You are being pro­vid­ed with a book chap­ter by chap­ter. I will request you to read the book for me after each chap­ter. After read­ing the chap­ter, 1. short­en the chap­ter to no less than 300 words and no more than 400 words. 2. Do not change the name, address, or any impor­tant nouns in the chap­ter. 3. Do not trans­late the orig­i­nal lan­guage. 4. Keep the same style as the orig­i­nal chap­ter, keep it con­sis­tent through­out the chap­ter. Your reply must com­ply with all four require­ments, or it’s invalid.
I will pro­vide the chap­ter now.

36
BRIDGET
MY DRESS POOLED AROUND MY ANKLES, LEAVING ME IN ONLY MY LACE
bra and thong. Trem­bles wracked me—from antic­i­pa­tion or the
slight chill in the air, I wasn’t sure. Prob­a­bly a mix­ture of both.
Rhys was sil­hou­et­ted against the moon­light so I couldn’t see his
face, but I could feel the heat of his gaze as it raked over me. Dark
and pos­ses­sive like a lover’s touch, leav­ing a trail of deli­cious goose-
bumps in its wake.
I wet my lips, dying to touch him, but know­ing it was in my best
inter­est not to move until he told me to.
“Bra. Off.”
Two sec­onds lat­er, white lace joined green silk on the floor.
I reached down to shim­my out of my under­wear, but a low growl
halt­ed my move­ments.
“I didn’t tell you to do that.” Rhys’s eyes lin­gered on my breasts,
and my nip­ples, already so hard they could cut glass, peb­bled fur-
ther. “Keep your under­wear, gloves, and heels on,” he said, still in
that decep­tive­ly soft tone. “And crawl to me.”
My breath gust­ed out in shock even as my core spasmed at the
order.
I’d nev­er crawled for any­one in my life—while I was all but
naked, no less. Even if I wasn’t the future queen, it would be degrad-
ing. Humil­i­at­ing. Depraved.
And I’d nev­er been more turned on.
I sank to my hands and knees, shiv­er­ing again at the feel of the
cool wood floor against my bare skin.
And I began to crawl.
The room wasn’t that big, but the antic­i­pa­tion made it seem end-
less. Halfway across, I glimpsed myself in the full-length mir­ror
mount­ed on the wall, and my skin burned at the sight.
I still wore the ele­gant elbow-length gloves that came with my
brides­maid out­fit, but when paired with only my heels and thong,
they looked obscene.
My breath­ing grew chop­pi­er. I was so wet my thighs slid against
each oth­er, and by the time I reached Rhys, I was drip­ping all down
my legs.
I stopped at his feet and looked up. I could see him more clear­ly
now, but his expres­sion remained unread­able except for the fire blaz-
ing in his eyes.
“Good girl.” He fist­ed my hair with one hand and used the oth­er
to unbuck­le his pants. His cock sprung out, thick and hard, the
swollen head drip­ping with pre-cum.
God, I need­ed to taste him. No one had ever turned me on as
much as he did. Every word, every touch, every glance. I want­ed it
all.
I stared at him with plead­ing eyes.
Rhys hadn’t fin­ished nod­ding before I took him in my mouth, sa-
vor­ing his groans and the way he pulled my hair as I eager­ly licked
and sucked.
“What would your peo­ple say if they could see you now,
princess?” he grunt­ed, push­ing his cock deep­er until it hit the back
of my throat. I splut­tered, my eyes water­ing from the sheer size of
him. “Crawl­ing and chok­ing on your bodyguard’s cock?”
I moaned out an unin­tel­li­gi­ble response. My hand drift­ed be-
tween my legs, but I didn’t make con­tact before he yanked me up
and cap­tured my mouth in a hard, pun­ish­ing kiss.
He was still angry about Stef­fan. I could taste it on his tongue,
feel it in the rough­ness of his hands as he squeezed my ass.
“You’re more than just a body­guard to me.” I need­ed him to un-
der­stand that, even amid our lust-drenched haze.
“Yeah, I can get you off, too,” Rhys said caus­ti­cal­ly. “Bet none of
the lily-liv­ered aris­to­crats out there can fuck you the way you need.”
I didn’t take the bait. “It’s more than that.”
It was the clos­est I’d come to voic­ing what was in my heart.
Some­thing vul­ner­a­ble flick­ered in Rhys’s eyes, and his touch
gen­tled for a sec­ond before his face hard­ened again. He spun me
around and bent me over the table, press­ing his body against mine
until every inch of him meld­ed into every inch of me.
