Vicious Prince (Royal Elite 5)

Her care extends to a few people — Ethan, Knox, Elsa, and that fucking Agnus — and she doesn’t even show it that much.

I trace a finger over her cheek and brush the black hair from her face to get a better view of her and commit her to memory.

No idea why there’s this need to box her up somewhere, maybe reach inside her and have first viewing rights to what lurks in her pretty head.

I’ve always hated other people’s secrets, but hers are that forbidden fruit I can’t ignore, whose temptation I can’t resist.

I want to claw into Teal’s skin, and not only physically — I want to invade her head and see past it, inside it, everywhere in it.

Fucked up? Probably, but that’s how I become around this girl.

That’s what the great Ronan Astor is reduced to.

Even my dick, Ron Astor the Second, agrees with any idea that involves being inside her.

I haven’t been flaccid since she showed up in front of me and I thought she was a ghost, a vision, or anything that would keep me company.

Like a good creep, I spend most of the night watching her sleeping face. Ron Astor the Second wouldn’t have let me sleep anyway. The fucker is more than awake, as if he’s high on Viagra.

I inhale her in, letting my lungs expand with everything about her. It’s weird how she doesn’t have those certain scents like other girls. She doesn’t smell of Chanel or Dior. She doesn’t even use any fruity or flowery soaps or shampoos. There’s only this faint lime fragrance that comes off her, and it’s not noticeable enough to be considered a perfume. It’s almost as if she’s trying hard to go undetected.

But she’s not. Not even close.

The scent that invades my nose is more than lime and more her. A bit unhinged, a bit innocent, a bit…secretive.

Teal is the closest thing I’ve seen to fog. She’s there, but when you touch her, it’s almost as if she doesn’t exist.

She mumbles something in her sleep, and I stroke her hair, my fingers getting lost between the silky strands. It’s like they can never get dishevelled.

I wonder how she’d feel waking up to an orgasm. After all, she’s slept for long enough.

It’s not fair that she gets to sleep while Ron Astor the Second and I suffer in silence.

One way to find out.

I shuffle a little, and the leather sofa creaks in protest. I reach between us and twist her nipples. A mumble escapes her lip as my hand falls down and I rub her clit in tiny circles.

Unlike what I expected, she doesn’t buck against my hand and remains completely still, her eyes shut tight and her brows furrowing. I think it’s because of the pleasure she’s trying to contain, but then she whispers unintelligible words. Another mewl falls from her mouth and it soon turns into a sob.

The sound is so haunted and raw it hits me straight in the chest.

“P-please…” she sobs quietly. “I-I’m sorry…so sorry…M-Mum…Mumm…I’m sorry…please.”

I remove my hand as if I’ve been hit with a bat.

What in the actual fuck?

Teal’s eyes snap open, and for a second, they appear like obsidian black holes. They’re filled with tears, but there’s nothing there, a blank, deep hole.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her cry, and it’s the most haunting scene I’ve ever witnessed. It’s almost as if she’s not feeling her own tears, as if she’s not here.

As if she doesn’t exist.

Or maybe she exists, but it’s in a different dimension with different people and a different state of mind.

“Teal?” I call her name when she doesn’t show any sign of recognising her surroundings.

She hasn’t blinked in long seconds, her gaze still a void with no life inside.