without answering me, he reached for the waistband of his pants. I licked my lips, hunger gnawing at me, and he looked up, smirking. Fuck, he was going to turn me into a whore, or maybe I had always been a one. I was now just breaking free from the bonds that had held me back.

He undid the button of his jeans. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Should I be scared?”

He unzipped his jeans with fire in his eyes, and they slung low around his lean hips. The trail of dark hair grew thicker just at the waistline and the muscles cut a V down to his hidden cock.

He lifted one brow and growled, “You should be terrified.”

I started to roll off the bed. “You’ve got the wrong girl then.”

Sas grabbed me and shoved me back onto the bed. “I don’t think so.”

“Do your worst,” I challenged.

“I plan on it. But you don’t get to come,” he ordered, “until I tell you. Capisce?”

Over the lump in my throat, I murmured, “Capisco.”

He flashed me a grin, something dark and mysterious lurking underneath. Did he really think I didn’t speak Italian? Or was he showing off that he knew one word?

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