Chap­ter 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 goose­bumps 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 fur­ther. “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 degrad­ing. 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 end­less. 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 blaz­ing 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, savor­ing 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 between 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 under­stand 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 com­plete­ly 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 fin­gers through my wet­ness before shov­ing them in my mouth, forc­ing me to taste my juices. An unbid­den moan slipped out at the unfa­mil­iar 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 muf­fled 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 anoth­er 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 bot­tomed 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 move­ments grow­ing jerki­er. He was about to come, too. “Such a good girl. Come for me.”