Page 27 of Possessing the Prince

I lean forward on the island and peck his cheek before answering. “I figured you did because clearly that's how you like your women.” I take a step back, turn, and flourish to give him a good view of the body he handles so well.

Senya growls under his breath. “Yes, and speaking of hot women, did I take a moment to tell you how amazing you look in that apron?” He stands from his seat and stalks toward me with the eyes of a tiger. My heartbeat speeds up with anticipation of his first touch. I think he will reach out and pull me to him when he gets close, but instead Senya just stands behind me and squeezes both of my ass cheeks. He jiggles them a bit while lacing open mouth kisses along the back of my neck. I stand and he lifts my long hair up and ties it to the top of my head with a rubber band he takes from around his wrist before licking, kissing, and whispering in my ear.He came prepared.

“Precious, it took all my restraint to not come in here and help you cook our dinner. I wanted to cook something up between us while the rice percolated. But I was patient. I deserve a reward.”

Senya unties my apron and takes a step back to look at me. His stare is pure sex, and my pussy is wet. The evidence is at the apex of my thighs. I can smell my arousal so I know he can, too. Senya’s eyes zero in on the moisture collecting at my apex and smirks. “Now that we’ve eaten, I think it's time for dessert. Don't you?”

I bite the top of my index finger and cock my head to the side. “I apologize, Prince. I didn't make dessert. What did you have in mind? I’m sure I can serve up whatever your taste buds desire.”

His control snaps. He roughly grabs me by the waist and sits me atop the white quartz island. He scooches me forward until my ass is on the edge and his strong hand lays my top half back against the counter.

Senya roars one word. “Open.”

No further words are given. No explanation is needed, I know exactly what he means. My legs fly open and I rest my calves on his shoulders. Immediately he plants kisses along my calves, inner thighs, and that special crease that connects my body to the center of my pleasure. He licks up and down the crease before moving to the spot right above my pussy and coming licking down the opposite crease. He is driving me crazy. I want his mouth on my clit, and I want it now.

“Senya, eat my pussy, baby. Don’t tease me. Not tonight.”

Senya looks up at me and grins. “Are you begging me to devour you, Abena T’ogbe?”

His use of my married name throws me for a loop. I freeze, and for a moment I am not sure I want to be here. Do I want to lie on my kitchen counter while my sexy ass husband eats my pussy until I can hardly speak? Do I want to cook my Ashanti prince delicious dinners and keep the house we share perfect and clean? Do I want to be someone’s wife? Can I really be the wife Senya needs? Or do I just want to be free?

Before I can work out an answer, I squeak out a, “yes.” Because right now, I just want his mouth on my pussy and his strong hands gripping my legs, hips, and thighs. I want him to eventually tweak my breasts like only he can, giving me equal parts pain and pleasure. I want to forget and feel. The rest of my musings can wait.

Senya bites down on my sensitive bud and swirls his rough tongue softly around the pain until my dam bursts all over his face and chin. Once the faucet taps on, I know it will not stop. He can give me orgasm after orgasm and my pussy will stay wet and juicy through every stroke. Only he gets me like this. My body obeys his touch.

I have no doubt there is a puddle beneath me, gathering on the counter, but I don’t care. I hear the distinctive sound of his zipper and get positively giddy.

Senya enters me slowly, but I still gasp at his size. I am filled to the brim. Every time he fucks me, it really does feel like the first time. His girth is something my pussy continually adjusts to. But once he finds my spot and sinks in, it’s a perfect fit.

Senya moves at a snail’s pace to ensure I take every inch of him. He likes to make my pussy cream. He licks his lips and looks down at the mess he’s made and takes a swipe of the creamy essence. He smears it on my stomach before bending down to lick me clean.

“You taste like candy, Abena, better than any sweet cocoa our land yields. Give me more, baby. Cream all over this dick.” And I do. I cream and come until I’m shaking without control. Senya shows no mercy and slams into my pussy hard enough that I scooch back away from the counter’s edge. But his dick follows, and he ruts into me with the fast and fierce pace I crave. It is a watershed moment.

