Hunting Beauty (Possessing Beauty 4)

“Come for me,” he whispered in my ear, his lips brushing that tender spot on my neck. “Come for me, little girl.”

Everything after that was a blur. I remember screaming as I came harder than I’d ever even imagined someone could come. I remember my entire body shattering for him, exploding in pure pleasure as he grabbed my hips and buried himself to the hilt in my ass. I could feel him unleashing inside me, his hot cum pumping deep inside as the orgasm tore through me like a hurricane.

And then I remember him kissing me, and covering me with a sheet, and pulling me tight against him as the sweetest sleep imaginable took me under.

Chapter 7

Damon

I had officially crossed into the land of insane. Because this was truly madness. This was asking for trouble in the worst kind of way. Not only was she almost half my age, not only was she a damned virgin, not only was it so wrong that I’d spent the next three nights in her bed, showing her everything else but taking her virginity. No, beyond all that was the fact that she was the Princess of Berne. The. Damned. Princess.

And I was no prince. I wasn’t remotely royalty. This wasn’t just inappropriate, this was get your fucking head chopped off. Well, maybe not really, in this day and age. Certainly court-martialed, though. Certainly jailed. Certainly get the shit beaten out of you in jail by any number of willing life-sentence motherfuckers willing to take some cash for their families from whoever might want me dead or broken.

And yet, still I went back.

Still I’d sneak into her room, and into her bed, and into her willing arms, and between her willing legs. She was my obsession, my drug. I was addicted to the sounds of her moans in my ears, to the way her tight little body writhed for me, and to the way she screamed my name into her pillow as I made her come.

I showed her everything those next three nights — all of it — and she took it craving more.

This was crazy, batshit insane wrong.

And I didn’t care.

I was falling in all sorts of love with this girl. I was in over my head, and I knew it. So was she, and I knew she knew it too. But we didn’t care. The feelings were too real. The realization that nothing else in this world had ever felt so damned good was too real.

She was my everything, and as fucked up and wrong as I knew it was, I couldn’t stay away.

I wouldn’t.

She moaned, her thighs tightening on my head as her hand dropped to my hair. I growled into her pussy, having just woken her with my tongue pushing in deep.

It was the fourth night of our affair, and I’d snuck in a bit later than the nights before. I slowly pulled away, grinning wolfishly up at her.

“I’d apologize for waking you, but…” I shrugged.

“But you’re not sorry.”

“Not in the slightest.”

She grinned. “I thought you might not be coming.”

“Not a chance I wouldn’t. You fell asleep on me.”

“Someone’s kept me up the last few nights.”

“Someone’s going to keep you up very late tonight,” I growled, dropping my head back between her thighs.

“Wait.”

I paused, frowning as I glanced up at her.

“I have to tell you something.”

The frown deepened as I moved up next to her, my hand stroking her cheek. “Tell me.”

“I—” She looked away. “I have to go somewhere soon.”

“Oh?”

“A ball.”

She looked down, biting her lip.

“Tell me what’s wrong, beautiful.”

“It’s a suitors’ ball.”

I scowled, something dark welling up inside of me.

“I have to go,” she said glumly.

“A suitors’ ball to find you a husband, huh?”

Her face fell. “Don’t be mad, please? My dad’s making me go to it.” She sighed. “Well, no, actually it’s my stepmother that’s making me go.”

“Queen Mallory.”

Her face soured at the name. I didn’t blame her.

Queen Mallory was King Lorne’s second wife, and the total opposite of Kathryn, Adele’s mother who’d passed away years ago. Mallory also seemed to have gotten her claws in deep with her King, and rumor had it she was pulling more strings than people were aware of.

“Plus, it’s my uncle, King Lucian’s ball, in Avlion.”

I was quiet, brooding at the idea of her going off to parade around in front of a bunch of pampered little bitches calling themselves princes. I knew she was mine, and I wasn’t worried about her. I was worried about them. They didn’t know she was mine. The thought of them looking at her like that, of ogling her, and trying their hand at stupid lines, or trying to dance with her?

I growled lowly.

“Don’t be mad,” she whispered. “Honestly, if I could not go, I would.” Her fingers slid into mine. “You know I only want you.”