Princess Claimed, page 3
part #3.10 of Ruthless Warlords Series
The heat of his body remained just out of reach as one of his hands hit the mattress by her head while the other . . . the other sparked a searing trail of need as it slid down her body.
A sinful, exquisite caress.
“Tell me if anything hurts.” His hand glided over her arms.
Goosebumps erupted on her skin.
Big palms cupped her jaw, gently tilting her head from side to side. “You’ve got a small bump at your temple. That could explain the memory loss.” He blew out a breath. “But given the issue with your eyes, I’d bet it’s a side effect of space pressure. Take the drop from space too fast, and the body has trouble adjusting.”
She liked his straightforward approach. It smacked of trustworthiness, another quality she sensed she wasn’t used to finding in others.
But could she truly trust him? An exiled criminal, an ex-convict, and a killer? She was likely mad to even contemplate it. She needed to get a grip. Act sensibly. “Is it a permanent injury?”
“Unlikely. Your brain just needs to catch up. Relieve some pressure so it can start working properly again. The space blindness will recede soon.” He hesitated. “The memories could come back then too. Or take longer.” Another slight pause. “Or not return at all. Either way, you’re going to be okay.”
Her heart fluttered inside her chest. “Thank you, Pavel.” She strained to see more than the blurred, hulking outline looming above, wishing she could see the face of the male who was making her feel so safe, restless—and hot—all at the same time.
He grunted again. This time it was easy to hear the disapproval. “I told you to keep those eyes closed. Strain too much and it will take longer to heal.”
Something slid over her eyes, soft and silky. Her headache instantly lessened—even as her pulse accelerated. “W-what’s that?”
“A makeshift blindfold. I warned you.”
Her hand went up to touch it.
“Leave it be.”
His command sent a shiver through her. “Why?”
“Why do you think?”
Her heart beat faster. “Because I’m your prisoner.”
He grunted. “Do you want to be?”
“I-I . . .” Why was yes the first word that lingered on the tip of her tongue?
“Finders keepers.” His finger traced the edge of the blindfold, skimming over her cheek and the bridge of her nose. “Who gives back a treasure? Only a sainted fool. And I’m not that.”
She trembled under his touch.
She should probably feel terrified or outraged at this stranger’s matter-of-fact declaration that he was keeping her.
Instead, a strange sense of rightness whispered through her. As if she’d been waiting for this moment and this male forever. I always wanted to belong to someone. To trust someone enough to show them my true self.
“The cuts on your arms and throat aren’t too deep.” His deep rasp pulled her from her thoughts. Sealant slicked across her wounds. “There are scratches. Tears on your cape and gown.” He sounded almost angry. “Some bruises. A few small burns.” There was the rustle of movement, then cool salve brushed against her skin. “For the sting.”
She arched into his touch.
It was hard to know what felt better, the soothing frost of the lotion or the gentle caress of his fingertips.
The ache between her thighs intensified.
“I need to see the rest of you.” His voice was gruff.
Her fingers curled into the mattress. “Okay.”
“I wasn’t asking for permission.”
Her skin tingled as soft fabric dragged over her shins, her knees, her thighs.
He went no higher.
“No injuries here.”
She was almost disappointed, her body desperate to feel the imprint of his fingerprints pressing into her flesh, sliding higher until he reached the crease between her legs. Found the shameful secret hidden there, that she was soaking wet and aching for his touch.
“I’m going to cut your dress. It’s ruined anyway.”
“Y-Yes.” Ruined, like her. Falling apart, like her.
There was the snick of his claw and then the faintest of brushes against her belly as he sliced lengthwise—so careful, so controlled, he never once nicked her.
Cool air caressed her skin.
He sucked down a harsh breath.
She held hers.
She could only imagine what he saw. Her body splayed out before him, her hair a wild, tangled, red mess beneath the blindfold, while her chest rose way too fast, the golden whorls that curled beneath her breasts and across her hips and inner thighs shimmering and swirling as they always did when she was aroused. The hard points of her nipples, her flushed skin, and her soaked thighs pressed together tight as she fought not to squirm and beg and ask . . .
Did she please him?
“You . . . you are fucking beautiful.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve transported a thousand riches across this galaxy and never seen anything that shines as bright as you.”
Her heart tripped inside her chest.
Her body was an aching inferno of lust and need, the fire in her veins blazing so bright it was almost agony.
His finger traced the bow of her lips. “So delicate.”
The glow inside her expanded. Need surged through every cell.
Her wrists and throat throbbed.
Her hand rose to rub away the sting. She tried to sound in control. She feared her words emerged as a breathless rasp. “And this burning? Is it from the explosion too?”
A slight pause. “Not from the explosion.”
Her heart galloped inside her chest. There was a wealth of meaning in what was left unsaid. “What is it, then?”
There was a longer pause.
“Marks. Fated-mate marks.” Tone reverent, his thumb tracked across the thin skin of her wrists, slow, deliberate swipes like the twitching of a predator’s tail. “I have a similar, thicker band on my own wrists now too.”
Shock slammed through her.
She’d found her fated mate—and he was a dangerous, exiled, ex-convict outlaw.