The river from my pussy flows and I scream in undeniable pleasure. However, the scales around my heart shatter, too. A wave of trust, passion, and love breaks through.

“Give it to me, baby—give me every fucking drop of what you’ve got.” Senya groans. “Don’t you dare hold back on me.” The sounds of him slapping against my ass take me over the edge again. It’s so wet and hot. It is also rightfully raw. It is honest. He’s reaching for the center of me. Senya is unlocking all the feelings I’ve covered over with layers of arrogance, indifference, and control. And my world is being rocked in our kitchen with the only man on Earth whose name I yearn to scream at the top of my lungs.

When I come crashing down for the last time, he pulls out to join me and spills his hot cum all over my breasts before pushing his still-stiff dick back into my pussy to empty out. I have no other recourse but to scream out, joy washing over every inch of my body. He makes me feel brand new, like I never really knew who I was before he came. In response, I say what I’ve been holding in for years.

“Senya, Med? wo.”But love isn’t enough to make me stay.

Taken

Senya

Abena’s declaration of love catches me by surprise. I’ve waited since I was eighteen to hear her say those words. After hearing them now, the experience is bittersweet. First, she said it after I fucked her senseless, so she was not in the best mental state for serious life-altering declarations. Secondly, she is scared. She is trying to ignore her fear and worry, and I am proud of her for not allowing herself to drown in it. But she is vulnerable in the worst way. Vulnerability from fear is not good soil in which to grow a tree of love. That is why I am not rejoicing. Instead, I am cautiously pleased. My campaign to make her fall in love with me is progressing.

Now she is snoring soundly in our bed. After our kitchen antics, I helped her clean the kitchen before we showered and climbed into bed. I knew I was not going to fall asleep. But I wanted to make sure that she did. Instead, I am going to my bunker to meet with my Accra butler NaNa. Christian texted me to let me know that he had arrived with my “package.” I wish Adom or Kofi were here to help me interrogate him and make heads or tails of what he says. But I could not risk them telling their wives and one of them telling Abena about the meeting. If it got back to her that someone was creeping around the house, she would panic.

I gingerly climb out of bed and resist the urge to kiss her high cheekbones. They are prominent even as she slumbers. She’s so damn beautiful. I’m lucky that she shines some of her light on me from time to time. Still naked, I tiptoe into my closet and grab some black jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt. I throw them on with the black Timberlands that Ella gifted me for my birthday this year. She jokingly stated that all of my shoes should not be European. I believe that was her way of calling me a snob.

Kofi’s wife and I have an interesting relationship. When she first arrived in Ghana, I did not know what to make of the beautiful woman standing in the airport complaining about her lost Louis Vuitton luggage. I knew that Kofi was smitten: stupidly so. He tricked her into staying in his home in Bobiri while they planned schools for the village instead of the luxury hotel he was supposed to book. He figured if she was home with him, he could impress her and spend time with her without distraction.

It barely worked; she was mad as hell. But over time they found each other and once I knew she meant my brother good, I became a fan. Ever since, she has been on a campaign to get me to loosen up. But I cannot. I am tense and regimented so that Kofi can be the gentle and firm king she fell in love with. Now that I am officially an Ashanti prince, I am no longer his bodyguard in any official capacity, but I will still take a bullet for him, Ella, or my godchildren any day of the week.

Once I leave the bedroom, I gently close the door and head to the hidden stairway in my study that will take me to the bunker. Once I enter, I take stock of the man sitting timidly on a small couch with his hands tied behind his back, noise-cancelling head phones on his ears, and mouth gagged. Christian’s hulking body towers over him with a scowl on his face. Shit. I told him not to scare him. Christian generally follows my directions.

I shoot Christian a sharp look and gesture toward the trembling man who I’m sure has pissed all over my couch. I can smell his fear and piss in the stale underground air. “Is this really necessary? My instructions were to bring him for a conversation, not to scare the piss out of him.”

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