Page 73 of Royal Bargain
Every thrust I make inside her is a promise.I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.
She tightens around me, whimpers breaking into broken cries, and I feel her shatter. Her whole body tenses, then trembles, and I follow with a groan, burying my face in her neck as the world goes white.
For a long moment, the only sounds are our harsh breaths and the faint creak of the counter under us.
I hold her close, tighter than I should. Because the second I let go, the world comes rushing back in—and neither of us is ready for that yet.
She’s still trembling when I carry her upstairs.
I don’t give her a chance to catch her breath. I need her. More than I need air. More than I need answers. She's clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded, and maybe I am—maybe we’re both just floating in the wreckage, holding each other down so we don’t drift too far.
I lay her down on the bed and she yanks me down on top of her, her legs wrapping around my waist again like she refuses to let go. There’s fire in her eyes now. A dare. A challenge.
“I’m not done,” she whispers, breathless. “Are you?”
I growl low in my throat, flipping her onto her stomach in one fluid motion. She gasps—surprised, not scared—and I lean in close, my voice rough against her ear. “Not even close.”
I drag my hands down her back, feeling her shiver under me as I kiss the curve of her spine. Then I pull her hips up and press my body flush against hers, teasing her with the slow, heavy roll of my hips. She whines, trying to push back, but I pin her in place, my hand on her lower back.
“Patience,” I mutter, even though I’ve got none left myself.
Her pussy’s dripping slick, ready for me all over again, and I slide my cock into her with one smooth thrust that punches the breath from both of us. She arches beneath me, clawing atthe sheets, and I grip her hips tight, holding her still as I set a punishing pace. The sound of skin on skin fills the room—raw, rhythmic, relentless—and I can’t get close enough.
I slide a hand under her body, fingers finding that sweet spot, working in tandem with every rough thrust. She’s gasping, keening, shaking all over. And when she comes this time, her arms give out and she drops to the mattress, and I follow her down, still inside her, still moving. I’m chasing this high until the end.
We ride it out together, slow and aching, until I can’t take any more and bury my cock deep inside her, moaning her name like a swear.
I don’t pull away. I can’t.
I just hold her there—our hearts pounding in sync, the storm outside finally quiet.
We collapse together in a tangle of limbs and sweat, the sheets twisted beneath us. For a few seconds, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing and the thudding of my heart, still hammering like a war drum in my chest.
She turns to face me, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face, and when our eyes meet—something snaps.
It’s not what she says. It’s how she looks at me.
Soft. Trusting. Like she belongs to me completely.
And fuck if that doesn’t light a fire deep in my gut.
Because the truth is, I don’t want softness right now.
I want proof.
Of all the things I can’t control—the Russians, the politics, the lies—I can control this. I can have this. Her. My girl. My enemy’s daughter. My everything.
Mine.
I’m on her before she can blink, pinning her wrists above her head, pressing her back into the mattress.
Her breath catches, pupils blown wide, but she doesn’t look afraid. She looks ready.
“You keep looking at me like that,” I growl, “and I’m going to lose whatever’s left of my goddamn restraint.”
“Then lose it,” she whispers. “Show me.”
That’s all the invitation I need.
