By the time I’ve pulled on a bathrobe and closed the door behind me, her breathing has evened out.
I go out to the balcony and close the door behind me, before placing a call to the City Guard station. I make a report about the incident with the truck outside Balzac House, and then call Duchess Balzac.
She picks up on the second ring. “Mr. Rasmussen? Where’s my daughter?”
“Good evening, Your Grace. Is the Duke well?”
“The Duke is as well as can be expected after receiving your news.”
“Are you with your husband? Put me on speaker phone, please.” There’s a pause as she does as I ask. “Sachelle’s safe. She’s with me.”
Duchess Balzac makes an impatient noise. Her husband clears his throat. “Will you please bring our daughter home? It’s getting late.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, I can’t. She’s safer with me after what happened tonight.”
“What do you mean, after what happened tonight?”
“There was an incident outside Balzac House. Someone tried to run her down with a truck.”
There’s a pause, and then Duchess Balzac snaps, “I don’t believe you. I think this is a ruse you and Sachelle came up with. Now tell me, where’s my daughter?”
“At my apartment, with me.”
“As I thought,” says the Duke. “Listen to me, Rasmussen. Bring my daughter back at once.”
“I already told you that I can’t. I don’t know who I’m dealing with or what they’re capable of just yet, so tonight, she stays with me.” There’s a furious silence on the line. “You can check the CCTV footage in front of your house if you don’t believe me, or call the City Guard station to ask for a copy of the report I just made.”
Duchess Balzac latches onto what I’ve just said. “Why did you only just make the report? What have you been doing for hours and hours?”
I smile a little as I say, “Ensuring Sachelle’s safety and her peace of mind.”
“Lady Sachelle,” the Duchess corrects me.
“I don’t like your tone, Rasmussen,” growls her husband.
“Your Graces, she’s going to be my wife. I’ll call her Sachelle and use whatever damn tone I like.”
Another blistering silence.
“Let me speak to my daughter,” Duchess Balzac snaps.
“No. She’s asleep.”
“Where?”
I prop my shoulder against the wall and gaze out over the city. “Where do you think?”
I allow the Duke and Duchess to exclaim about this for one minute before cutting them off. “Sachelle will be returned to you in the morning and she will have bodyguards who will protect her when I’m not with her. I’ll be in touch about the wedding arrangements. Goodnight, Your Graces.”
Before they can reply, I hang up. I stretch my arms over my head and head back into the living room. That went about as well as can be expected. Duke Balzac could make problems for me by attempting to block the marriage, but if he tries, I’ll go over his head to the King. The Balzacs are too obsessed with class, scared of losing who they are all over again. I don’t give a damn about that, or even about the monarchy. King Anson could be President Anson or Prime Minister Anson and I’d still support him with all my strength and conviction. It’s the man who matters, not the title. Cassian Bellerose might laugh with scorn to hear me say that, but it wasn’t his lower-class status that made me mistrust him. It’s his father’s murderous blood running through his veins.
I slip into bed beside Sachelle. She stirs lightly, but doesn’t protest as I pull her body flush against mine and plant kisses on her throat.
“My parents…” she mumbles sleepily. “They’ll be worried.”
“Shh, little fox. Everything’s under control. Go back to sleep.”
I close my eyes with my arms wrapped around my bride, and feel the blissful darkness of slumber sweeping over me.
A few hours later, I awake with my stiffened cock pressing between Sachelle’s thighs. Murmuring softly, she wriggles her hips against me and the tip of my cock slides against her slippery entrance.
“Mine,” I say in her ear as I thrust into her.
Her eyes fly open in the dark and she breathes in sharply. Then, like the good, horny girl I know she is, she braces her hands against the headboard and pushes back against me, moaning my name as I push deep.
This isn’t enough. I need to watch her getting fucked. Her pretty tits bouncing.
I pull out and roll her onto her back, and then slide myself into her. “Baby, your pussy feels like heaven.”
Her arms are thrown above her head and she draws her thighs up to her chest, the perfect picture of getting fucked.
“Make sure you pull out, I’m not on the pill.”
“Why would I pull out when I could cream-pie this sweet pussy of yours?”
Her face flushes in the darkness. “You’re so crude, Jakob.”
“It’s not crude to love rawing my bride. Play with your clit for me. I bet you look so fucking pretty like that.”