“Unless you wish to have your gowns stained with the blood of anyone who has looked at my fucking princess tonight, you will leave this room and lock the doors behind you.”
He glances between us before finally making the smart decision.
As he shuffles out along with the female attendants who’d helped dress Dahlia, the confidence in my bride's grin fades. By the time the locks slide into place, her lips open and close, as if she’s considering crying out for help.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I stalk towards her. “I thought you enjoyed tormenting me?”
“In your dreams, demon,” she snorts. “I just like these kinds of gowns.” She won’t meet my gaze as I loom over her. “Call the faeries back in. I want to keep trying on dresses.”
“I think we’ve seen enough.” I tip her chin up, but she keeps her gaze on the doors. “They won’t come back to save you, my darling. It’s just us now.”
Her eyes finally meet mine, but there’s a danger in them I wasn’t expecting. Like a goblet of poisoned wine. “How unfortunate for you.”
She attacks before I can stop her. One hand whips across my cheek while the other shoves me back a few steps. Before I know what’s happening, she’s disappeared down an aisle of dresses.
My pulse races. The shock of her slap sends blood rushing to my cock.
I could force her back by her collar, use my magic to make her drop to her knees. But where would be the fun in that? If she wants to be chased, I’ll chase her.
But when I catch her, andI will…
I’ll be giving my bratty princess a well-deserved punishment.
“Dahlia,” I snarl, heading in the direction she ran off in. Her strike barely hurt me, but I’ll make her pay. Deep down, I think she wants me to. A grin pulls at my cheeks. “You can’t run from me forever, little princess.”
I turn a corner down a long aisle of white wedding dresses. The skirts are long and thick enough that she could be hiding anywhere. Pausing, I listen for footsteps, but the shop is silent.
She’s stopped running.
Pacing down the aisle, I dig through fluffy skirts and pull gowns from their hangers to toss onto the floor. I know she’s here somewhere. I can smell the sugary notes of her hair, the chocolatey scent of her skin, and something much sweeter.
Something I’ve been fantasising about tasting since I pushed my fingers in her tight pussy outside her father’s ballroom.
“Dahlia,” I purr. I think I hear the short whoosh of a gasp, but I’m not certain.
“I want you to slide your fingers up your skirt for me, darling.” I turn my head over my shoulder, listening. “I want you totouch yourself.” Magic coats my tongue, and I can sense the compulsion has reached her. “Tease your clit and let yourself moan for me.”
A soft beautiful noise comes from the other side of the aisle. “There’s my good girl.” I grin, turning towards it.
Dresses shuffle in the rack, and when I part them, the tightening at my hips is near unbearable.
Fucking hell.
Dahlia’s shaking body is pressed against the wall, one hand stroking her sex while the other covers her mouth. Her nipples have hardened to points beneath her poor excuse of a bodice, and her chest rises and falls as she lets out another moan.
“Found you.” My voice turns predatory.
“You cheated,” she breathes between her fingers.
“So did you. I thought I told you not to hit me again.” I grin at the memory of my whip against her rosy arse.
“You told me not to kick you. I slapped you. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” I lean forward to pry her off the wall. “Don’t stop touching yourself.”
She groans as I scoop my arms under her legs, lifting her out from the rack and through the aisle. I can tell she’s close to finishing as I place her down in one of the chairs by the changing room.
One leg hooks over the armrest while she fingers herself shamelessly, her face as red as fire.
