Shattered Prince

He made me feel worth something again.

He fucked me rough. He pulled my hair, slapped my ass, and squeezed my throat. He growled in my ear like a demon and I wanted it harder, faster, rougher. I wanted him to take me and break me. I wanted him to destroy me.

I came in a blinding frenzy. I melted beneath him, nearly falling. He held me up and kept going, unyielding, not willing to back down. I felt him fill me then, spurting deep, planting his seed between my legs.

I moaned as we finished together in a messy, sweating, panting tangle. He pulled me to him and we stumbled back, toppling down onto the couch.

“Dinner’s probably cold,” he whispered, hugging me close.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that funny but it was like something broke apart and I could finally smile. He grinned and kissed me, and I kissed him back and wrapped my arms around him, and felt it, felt his heart beating, the heat from his skin rising into the air, and I was safe, and I was home.

Finally, for the first time in my life—I felt like I belonged.

Chapter 24

Carmine

I woke the next morning with Jules in my arms. She slept so damn peacefully. Like a fucking angel. I slipped away, making sure I didn’t wake her, and pulled on some clothes.

It was early. Barely past eight. The apartment was quiet, but I’d expected that. We’d spent the night in and out of bed, fucking beneath the sheets, fucking in the shower, fucking on the floor. It was like whatever was holding us back from each other had finally melted away, and now we could revel in a frenzy of rough, sweaty, intense fucking.

I’d never felt so drained and satisfied in my entire life. And still, standing in the doorway to my room and looking back at her in my bed, I wanted more.

I’d let her sleep a bit longer. But as soon as she woke up, I needed to bend her over the bed and feel the bite of my palm against her taut, smooth ass.

It was like a drug. Like the pills I flushed down the toilet.

I turned and went into the kitchen, intent on making coffee—but found the pot half full and already warm.

A man sat in my living room, quietly flipping through a magazine.

I reached for the gun I kept hidden beneath the sink, but stopped when he looked over.

Jules’s father, Alejandro, smiled at me.

“Good morning, Carmine,” he said, gesturing for me to come join him. “I was wondering when you’d wake up.”

Alejandro. How the fuck did he get in here? And what the hell was with people sneaking into my goddamn apartment early in the morning these days?

I walked over, quietly vowing that I’d change my damn elevator code and get some better security.

“What are you doing here, Alejandro?” I asked. It wasn’t polite or graceful, but I was half-awake and his mostly naked daughter was lying in my sex-stained sheets, so I didn’t have the brain capacity for finesse at the moment.

“I heard things were happening. Big things. I wanted to check on you and Julieta.” His smile seemed forced. “How is she doing? Is she well? Enjoying her classes?”

“You can ask her when she gets up.” I met his eye and didn’t smile. I didn’t flinch, either. I wouldn’t lie, but there was no need to tell him that she’d been fucked to hell and back the night before, and I had even more filthy things planned for her this morning.

Which, unfortunately, would have to be rescheduled.

“Iago spoke with me last night, which is why I am here now. He told me about Oscar, the man I sent to help with my daughter’s protection.”

I shifted in my seat. “There were some problems.”

His smile faded. “Yes, some problems.”

How much did he know about Julieta? It couldn’t be much, if anything at all. There was no way he would’ve let a man like Oscar blackmail his own daughter.

But I couldn’t tell him that. If he found out, Jules would despise me. She’d worked so hard to keep that truth from her father, and she wasn’t ready for it all to come spilling out into the light.

“He’s been dealt with.”

“Ah, yes. So Iago has told me.” My heart raced. My hands were sweaty. He knew Oscar was dead. He tilted his chin down slightly and looked at the floor. “I have come with sincere apologies.”

My mouth opened to defend my decision—but the words died on my tongue.

Apologies?

“I don’t think you have anything to apologize for,” I said carefully, not sure if this was some kind of trap. I killed one of his guard. He had to be livid.

But he only shook his head. “Iago told me the truth of it. Oscar stole from you. Oscar made a mess of your home. He took drugs and bought women. He told me the state in which you found him.”