Her shoes thumped onto the floor behind him as he walked.
At the bed, he climbed on the side with one knee and hurled her to the middle of the mattress, scrambling after her.
She held her arms in the air, awaiting him, and he launched himself to land with his hips between her legs, already pushing the ridge of his cock in his pants against her softness.
She moaned.
He wanted to make her scream.
He fumbled around the top of Dree’s strapless dress but couldn’t find the zipper, so he grabbed the delicate silk and chiffon with both hands and ripped, tearing the fabric off her. She gasped but didn’t stop fumbling with his white tie.
Maxence stood on his knees, and his numb fingers found the ends of his bow tie. He yanked it, unraveling the silk and flinging it off the end of the bed. He grabbed the heavy metal links of the collar of the Order of St. George and lifted it, intending to toss it over the end of the bed with the bow tie.
Dree trapped the object at the front, a badge with a crown and yet another double-G monogram of St. George, pinning it to the front of his shirt. “Leave it on.”
Maxence flipped the heavy gold chain underneath the collar of his tuxedo jacket, which he wrenched down his arms and threw behind him. The ribbon of the Order of the Crown was next, and he untied it at the back before he flung it out into the room somewhere.
Beneath him, Dree shimmied out of the ruined ball gown and kicked the floaty material off of the bed like a frantic bunny rabbit.
No wonder medieval monarchs had servants who dressed and undressed them. Formal court attire was like wooden puzzle cubes.
He unbuttoned a few of the studs on his collar, tucked the St. George’s carcanet inside, and then grabbed his tuxedo shirt and undershirt and ripped them off over his head.
The air in the room was cool on his heated skin, and the gold and enamel necklet rested heavily on his bare shoulders.
Dree was writhing with her hands behind her back, trying to unhook a white silk and lace corset-like mechanism that covered from her hips to over her breasts.
The rage inside his body spun in an inferno of need. Kir Sokolov wouldnothurt Dree. The world could nothaveher. She washisand hisalone,and Max woulddestroyanyone who came for her ever again.
He straddled her thighs, unbuckled his belt, and whipped the leather through the loops, dropping it on the bed beside him as he flipped Dree over on her stomach.
He clutched the hooks and eyes of her corset, smashing the edges together to force the fasteners to release. He unhooked most of them by grabbing handfuls of the apparatus and flicked the last few.
She started to flip over but he shoved her shoulder, holding her down on the mattress. Her sweet voice muttered, “Oh God, yes.”
He crouched over her and growled in her ear, “Stay there.”
Dree’s hands clenched fistfuls of the duvet cover.
Maxence backed up, toeing his shoes off over the edge of the bed and then stripping himself naked.
His underwear caught on the head of his dick, and he nearly ripped the cotton trying to get it off. His knife-stiff dick flipped back and batted his abdominal muscles.
He reached over Dree and grabbed a handful of her silk panties, yanking them down her legs and off her feet in one movement.
She giggled.
He said, “Get up on your knees. Face pressed to the bed. Ass in the air.”
Dree complied, scooching her knees underneath her.
The asterisk of her tight little asshole was right there, beckoning to him.
Instead, Max grabbed his belt that he’d laid on the bed. He doubled the length, holding the buckle and the tip in his hand, and he lightly smacked the perfect globes of her ass with the leather.
The stroke wasn’t hard enough to mark her. It probably wasn’t even hard enough to sting, but she rocked forward from the shock of it, gasping.
Max crawled up beside her, covering her entire body with his. “Do you want it harder?”
