Princely Passions

Fucking gorgeous.

Who lives like this?

Anders Trask does, apparently.

Dark woods and giant pastoral paintings and heavy curtains – it has an old-world charm to it that I hadn’t expected. And the entryway is larger than my living room.

“I had it remodeled using an old castle in France as the inspiration,” he says, coming up to me with yet another drink in hand, handing it to me as I wandered around, oohing and ahhing. I know that most people my age would probably like stainless steel and retro furnishings, but I’d

always love the regal European decor.

“Come, check out my favorite feature,” he says, as excited as a little boy. He grabs my free hand and pulls me down a hallway and into a dark room. Flipping a switch, a few strategically placed lights turn on to a low glow, pointing straight at…

“Oh my god, Anders, really?” I squeal, heading straight towards the suit of armor.

“Early 1430s Italian armor,” he says proudly. “One of the oldest full sets of armor in existence.” Its dull silver glow in the dim lighting almost made it seem ethereal. I reached out and stroked the metal joints reverently.

“I love it,” I say softly. He stood behind me and pulled me tight up against him, wrapping his arms around me as I leaned into him. We stared at the suit for a long minute in silence. It just seemed to deserve that.

“Anders,” I finally say, breaking the peaceful silence between us. As much as I hate to, I have to. I just can’t live with myself if I don’t. “You’re going to be able to make a decision about the UN program even with…this,” I gesture to the air around us, “happening, right?”

He pulls me against him even tighter and begins to nuzzle my neck. “Even though,” he breathes down my neck, sending shivers down my spine, “I want to fuck you senseless,” he nips at my neck and down my shoulder, “every moment of every day,” he nips back across to the nape of my neck and down my other shoulder, “I can separate that from the UN program.

“Although,” he says in a teasing voice, pulling away from my skin and standing up straight, “I should use my power for evil.” He turns me in his arms and stares down at me with a devilish glint in his eye. “Tell you that the only way that you can get into this program is to fuck me like the little whore that you are.”

“Ohhhhh…” I breathe, staring up at him, biting my lower lip as I do. “I…well…I…” I stutter, unable to put a complete thought into words. “I would hate to lose the chance to be in the program, so if that’s what it takes…”

I know he’s teasing. I know he would never tell me something like that and mean it. But that didn’t mean it isn’t hot as fuck to hear.

“I think it’s time to put my little whore to work making me happy, don’t you?” he says, the teasing tone of voice disappearing as his commanding voice takes its place.

“Yeah, probably,” I say, staring up at him, my voice little more than a whisper.

“‘Yeah’?” he repeats. “Don’t you mean ‘Yes sir’?”

“Yes sir,” I repeat, and my thong is so wet, I’m afraid I might be creating a puddle on his floor.

He pulls back and take my drink from me, placing it on a nearby end table.

“I think it’s about time to see what kind of fucktoy you really are,” he says, and takes my hand.

195

Christine

Fucktoy, he called me, and that word is echoing inside my head like a maddening scream of pleasure. Fucktoy. I want him, I want him really bad - and I’m lucky enough for him to want me that badly as well.

Stepping toward me, there’s that wicked grin on his lips, delight and desire painting his face. He rests his big hands on my waist and, the moment he leans into me and kisses me, I close my eyes and let go.

From the way he’s kissing, I can already tell that this is going to be good. For a man as imposing as him, he’s actually more than a good kisser. I tilt my head to the side, pulling him closer and pressing my mouth harder against his. I part my lips and slip my tongue inside his mouth, a whirlwind of lust dancing inside my head.

I exhale sharply as, still grabbing me by the waist, he pushes me back and pins me against the wall. I gasp as I feel the hard surface against my back, my body pinned between the wall and him. His fingers dart to my wrists and he lifts my arms up over my head.

“I’m going use you like the little slut that you are,” he tells me, his eyes brimming with desire. I have no doubts about what he just said - he’s a man of his word. And each word that tumbles out of his mouth makes me want him more, boiling blood travelling through my veins and raising hell between my thighs. My thong is drenched, my juices soaking it in a way that hasn’t happened since… Well, since the last time we were together.… I can’t even start to explain how I’m feeling: to put it simply, this is raw desire in its purest and most violent form.

“Use me, sir,” I whisper, a smile pregnant with anticipation dawning on my lips. My heart feels tight inside my chest and, as I stare into his eyes, I realize that he’s going to ruin me completely. No other man will ever be able to make me feel like he does.

I throw my head back, baring my neck to him, and he savors my skin with hard kisses. I pant each time his lips touch me, a gentle fog of pleasure blanketing my mind. I get out of his hold with cat like movements, freeing my hands and taking them to his shirt, my frantic fingers popping button after button. I untuck his shirt then and, almost with a growl, I press the open palm of my hands on his pectorals, feeling the iron and steel of a rare breed of men under my fingertips. How the hell does a professor have a body like this? I don’t remember any barbells hiding under his desk.