Did she care? And was it really so surprising? The connection between them was too instantaneous, too deep, too volatile, and too arresting to be anything else but a soul-deep bond.
What did surprise her, however, was that he’d seen the marks and declared he was keeping her anyway.
“So, you’re not fearful of the bond? Somehow I know most Alphas think it can be a weakness and avoid such pairings.”
“Learn this about me now.” The mattress shifted as Pavel leaned in, his tone hard. “I am not most Alphas, and I have never given a damned what others say or do.”
The need inside her burned hotter.
They might have just met, but thanks to the fragile bond, a part of her knew his words were true. He was fiercely independent. A male who lived by his own rules and broke the ones he didn’t like. An Alpha who thought for himself and was willing to pay the price for that freedom, even if it meant being alone.
She found that sexy—and admirable—and a little scary.
And he was keeping her.
She pressed her thighs together and stifled a moan. She wanted so badly for him to touch her. Fuck her. Push her beyond her limits. Break the rules like only an outlaw, ex-convict could. Already it felt as if she’d been waiting too long to find him. As if they were treading on borrowed time.
“You seem tense, omega. Does it hurt here?” His fingers glided just beneath her collarbone.
N-no.”
“What about here?” He shifted direction, sliding his fingertips over the tops of her breasts.
He was toying with her now. They both knew it.
She shifted on the bed, the mattress crinkling beneath her bottom. “I-I . . .”
“You need something from me, omega?” His voice was deeper and huskier, thick with lust. “A different kind of care?”
Shame slammed through her. She knew without question that admitting such a need was unusual for her.
Be regal. Unflappable. Never let them see what’s beneath the facade. The thoughts came so naturally.
She ignored them and let him push her past her comfort zone. Let herself give him an honest answer. Let herself take a risk, let herself fall, hoping he’d catch her as he had before.
“Yes, Alpha.” She whispered her confession. “I . . . I want a different kind of care from you. I want to be your prisoner. I want to be yours to keep.”
He grunted, the sound heavy with satisfaction. “You’re going to turn my world upside down, aren’t you, omega?”
She moaned low. He’d already sent hers spinning. “I ache for you.”
He growled.
She purred, a strange trilling sound she knew she’d never made before.
“Fuck, omega. I like that sound.” He circled her areola with the pad of his finger, a deliberate, slow siege. “I’m going to take such good fucking care of you.”
“Yes.” She wanted that. Wanted everything he could give her.
“How about here? You hurt here?” Voice rough, his hand glided lower, tracing over the sensitive underside of her breast, sending ripples of pleasure to her core.
“Oh, goddess.”
He squeezed her nipple between his thumb and finger. “Answer me.”
She gasped, arching into his touch, the bite of pain exquisite pleasure. “That feels so good.”
“Mmm.” He toyed with her other breast, caressing the sensitive flesh, tugging at her nipple, the mix of gentle and rough leaving her wriggling beneath his exploration. “So pretty. So fragile.”
She wanted to scream that she wasn’t. That she’d survived more than anyone had expected. That she was far from what she seemed, but she’d lost the ability to speak, need wrapping around her throat and stealing her breath. Making it impossible for her to do anything but whimper and squirm as his hold tightened and twisted.
“Such a needy little thing.” He slapped the underside of her breast. Not hard. Just enough to get her attention. “But I gave you an order. No wriggling. Forget again and there will be consequences. I know you heard the rattle of my handcuffs earlier. I keep them on hand in case of intruders, but they can be used on disobedient omegas too.”
She shivered—and then froze.
The ache inside her grew. She really did love being ruled by him.
He moved lower, his big hand sliding over her ribs and her belly, leaving heat in his wake.
She fought hard to obey, her chest rising fast. Especially as his big hand slid lower, parting her thighs, spreading her ever so slightly, just enough for his fingers to fit between, just enough for the cool air to hit her folds and his knuckles to abrade her skin.
Her breathing hitched.
“Here?” His calloused fingertip circled her clit.
“Y-yes.”
“Mmmm. Poor sweet, little, fallen angel.” He flicked her clit. “I know how to make that pain go away.”
“Please.” She curled her nails into the mattress to keep from lifting her hips off the mattress.
She was blindfolded, lost, frightened, but his touch anchored her. The pleasure of his commands tethered her as nothing else could.
She needed him. Needed to cement the connection to him. To feel him ground her. Know her—when she didn’t know herself.
He might be an outlaw and a criminal and her current tormentor, but he was also her salvation.
“P-please.” She opened her thighs a fraction more. Too ashamed to demand too much. Too desperate to remain still.
He grunted. Pressed his thumb against the bundle of nerves in slow, sweet circles. “Fuck, look at you. So beautiful. That little, juicy cunt opening and closing, begging for my cock.” He groaned low. “But you’re not ready yet.” He slid a finger inside her. Hooked it upward while he increased the pressure on her clit and rubbed faster. “This will take the edge off, though. Help us both to think a little more clearly.”
“Yes.” Her hips bucked, the feeling of his thick fingers hitting her just right.
He growled low, a big hand pinning her hips to the bed as his fingers stopped moving.
“No!” She cried out.
