Vicious Prince (Royal Elite 5)

Interesting. I keep that information for later use.

I’m about to exit when he posts a picture. I click on the notification so fast I’m scared I actually alert him to my presence.

It’s a selfie of him lying on a bed, half-naked as usual, as he places a hand on his stomach — the same stomach I wrapped my legs around not long ago. The same stomach I rubbed myself on so he’d release me while having a crazy thought of What if he doesn’t?

The caption says: In the mood for some debauchery.

Swallowing, I click on the picture to study his messed-up hair and the slight smile on his face.

It’s like we’re still in that room. He’s pinning my wrists against the wall as my nipples brush against his naked chest and my core is sticky with arousal on his stomach.

My hand snakes under my pyjama shorts and cotton underwear to find my folds — my wet folds.

It’s still such a weird sensation to be wet. I have a toy and I touch myself, but it’s felt so bland, so uninteresting, even, that I started to wonder if I’m somehow asexual.

Right now, though? As I stare at his face, at his hand on his stomach where I was not long ago, there’s no asexuality whatsoever.

I rub my fingers over my clit and my lids flutter closed. Rich brown eyes invade my thoughts, and I moan then hide my face in my pillow to muffle the sound.

He’s gripping me by the wrists, pinning me, making me helpless as he dry-humps me over and over again.

He’s kissing me hard and fast and he’s touching me, flicking my clit, twisting my nipple —

I come.

I don’t even know how it happens, but my body shakes and I free-fall into a feeling so addictive I want to restart all over again.

My eyes snap open, and I find his face in that picture.

What the hell is he doing to me? Why am I letting him?

I pull my hand from between my sticky legs, feeling disgusted that I let him, a pawn, get to me this way.

He won’t.

Absolutely won’t.

I start to tuck the phone away then notice I clicked like.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

I remove it immediately. He probably receives a thousand notifications, so surely he didn’t notice it.

Just when I’m about to throw my phone to the ground, it vibrates with a text. I startle, my heart nearly jumping into my throat when I make out his name.

Ronan: Hey, stalker *winking emoji*

He noticed. Oh, god, he noticed.

What is wrong with me today?

But fuck him, really. I won’t reply.

When I ignore his text, he sends another.

Ronan: How-about-no98 is an interesting username, by the way.