Page 22 of Possessing the Prince

“Senya…I can’t…”

“Yes, you can, baby. Just once more. But this time I’m going to take your pretty asshole. Is that OK? Can I come in your ass?”

“Yes,” she whimpers. I reach over to my nightstand and grab some lube. I squeeze some in her tight hole before licking my finger and pressing it into her ass. I rub her clit at the same time and slowly I open her up. She is not a virgin back here, but I always take my time entering her. I squeeze in another dallop of lube to work her hole a bit more. After a while I slide two fingers in, and I know she is ready. Her moans tell me she may have snuck another orgasm in without my knowledge.She will pay for that.

“Are you ready for my dick, Abena?”

“Yes, Senya. Please fuck my ass.”

“Your wish is my command, Precious.” My dick slowly enters her ass until all of me is fully lodged inside of her. She squirms a bit to make me to fit to her comfort, and once I know she’s good, I buck and bang all my love into her ass. After eight or nine strokes, I cannot hold back.

Abena, you must come for me one more time. I want you to come harder than you ever have.”

She moans in response and nods her head. “Yes, Senya…I’m going to come.”

I reach around her once more and rub the heel of my hand against her clit in hard circles. She breaks out into a scream. I follow behind her, emptying my seed into her ass.

I roughly yell, barely keeping my sanity. “Fuck, Abena. I’m coming so hard.”

The little minx has the nerve to push her ass back against my dick and I scream like a bitch. I pull out and spill the remainder of my seed on her ass before we both collapse on the bed.

We lie in silence for a good five minutes before Abena finally speaks. “Prince T’ogbe?” I hear the tease in her voice.

“Yes, M’akomam’ t?fe. Anything you need.”

“Can you untie me, please?” We both laugh and I sit up to untie her wrists. I rub them and kiss the inside of each one.

“Is that better? Are you OK?”

Abena turns to face me. “Yes, Prince, everything is absolutely perfect.”

Daylight

Abena

Waking up next to Senya feels like home. I can’t describe what went down between us last night. The sex was on a different level—a level he has never reached with me before. We became one person. He even spoke to me in our native tongue.He never does that.

Senya owned me and I owned him. Is this marriage? Because if it is, I can definitely get used to this. Well, at least the nights; I don’t know what to expect now that the sun has risen.

I still don’t know what’s going on between my family and the Apeagyeis. I know Senya knows more than he is telling me. I also know he will keep me in need-to-know status for as long as he thinks I’m in danger. I trust him, but I am scared his bravado will get in the way of him recognizing when he is in over his head. He thinks he can save me from anything and everything. He imagines himself as some West African superhero who is misunderstood by everyone but his woman. I guess that’s me, his woman.

I do understand him.I understand what it's like to feel at once like you are not a part of your family, but also the only one capable of saving and protecting them. I know what it feels like to be a part of family secrets and then one day become the family secret yourself. I also know what it feels like to place unreasonably high expectations upon yourself because people underestimate you. I understand what motivates him and what drives him. I also know that I am his kryptonite.

I look over at his big strong body while he snores softly into his pillow. He’s a stomach sleeper. He also likes to cuddle up and hold me close at night. I don’t want to ruin this. But I just don’t see how I can avoid it. This morning, I feel like I’m floating on air, but I know that one day that can change. One day I may wake up and feel trapped. I may find all of his protective dictates stifling. And I may break his heart in an attempt to break out of the cage. Marriage is nothing but ownership. It’s not the steamy sex we had last night; it’s a lifelong commitment. And I’m not interested in that at all, because the woman always seems to get the short end of the stick.

My mother did. Her entire life was dedicated to my father and his needs. Yes, he protected her and kept her in the finest cars and clothes. Even though she lived in a majestic house, she was trapped. My mother was an amazing artist, but she never got a chance to show it. My father treated it as a throwaway hobby.

One time, the former Asantehene, Kofi’s father, came to our home and saw one of my mother’s paintings. He asked if he could have one commissioned for the Manhyia Palace in Accra. I’ll never forget what my father said. He laughed and said, “You don’t want Afiba’s scribbles. She is not serious about them. Come, let us have some wine.” My mother was crushed, and she looked as if she might cry. Instead, she turned to me and smiled. Then she instructed the servants to bring out the meat pies for King Ajyei.

When she died from cancer, I never forgot that she lived a life unfulfilled. I brought all of her paintings to her memorial service. My father, a grieving mess, acted so elated to see them. He kept saying over and over that he never knew there were so many and that he should have let her pursue her passion.

All I heard was“let her.”She should have never needed his permission. When I expressed my anger to Thomas, he shrugged and said, “that’s marriage.”I believed him.I knew right then that I wanted no parts of it. I swore no man was ever going to control my destiny.

The next year I turned sixteen, and my father shared that I was betrothed to Kofi. I didn't even know what betrothed meant. When he enlightened me, I was incredibly angry. He trapped me in a marriage I didn't want before I’d had a chance to live. I wasn’t even eighteen. So, I rebelled.

I went away to boarding school in London determined to be an unsuitable match for Kofi. I drank, I swore, and I smoked anything that would light up. Kofi stayed far away and admonished me now and then to take care. He acted like our marriage contract was nonexistent. But Senya, his elusive right hand and shadow, always took extra time and care to ensure I was all right. He would come look for me at parties and find me too drunk to drive or know my own mind. He would carry me home safely and always made sure I ate the next day. He was always there. Always interested. Always ready to save the day.

Then one day, he asked and I allowed him to save my nights also. For the past ten years, he’s been the one constant of love, pleasure, and care in my life. I pray I’m the same for him.

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