He tapped her clit. “Consequences.”
She panted. Stilled.
“Good girl.” He started up again.
More slick dripped from her core, his care and his command driving her wild.
“So fucking tight and wet.” He added another finger, stretching her. “Rock those hips against my hand. Nice and slow. Show me you can take care of what’s mine.”
His demand sent her need sparking higher, everything inside her drawing tighter.
She wasn’t a virgin. Her lack of hesitation convinced her of that. But it had clearly been a long time since someone had touched her like he was, each plunge of his fingers bringing an exquisite burn along with fullness and pleasure.
He altered his angle, thrummed her clit faster—and kept her hips pinned down. “Show me just how much you like what I’m doing to you, pretty girl. Show me you like this big bruiser’s rough hands deep inside that perfect, little angel pussy. Claiming. Molding. Shaping you just for me.”
He slapped her clit with the flat of his palm.
She came apart with his name on her lips, shattering, stripped of anything but primitive urges and primal, filthy ecstasy until nothing mattered except him and their wild, fevered connection. Until his touch, her rapture, was all she knew.
Floating, panting, she was just beginning to come back to herself when she heard him growl low. “Again—only this time you’ll come on my tongue.”
Before she could even process his words, his shoulders spread her wide. The rough stubble of his jaw abraded her inner thighs while the flat of his tongue lapped at the sensitive bundle of nerves—and something cool and hard flicked against her clit.
Oh, goddess. Her hips bucked. Was that some kind of piercing? If so, it was the perfect compliment to the velvet softness of his tongue.
She moaned. Bucked once more.
He pinned her to the mattress. Licking. Sucking. Driving her wild.
Then, his tongue plunged inside her tight hole and he pinched her clit.
It was pure, raw sensation and white-hot pleasure.
She screamed, her back bowing as another climax—even more intense than the last—slammed through her, hurtling her through space and time with far more ferocity than the actual gravity drop she’d recently experienced.
This was a revelation. Illumination. An epiphany of the highest order.
She felt cared for. Cherished. Safe. And desperate for more.
“Come inside me.” She was needy. Aching. “Fuck me, Alpha. Claim me as yours.”
“You think you’re ready for me, Angel?” The timbre of his snarl was proof he was well on his way to returning to rut. Well on his way to becoming as mindless and desperate as her.
“Yes.”
“I don’t want you hurting.”
“All I feel is need.”
With a growl, his knee hit the bed.
She couldn’t wait. “Hurry.”
But he didn’t grab her or press his big, warm body against hers. Instead, he cursed and drew back.
“W-what’s wrong?” She flung her hands outward and encountered a chest as hard and unforgiving as stone. One that was unnaturally still. “What is it?”
Silence.
Her hands itched to rip the blindfold aside and see his expression, but she knew even without the covering, she still wouldn’t be able to see—and something about the shift in the air told her she might not want to anyway. That however he was looking at her now, it wasn’t good. “Alpha?”
“It’s fine. You’re fine.” But the deep rasp of rut was absent from his voice. So was the possessive heat. “It’s just . . . I found something.”
There was a tug at the tatters of the gown under her. The crinkle of paper. Another curse.
Dread wound through her. “What is it? What did you find?”
“An ID . . . and an object.” He still loomed above, but he sounded so distant now. As if he’d already left her behind. He pressed something soft into her hands. “Here. Cover yourself.”
He’d handed her a blanket. That couldn’t be good.
She clutched it close.
“The ID was tucked into a hidden seam on the inside of your gown,” he explained. “It must have been dislodged when you moved.”
“Does it say who I am?”
“Not who. Just what.”
She braced herself. It had to be awful from the way he sounded. “Tell me, please.”
“You’re a princess.”
5
PAVEL
Aprincess. A. Rich. Dainty. Bedazzled. Princess.
Pavel stared at the ID. Then at the sparkling, glowing gem a third the size of his palm that flickered from gold to purple and back again. Then the ID.
He couldn’t believe it.
He’d been so fucking lost in her, he hadn’t noticed the multitude of clues staring his ugly mug in the face.
Addled by lust and the stupidity of the rut, he’d failed to register what the small crown on the inside of her cape or the fine clothes and the daintiness of the female was telling him loud and clear.
Until, of course, he was a heartbeat from finally being buried deep inside her.
Then, in a case of the worst timing ever, he’d seen the corner of the paper peeking out from the scraps of her ruined gown.
He should have fucking shredded it like he had her dress. Instead, he’d given it a closer look.
Now he’d be regretting that move for the rest of his damned life.
Because once he’d pulled on that paper, a larger seam had opened in her gown, and out had come not only the ID but a small, perfect jewel. Flawless and glittering, its shifting iridescent colors, clarity, and cut marked it as rare and incomparable and probably worth enough to keep him and his zalari supplied with enough expensive-as-shit, black market seed for a hundred lifetimes.
Fuuuuck.
The sick, possessive part of him had liked that the omega had no past. No claims on her. Only him.
But now . . . He stared down at the ID in his hand.
It was a singed lanyard, and within it was a Federation Sector travel document with a stamp from the luxury ship, the Destiny.
