Dark Prince: A Dark Bratva Academy Romance, page 26
“This is the part where you say yes, you know,” I grunt.
She giggles. “I think I already did, when I married you the first time.”
“Then say it again. Say it always, because I’ll never get tired of fucking hearing it.”
She grins as her hands cup my cheeks and she leans up on tiptoes towards me.
“Yes,” she whispers right before her lips press to mine.
I kiss her deeply, holding her close to me as I swallow her moans. When I pull back, my eyes glint hungrily into hers.
“Now what the fuck were you saying about maybe not wearing any panties right now?”
She grins as her face blushes.
“Why don’t you check?”
She squeals as I scoop her into my arms and storm into the house.
To check, of course.
Epilogue
Three Months Later:
“When are you going to tell me where we are?”
She giggles as I lead her blindfolded through the double doors out onto the stunning veranda.
“Spoiler, we’re in Antarctica.”
She laughs. “Ass. I can feel the sun. Where are we?”
Behind ua lies the sprawling six-thousand square foot beach home. But in front, I gaze past her at the palm fronds, vines, and tropical flowers hanging all around the pool carved into natural rock. And past it, the pure white sands of the private beach, and the crystal blue waters of the Indian Ocean.
Where are we? Paradise. Or specifically, the Maldives. And it’s not actually a private beach.
It’s a private island.
It’s our private island—a secret gift I just bought Charlotte for this occasion. We never had a honeymoon. Or a real wedding, at that. So, we’re doing both, except we’re doing it backwards.
For the next week, I have Charlotte all to myself here. Just us and sun, and lots of sunblock. She doesn’t know this part yet, but I’m making clothes verboten for this little getaway.
But after that, we’re having a wedding—the wedding. A real one, this time. One where I can watch her walk down the aisle to me in white. Where I can properly say that I do, forever, before kissing my wife.
It’ll be a small affair. But this time, our friends and family will be joining.
“Misha, seriously when can I—”
“Now.”
I slip the blindfold from her face, and her jaw drops.
“Misha…”
“Like it?”
She turns, bright-eyed and grinning as she slips her arms around my waist.
“Like?! I mean what’s not to love about it?! This place is gorgeous!”
I grin. “Good. Now you can figure out what to call it.”
Her brows knit. “What do you mean, what to call it?”
“The island.”
Her brows arch. “I’m not sure I follow—”
“Because it’s yours.”
Her eyes go wide. Her mouth falls open as she stares at me.
“You… Misha are you—you got me an island?!”
“I mean, I get to come too, but yeah.”
She squeals as she jumps into my arms. Her mouth hungrily sears to mine as she moans into my lips.
“I love it,” she purrs.
“Happy honeymoon, love,” I whisper.
She grins as she kisses me again, her hands sliding over my chest.
“How long do we have until we get company, again?”
My cock surges. “A week.”
But suddenly I frown.
“No, shit. Six days. Ilya and Tenley are coming a day early, and I think they’re bringing Lukas and—”
“I think I can work with six days.”
She pushes me back, making me grin as I stumble and then fall back onto a white-linen-strewn daybed on the veranda.
She stalks after—a lioness in her own right as her eyes glow with need. She peels her top and her bra off and slips her skirt down her legs.
No panties.
Good girl.
“You’re overdressed for the beach,” she purrs as she stalks onto the daybed after me.
She reaches for my linen pants—already tented obscenely by my swollen cock. She tugs them and my boxers down, and my thick shaft springs free to slap against my abs.
Charlotte moans hungrily as she moves between my legs. She wraps her small fingers around my bulging cock, licks her lips, and then drops her mouth to my crown.
“Oh fuck, baby…”
I groan, hissing in pleasure as her hot mouth engulfes my swollen head. Her tongue teases at the slit and then swirls around my glans. I glance down, and like it always does, the sight of that ring on her hand while it’s gripping my cock just makes me throb.
I rip my shirt off and drop my head back as my hands slide into her hair. She whimpers, and I know she loves when I take a little control. My fingers tighten, wrapping her hair in a fist as I grunt and guide her mouth up and down. My hips raise, shallowly fucking her mouth as she moans deeply and drags her nails over my thighs and balls.
I want her. I want to taste her until she’s flooding my tongue with her cum.
She squeals as I grab her and yank her up my body. My strong hands maneuver her until her thighs are astride my face. She whimpers as she lowers herself to my eager tongue, and when I drag it wetly through her slit, she moans in pleasure.
“Oh my God, Misha…”
I push my tongue into her, fucking her with it while my hands grip her ass. She gasps, moaning and rocking over my lips and tongue as I devour her sweet little pussy.
She squeals again as I push her back, draping her on her back across the bed as I slip between her legs. My hands shove them wide apart as I drag my tongue from her clit, all the way down to her asshole, and then back to her throbbing nub.
I bear down, swirling my tongue around it and sucking it between my lips. Her body starts to shake and tremble. Her nails dig into me as her back arches and tenses.
“Fuck! Misha!”
