Page 22 of Niko's Printsessa

“It isn’t the same as being there. I need to fine tune the details.”

“It isn’t safe.”

“But…”

“I said it isn’t safe! Can you just trust me on this?”

Her eyes are filled with fire and rage, but I know her well enough to see the hint of fear.

I sigh, “Take the day off. You could use it and the distillery won’t fall apart. Anya has it covered. Try to relax. Swim, lay out, nap. I’ll make sure Dharma wakes you for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Her voice lifts.

Our weekly family dinner is one I look forward to for multiple reasons. One, I’m grateful for my long lost family. Even though my mother suffered at the hands of Boris Sokolov, I no longer blame his sons, and I will not let bitterness come between me and my father’s sister, Aunt Zoya.

Two, I get to see Becca. She works hard and plays even harder, but she always makes time for our weekly dinner.

“Dinnerhere. We aren’t going to Aunt Zoya’s. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

She glares at me and her plush lips pout. “I have plans to meet friends after dinner.”

“To do what?”

“Anything other than this.”

“What friends?”

“None of your business.”

Jealousy swirls in my stomach. “The kind of friends you fuck?”

“Like I said, none of your business.”

I jump out of my chair, round the desk, grab her waist and jerk her roughly into my chest, discovering how perfectly we mold together. “Itismy business. You’re done fucking random guys.”

“So now you’re dictating who I fuck? Why? Because we fooled around yesterday? We agreed it was a mistake. Did you think fifteen-year-old Becca was going to fall madly in love? That’s as believable as you suddenly being interested in me.” She snorts out her disbelief.

“Suddenly?" I shake my head and scoff.

She pushes off of me. “I may be stuck out here with you, but let’s get this straight. You don’t fucking own me, and I’m not one of your soldiers to boss around. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? I’m a fucking Sokolov!”

“What you are is a spoiled fucking brat!”

I don’t realize it until her hand makes contact, slapping hard against my face. My head snaps to the side in surprise and I palm my cheek, certain it already bears her handprint.

She goes to slap me again, but I wrap my large hand around her tiny wrist, holding it tight enough that she winces in pain.

I loosen my grip but snarl, “I’ve had enough.”

“Good, so have I!” Her rage is palpable. “Let. Go. You fucking animal!”

I’m sick of her bullshit. This is a serious situation and she wants to throw a tantrum? I lift her up, turn her around and press her stomach against the top of my desk. I crowd over her body, pressing my hard cock against her ass. I swiftly move her hair from her neck and wrap my hands around her throat, not applying any pressure, but I can tell the act turns her on. She gasps and her breathing quickens. Does my Printsessa want me to fuck her from behind while squeezing her throat? She arches her ass against my straining cock, but somehow I restrain myself from tearing off her clothes and burying my cock into her tight, hot channel.

My lips find her ear lobe, and I suck and growl, “If I’m an animal, does that make you my prey?”

“No,” She gasps.

I taste her as I run my tongue along the slope of her neck, tracing her quickening pulse. What I wouldn’t give to lick and suck every inch of her body.

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