Page 79 of Purchased

Armand lets out a low growl and picks me up, swinging me around and bending me over the back of the chair. He throws my skirt over my back, pulls my underwear down, and slaps my ass a couple of times before reaching between my legs and rubbing my clit.

“How does it feel now? Do you feel like you’re about to be bred by a brat?”

“Yes,” I laugh as he grips my hair, pulling my head back, arching me as he frees his cock and slides it right inside me. It’s a tight fit, but the spanking got me wet already and fucking with him turns me on.

He makes a deep growling sound, not appreciating that term at all.

I have my pussy fucked hard and fast over the back of the library chair, his fingers strumming my clit the entire time.

“Tell me I’m a brat, will you, you spoiled little pup,” he growls as he fucks me toward a gorgeous orgasm.

I squeal and gasp and writhe, perfectly kept in his hands and then trapped on his knot as he breeds me once more, fingers circling my clit insistently, demanding I come, demanding I suck the cum from him with my contortions and contractions.

In the end, we both find ourselves in the chair, messy and half-clad, and grinning like a pair of idiots. Me sitting on his lap, his fingers trying to untangle the mess he made of my hair.

I love him.

CHAPTER19

Armand

Days pass. We do not get any more mature. I do not fire Volkov, because several members of the pack reach out to me telling me how useful they find him. He has built up quite a clientele among the inhabitants of the chateau.

I am mildly concerned that he might be attempting a coup. He’s getting the confidences of the pack and undermining my leadership. But I am not worried. If he does attempt something that stupid, he will find that I have a lot more loyalty at my disposal than he thinks. It is normal for pack members to question and doubt their alpha. It is simply a matter of staying steady and letting them see that things will turn out okay.

Things really are turning out okay. I’ve never felt so close to Beatrix before, and I have been thinking more and more about our wedding.

We are brushing our teeth when inspiration strikes.

I turn to her, toothbrush in mouth, and ask as romantically as I can.

“Beatrix, will you marry me?”

She gives me a sidelong glance that makes her look older than her eighteen years. “You are not proposing to me in the bathroom, Armand.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Do you want a big, fancy proposal in front of the whole pack?”

“I want a proposal that feels like a proposal.”

“Diva,” I tease.

“Tyrant,” she shoots back.

I am planning a proposal that will be worthy of her. The details are hidden in my office, a lot better than the file on her background was.

I am hard at work in my office, working on those very plans, when Daniel interrupts with a swift knock on the door.

“Tell me we can get flamingoes,” I say as he walks in.

He shakes his head curtly, and I notice that he is not alone. Two men walk in behind him. Simple human men, wearing simple human suits.

“These are detectives to see you,Maître.”

To say that my entire body goes cold with that announcement is an understatement. I look at them, trying not to seem guilty. Fortunately, I have found that blank disinterest usually translates as authority.

---