“Good girl,” he breathes against my neck and his teeth pierce my earlobe. “Feel how hard I am under you? That’s what your obedience does.”
I whimper, head falling back against his shoulder. My clit throbs with every roll of my hips. So close–so fucking close–and he knows it.
He stops me with bruising fingers.
“Not yet.”
I whine–actually whine. “Daddy, please.”
His cock twitches and he laughs softly. “Excel in your role tonight at the ceremony and maybe after, when you’ve proven yourself worthy, I’ll let you come on my cock.”
He lifts me off him like I weigh nothing and sets me on my feet. My legs shake. My shorts are soaked through; I can feel it cooling against my skin.
He stands, towering, mask still in place. Adjusting the obscene bulge just below the V carved between his hips.
“Go get ready,” he says. “And don’t touch yourself or let one of your Barons touch you. If I find that even one finger has been inside you before I say so, I’ll edge you in front of the entire frat until you beg for mercy.”
I nod, throat too tight for words.
He catches my chin, tips my face up.
“Say it.”
“I won’t touch myself. I promise.”
His thumb drags slowly across my bottom lip. “Good girl.”
He turns away, back to his report, like nothing happened.
I leave on unsteady legs, the reminder of his promise pulsing between my thighs. Tonight isn’t just the ascension of Verity to Princess. It’s going to be the ascension of me, as the King’s one true mate.
30
Timothy
She lied to me.
Arianette said I would find her dressappropriate.
That isn’t the correct word.
The dress is fit for a queen–not just classic butregal–but that isn’t what has my balls locked in a vise grip. It’s the way the black fabric clings to her warm, brown skin like molten lava, how it moves when she breathes, how it suggests rather than reveals. It looks both like leather and satin, and not only does the shine make her dress look alive, it makes Arianette,the girl who died, look like she’s been given a second life. That dress teases the very parts of her that I have disciplined myself not to touch. The curve of her hips. The gentle swell of her breasts. The collar around her throat. The soft promise of everything I’ve already taken ownership of, but haven’t indulged in.
The column of her neck taunts me, exposed by her straightened hair, pinned back and away from her bare shoulders. Her face ishidden behind netting–a wisp of veil attached to a small cap secured at the crown of her head. I can barely see the hint of her lips, painted black, just like her nails, and my mouth waters wanting to taste her.
Day after day with this woman is a test of control. This? There’s no frailty here. No innocence.
I say nothing as we ride, eyes fixed forward, my gloved hands resting by my side. I wear a dark suit, tailored to perfection, and a bronze mask shaped with devilish horns that arch upward from my temples. It’s ceremonial, nothing too flashy to take away from the Princess, but it’s necessary when I’m among society.
The car ride is quiet, filled with her presence–the faint warmth of her body beside me, the whisper of fabric when she shifts, the quick rise and fall of her chest that tells me she remembers our conversation from earlier.
She smells divine. I know it’s my imagination, but I convince myself I can still smell the slick from her fingers working over her pussy today. The cloying scent lingered long after she left, a wet spot on my linen pants. I’d withheld my own pleasure as much as I forced it upon her. It would have been easy to rub myself raw thinking about her, finding a hollow release, but I’m better than that.
Stronger.
Still, I’m grateful when the driver rolls down his window, allowing the rush of fresh air into the car. Palace security waves us through the gates with a flash of our invitation. There are no weapons tonight. No armor. Only the shine of ritual and the pretense of celebration. The Purple Palace rises before us in its usual excess, glass and stone glowing under floodlights, regal and obscene in equal measure.
Rufus would have gilded his ass in gold leaf if it would’ve stuck.
