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“My father is something I need time to understand.” Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t look away. “You aren’t.” She pulls me back down. “So stop asking me whether I want you.”

“Princess—”

“I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m probably going to scream at you again tomorrow.” Her fingers tighten against me. “But I love you, and I want you. Both things can be fucking true.”

That is the answer I needed.

She kisses me again. “Now stop making me repeat myself, loose Cannon.”

With my hands sliding down her back, I anchor them against the soaked jeans of her backside, raise her up, and slam her against the wall. Our mouths collide. My dick grinds against her pussy, raging with the need to bury myself inside her. Her hands explore every inch of my torso. Her lean thighs squeeze my waist, wicked hips rocking to torment my length.

I groan against her lips, I warn, “I won’t stop.”

Her eyes are deep violet storms in the dim light. “Don’t.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

She lifts her chin, those royal eyes narrowing. “Let it fucking burn.”

Fuck.

Now her shirt. I pin her to the wall with my hips, free both hands, and rip it free in two seconds, exposing the black lace of her bra. I unlatch the clasp and slide the straps down her shoulders. The wet lace snags on her rock-hard nipples—not just because they’re cold. I chuck the bra to the floor, baring her waist and up. I’m going to make her come three times from her breasts alone. Electricity thrills my blood as I envision working her to such a pleasure high, she’s begging me to burn her down.

I move over her chin, rubbing the side of her neck, my tongue stroking every curve and line. When I capture her nipples in a tender pinch, she yelps, and the sound shoots straight to my groin. Fuck, I need her on my cock. I need her shattering around my shaft, riding me, surrendering to me more than ever.

I don’t kiss her breast yet. Instead, I roll her sensitive nipples between my fingers.

“Oh, God, oh fuck you!” she cries out, the sound growing, her teeth gritting around a shriek as she comes, her hips bouncing, her pelvis grinding against me.

That’s one.

Before she can hardly come down from the fog, I take one stiff peak into my mouth, whipping my tongue all around the hard bud. Her nails rake into my neck. I commit every single sound she makes to memory.

“God, I love these gorgeous, hypersensitive tits,” I growl against her breast and flick the rosy, pebbled tip. “Fucking love everything about you.” I dig my fingers into the jeans, already intending to turn this ass redder than ever. And inside. Because I’m taking every goddamn hole tonight.

I knead her other breast hard, then nip the current nipple.

“Gage!” she screeches while falling apart all over again. Two.

I move to her other breast. I give it the same attention. And while she pants and whimpers, I move the hand from her breast to the front of her jeans, undoing the button and sliding down the zipper until I can shove my hand inside. I suck her nipple hard, and she orgasms a third time before I even get a chance to touch her pussy.

“You’re going to ride my hand, Princess,” I order while she writhes those wet lips against my palm, her body dying for friction.

When the climax fades, her demand doesn’t stop. “Not yet,” she seethes.

Her hands dive for my belt, and I help her get it off. But I don’t toss it to the floor. Instead, I raise my head, use every broad muscle, every inch of my masculinity to stare her down, and then? I swing the belt, cracking it in the air with no question about what I intend to do with it. Her lips part. Her eyes widen. But Jubilee doesn’t wither.

She hisses instead, baring her teeth like a beautiful, little monster. My monstrous Princess. “Do it already. Punish me. Hurt me. Burn me.”

Jaw hard as iron, I set her on her feet, crouch, and drag off each boot, then wrench her jeans and panties down. Spinning her around, I order her to flatten her hands against the wall. No hesitation. I fold the belt and swing it in one harsh slap to her right cheek. The power jolts through my hand.

“You’re fucking impossible,” I say low and hard. Swing again. Crack! She moans. It surges more heat into my blood, more blood to my length.

“You’re mouthy.” Slap. “You come into my home, you hijack my cat, and you drown every surface with those fucking fairy lights!”

Smack! Smack! Smack! Her body vibrates, her back bows, and sounds hum from her throat—exquisite and excruciating.

“You stay up past every ungodly witching hour.” I let the belt fly, punishing her as I promised. “You’re a bratty goddamn hellion who uses too many dishes, drinks way too much coffee, rebels against coasters, and gets crumbs all over my fucking furniture.”