My tongue drags over her clit, and it’s like pulling a trigger. She convulses, moaning her orgasm into the palm trees above as she starts to come for me. Her sweetness floods my tongue as I growl and lick up every fucking drop of it.
My mouth kisses higher, up her stomach, up over her ribs, and over the swell of her tits. My lips close around one nipple, and she moans for me. Her hands slide into my hair and drag over my back.
I nudge her thighs apart with my hips and push my throbbing, swollen cock against her pussy. Her whimpers grow more eager as I slip into her. I suck and bite my way up her neck and jaw to her mouth, and when I kiss her fiercely, I bury my length in one stroke at the same time.
She almost comes again, right there. I can feel her walls rippling around me, her body convulsing as her legs wrap around my waist. I thrust into her, grinding deep before I pull all the way out. I fist my cock, rubbing the head over her clit and dragging my length up and down her slit.
“You fucking tease—oh shit, Misha!”
I drive in with one thrust, pounding into her silky wet heat. Our mouths crush together as her hips rise to meet my thrusts. She clings to me, panting into my mouth as I pound into her, nailing her to the fucking bed with my cock.
We’ll have almost all week to take our time, and to drag it out. But I’ve been hard for her the entire trip here. And right now, all I want is to feel her fucking come apart for me. I want to feel her pussy flood my balls with her slick cum before I fill her with mine.
My hand cups her jaw, and she whimpers when my thumb traces over her lips. She turns her mouth, moaning as she wraps her lips around it and sucks seductively. I hiss, pounding into her even harder and deeper as I feel her body clench and rise to meet me.
“I want to feel you come for me, Princess,” I snarl into her ear. My shaft pumps into her, slick and glistening as it pistons in and out of her tight slit.
“Make that pussy come for me, baby. Come all over my big dick. Be a good girl and fucking come for me.”
“Misha!”
Her nails dig into me painfully, but all I really feel is heaven. She cries out, moaning as her orgasm ripples through her body. I can feel her pussy clench around me, and with a groan, I follow her into that bliss.
“Come with me!” she whimpers. “Come with me, come with… oh fuck.”
With a snarl, I suck her earlobe between my lips. I sink my throbbing cock deep in her quivering pussy as my balls draw up and let go. My hot cum pumps into her, spilling deep as she clings to me and I cling to her.
We stay wrapped in each others arms, just glowing against each other. I kiss her unhurriedly, stroking her skin as she murmurs into my lips. At a certain point, we roll over, and she starts to ride my still-hard cock.
Two hours later, we basically look like shipwreck survivors—naked and sprawled on a beach, panting for water. But when I reach for her, she grins and snuggles into my arms. We turn and watch the sun begin to set over the ocean as I nuzzle her neck.
“I love you,” I whisper into her ear.
She turns and presses her mouth to mine.
“I love you so much…” she murmurs back.
We turn back and watch the sun dip into the sea, like fire being snuffed out.
Like the end of a chapter, and the start to a new one. The end of an age, and the beginning of one all our own.
Together.
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Savage Heir Preview
While technically “book 2” in the Savage Heirs series, Dark Prince is written to be enjoyed as a standalone. If you’d like to go back dive into Ilya and Tenley’s story in Savage Heir, however, you can read on for a sneak peek from that book.
Chapter 1
“You can’t actually be serious.”
My eyes slide from my hands, busy buttoning up the front of my raincoat, into the mirror where they meet Charlotte’s. I smile curiously.
“Of course I’m serious. All the sports programs here are way too competitive for me to have a prayer at getting into, and the math team doesn’t have its first meeting until halfway through the term.”
My roommate pales, shaking her head. “No, you need to find something else. Seriously. Look, I know this is all new to you, but I’m telling you—”
“Char, it’s just tutoring. I’ve done it a million times before.”
Okay, I’ve done it a million times before in public school, in North Carolina and then DC after we moved there. I’ve never done it at the single most exclusive, prestigious private preparatory school in the world.
But just the same… tutoring is tutoring, isn’t it? And apparently, even at the Oxford Hills Academy, which guides the world’s most elite, connected, and—let’s be real—rich students get into whatever higher education best suits their perfect pedigrees, there are still ones who need a leg up.
And tutoring looks amazing on pre-college resumes.
“Tenley…” Charlotte’s lips are thin, and the color has fully left her face as it shakes back and forth. “You can’t tutor him. You can’t go near him.”
My brow furrows as I turn with a smirk. “Charlotte, I helped with SAT prep in some of the most dangerous schools in DC.” I glance around at the stunningly gorgeous living area—complete with Tudor-style paned glass windows, curved, intricate ceiling beams, wood inlay shelves of books, and a fireplace that would fit right in at Hogwarts. “I mean, look where we are. I’m sure I’ll be—”
“They call him ‘The Wolf’ for a reason, Tenley,” she hisses quietly.
I swallow. It’s not the first time I’ve heard the nickname.