He low­ered his mouth to my ear and tan­gled one of his hands
with mine. “I want you to know some­thing, princess,” he said, his
voice a hoarse rasp against my skin. “There’s not much in the world
I want to claim as mine. I’ve seen and done too much shit in my life
to believe in for­ev­er. But you…” He grasped my chin with his free
hand. “You belong to me. I don’t give a fuck what the law or any­one
else says. You are mine. Under­stand?”
“Yes.” I squeezed his hand, my heart and body aching for com-
plete­ly dif­fer­ent rea­sons.
Rhys exhaled a harsh, shud­der­ing breath and pulled back. I was
about to protest before he rough­ly part­ed my thighs and yanked my
under­wear down.
The ball of antic­i­pa­tion in my stom­ach coiled tighter.
“There’s some­thing else you should know.” He dragged two fin-
gers through my wet­ness before shov­ing them in my mouth, forc­ing
me to taste my juices. An unbid­den moan slipped out at the unfamil-
iar tang on my tongue. “I don’t like it when oth­er peo­ple touch
what’s mine. Espe­cial­ly when it’s a date who’s not me.”
I knew I’d been in trou­ble the minute I said that.
“But maybe you need a les­son to dri­ve that point home.” Rhys
rubbed his thumb over my swollen clit before his palm land­ed
where his thumb had been. My body jerked, and a yelp of sur­prise
and pain tore from my throat, but Rhys’s fin­gers in my mouth muf-
fled the sound.
His palm land­ed on my pussy again with a loud slap. And again.
And again.
I was shak­ing, my eyes filled with tears as razor-sharp sen­sa­tion
spiked through me. My entire world had nar­rowed to the puls­ing
heat between my legs and the man who doled out pain and plea­sure
in equal mea­sure.
“Who does your pussy belong to?” Rhys removed his fin­gers
from my mouth and squeezed my breast.
“You,” I gasped, clutch­ing the edge of the table so hard my
knuck­les turned white.
“Say it again.” Hard. Demand­ing. Author­i­ta­tive.
“You! My pussy belongs to you.” My voice broke in a sob as he
deliv­ered anoth­er sting­ing slap to my clit.
“That’s right. It belongs to me, and don’t you ever for­get it.” Slap.
I let out a keen­ing wail, try­ing to scrab­ble away and push back
hard­er against him at the same time. I couldn’t tell whether I loved
or hat­ed what was hap­pen­ing, only that I was drip­ping and burn­ing
and every scrape of my nip­ples against the wood­en table sent anoth-
er jolt of heat straight to my throb­bing clit.
“Are you going to dance with your date again?” Rhys’s voice
sound­ed remark­ably even, if tight­ly con­trolled.
I shook my head, the tears slid­ing down my cheeks.
“Good.” Slap. “You are so wet, princess.” Slap. “You should see
how pret­ty and swollen your clit looks right now. Like it’s beg­ging
for me to spank it hard­er.” SLAP.
It was too much. The words, the bru­tal, filthy pun­ish­ment, the
fact we were doing this just around the cor­ner and down the hall
from my fam­i­ly and friends.
I explod­ed. Hard. Long. Vio­lent. Ears buzzing, knees buck­ling,
show­ers of lights burst­ing behind my eyes. I would’ve fall­en to the
floor had Rhys not held me up while the strongest orgasm of my life
tore through me like an elec­tric storm, and I had to drop my head
and bury my face in my arm to sti­fle my screams.
I was still rid­ing out the waves of my mind-shat­ter­ing release
when I felt Rhys’s tongue gen­tly stroke my clit, lick­ing and sooth­ing
until the burn fad­ed.
Just as I gath­ered myself togeth­er, he stood and slow­ly pushed
his cock inside of me. He with­drew equal­ly slow­ly, until just the tip
remained inside, and paused. I inhaled, but my first real breath of
the night broke into a squeal when he sud­den­ly slammed into me
with a vicious thrust. His fist in my hair kept me in place as he bot-
tomed out with each down­ward stroke, and the con­trast between the
gen­tle­ness of his entry and the sav­age fury with which he now
fucked me scram­bled my sens­es to the point where I could only hold
on to the table for dear life.
In and out. Hard­er and faster each time until the tin­gles at the
base of my spine came back to life, and I crashed over the edge
again.
“Oh, God, Rhys.”
“That’s it, princess.” He pressed a kiss to my shoul­der, his move-
ments grow­ing jerki­er. He was about to come, too. “Such a good girl.
Come for me.”