In the three days since I moved into the student housing with Charlotte, I’ve heard the moniker whispered like a curse, or maybe a prayer, throughout the common areas of campus.
Ilya Volkov: The Wolf of Oxford Hills.
I’ve looked him up online. I mean how do you not after a nickname like that. I’ve never even met him or seen him face-to-face. But one Google image search later and I fully understood why he’s the Wolf.
Because when that man looks into a camera lens, it’s like a predator ready to pounce on his prey.
Well, that and the fact that his last name is literally Russian for “wolf”, I guess. His last name is also as synonymous with organized crime in Russia as “Capone” would be in the states. In fact, his uncle is the Yuri Volkov, head of the notoriously brutal and cold-blooded Volkov Bratva family.
My face flushes as I think back to the face of Ilya spread across the search engine page. Dark hair, green eyes, and the chiseled good looks and bone structure of an aristocratic model. But the whole visage is washed in a brooding darkness that you can’t help but shiver at.
Just like I do, right now, even thinking of it. But I steel myself and shake that shiver off. Ilya Volkov might be “The Wolf.” He might—allegedly—be heir apparent to one of the most dangerous, powerful, and wealthy crime families in the world. He might, bewilderingly, be on academic probation after some issues last year.
But I won’t let any of that affect me or throw me off. Because all of this is part of The Plan.
Okay, so The Plan has been slightly edited by the media and consulting team surrounding my father’s anticipated political moves. But it’s still mostly The Plan I’ve had in my head since I was twelve.
Graduate valedictorian, then Columbia for undergrad where I will, of course, graduate with honors. After that, it’s right to Harvard Law, and interning at the renowned Welsley and Kane who will make me a Junior Associate. From there, I’ll make moves to the even more prestigious Lancer, Stein, and Ramirez firm back in DC, where I’ll make partner within two years. After a few years there, I’ll climb the ladder into a judgeship for the District of Columbia. And by the time I’m forty, I’ll make the push to the final goal: Supreme Court Justice Tenley Chambers—the youngest Justice in history.
Lofty? Perhaps. Impossible? Not with The Plan, which is why I have it.
In the last year, though, The Plan has changed. Sort of. It’s been “recolored,” as Jill, my father’s new PR chief, put it. Because The Plan now involves a lot more than me.
The Plan now involves my father possibly becoming the next Vice President of the United States.
Currently, my dad is the US Secretary of State. Which, I’m under zero illusions, is almost entirely why and how I’m at Oxford Hills. It’s the power and prestige he wields, not the money. We were never struggling when I was growing up. My dad did well as a Naval officer and lawyer with the military courts.
But there’s “doing well” for normal people, and then there’s “doing well” for the kind of people whose kids go to Oxford Hills.
And Oxford Hills is in a class entirely its own.
The students here are the upper echelon—the elite of the world’s elite. The sons and daughters of billionaire tycoons, oligarchs, and royalty—literal, real royalty. I’m from an upper-middle-class suburb and public school. The other students here are from actual castles, or houses with their own zip codes, and have never washed a single teaspoon.
But six months ago, my dad was approached by Senator George North. The New York Senator is highly speculated, by the entire political media spectrum, to be the next President of the United States. He’s already gotten a thumbs-up from the soon to be exiting current POTUS, and his team has picked my father to be his potential running mate when he announces.
Six months ago, life got very complicated. Suddenly, public school and the burbs wasn’t enough. Being a model student with the highest marks possible wasn’t enough. No, I needed “elite status.” I needed “pedigree.”
I needed “a social life.”
So, here I am: out of DC and across the ocean to the bucolic English countryside where Oxford Hills sits. Here, my image will be “perfected” by elite classes, elite friends, and an elite boyfriend.
My mouth tightens at the very thought of it.
Patrick North, Senator North’s son, is also at Oxford Hills. Though, he’s been here for the last three years, given that his father is a US Senator and billionaire investor. Granted, I’m not a political PR expert. But the idea of the soon-to-be-President’s son dating the soon-to-be-Vice-President’s daughter seems… gross to me. Jill and the PR team, however, thinks it’s a slam-dunk for the polls. Senator North agrees, and my dad seems to just be along for the wild ride.
So now I have a new school, a new country, and a new fake boyfriend to pose for the cameras with.
But at least the new roommate is all sorts of awesome. Charlotte’s like me. Which is to say, being here gives her imposter-syndrome to the max, too. Char’s been at Oxford Hills for a year already. But like me, she doesn’t really belong here.
A little over a year ago, Charlotte’s mother, a very regular, normal schoolteacher from a London suburb, married the King—the actual, real King—of the small country of Luxlordia. That makes Charlotte an actual, real princess. Or, to a “normal” person like me, it does. To other royalty, it makes her an imposter.
That’s basically how we became fast friends two months ago when we were notified we’d be roommates this term at Oxford Hills. A single phone call turned into almost nightly FaceTiming, and now we’re best friends. And all because of the joke that the only reason we’ve been put together as roommates is because we’re the “imposters.”
The faux princess and the presidential race prop.
