Cruel Prince Read online

  Underneath she wore a pair of purple polka dot panties I couldn’t take my eyes off of. They were simple, demure-looking and covered her completely, yet something about them made my blood pump even harder. I knew they would fuel my dreams for years to come.

  Once I had her bare, I whispered in her ear, “Want me to make you feel good again?”

  She nodded at the same time she whispered back, “Please.”

  At the moment, she was laid across the cushions of the sofa lengthways, but I needed her in a different position for what I had in mind. “Sit up for me, put your bottom right at the edge of your seat.” After that, I had her recline backwards as I sat on the carpet and made myself at home between her thighs.

  “Marco? What…”

  “Do you trust me?”

  She nodded again.

  “Then, relax.”

  Once she was where I wanted her, I relieved myself of my coat and suit jacket so I’d have more freedom of movement, then dipped forward and placed my mouth on her core. She gasped and sat up as if shocked by the contact, but I knew enough about her responses now to know this was a good reaction rather than a bad one.

  I continued on, outlining her flawless pink center with my tongue, lapping up her sweet essence and reveling in it. I loved this, loved being surrounded by her, loved having her be the only thing my senses registered as real. I could stay like this, encased like this with her and die a happy man.

  Wrapping an arm around her slender waist, I anchored myself there, flicking my tongue across her most sensitive skin as I inserted a finger inside of her. Her breathing had accelerated into these gasps and hums, and when I inserted a second finger and sucked that upraised bundle of nerves with a bit more force, she came, squirming and shuddering in a frenzy around me.

  Though the temperature outside hovered around freezing, here in the living room a cute little pot-bellied stove had been lit, leaving our precious hideaway toasty warm. Kelly laid in front of me, her naked chest heaving as she settled back down, her alabaster skin dewy with perspiration. I gazed at her for an endless minute, storing this image away for eternity.

  Gathering her up, I carried her over to the main bedroom with its king-sized bed, knowing this would be the best time to go further, now that she was malleable and ready for me.

  I laid her at the center of the mattress, stripping out of everything but my button-down dress shirt. The living room had been well lit with overhead lighting and lamps illuminating every corner. Here, though, in the bedroom, the main source of light came through a single window, its curtains closed for privacy, and the roaring woodburning fireplace taking up most of one wall.

  The flickering quality of the light, while gorgeous in the way it highlighted Kelly’s form, suddenly reminded me of another time, another place. Another set of circumstances began to dominate my mind, circumstances where similar flames had barraged me, trapped me, ignited my skin as if it were nothing more than paper, charring it beyond recognition.

  I could feel it, too. Feel how it singed me, the pain of it going deeper and deeper as it roasted me alive.

  “Marco? Are you okay?” came a voice, Kelly’s. But it seemed to be coming from far away.

  I couldn’t catch my breath. Couldn’t un-see what I had seen. Couldn’t forget the pain or the certainty that I was about to die in one of the most drawn-out and agonizing ways imaginable.

  And smoke. I could smell it. Feel it choking me as the taste of its acrid flavor consumed each of my senses all over again.

  A shadow approached, and I flinched and retreated as it touched me. Would it burn me, too?

  I had to get out of here, had to escape. I couldn’t go through that again. I refused to. I’d rather throw myself out the window, slicing myself into ribbons and breaking half my bones, before I’d allow my body to be set ablaze again.

  “Marco, it’s me. It’s Kelly.”

  I blinked and gazed into Kelly’s face, recognizing for the first time that it wasn’t a shadow that had a hold of me but her. She stood in front of me, clutching my wrists with a firmness that jolted me back to reality as my inhales and exhales sped through me like a freight train, my pulse at an Olympic level sprint.

  What just happened?

  17

  Kelly

  “Marco, it’s me. It’s Kelly.”

  I gripped onto Marco, shaking him until he glanced up. At last, he focused on me, his dark eyes wild. Afraid. He was quivering from head to toe, and all at once it hit me. I knew what this was because I’d experienced it myself. A panic attack, and a rough one at that. It was only now beginning to subside.

  “Kelly?”

  The look on his face tore at my heart. It was the look of a terrified child. And for the first time since I’d met Marco, I could picture him like that, imagine how youthful and soft his features must’ve been before time and the responsibilities he carried had tempered him into a man.

  “Hey,” I said, smiling soothingly as I reached up to trace the divot in his chin with my thumb as I cupped his cheek. “There you are. You’re okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  He went quiet and still. So still as to be almost motionless. He seemed unsure, another behavior I’d not witnessed from him before. Every behavior Marco Varasso had exhibited prior to this had oozed strength, confidence, and even cockiness from time to time. He could be kind, too, and gentle. But I’d never seen him unsettled, and certainly not to such an extreme degree.

  This appeared to have flung him right off his foundations.

  His gaze zeroed in on the large fireplace on the opposite side of the bedroom, providing me with a possibility to what had caused his attack.

  “It’s the fire, isn’t it?” I said. “It makes sense after receiving such bad burns. We can go into another room, if you want.”

  Closing his eyes, he gave me one quick nod. I took his hand and led him away from the heat and flames, away from the audible crackling of the logs. I wandered through the cottage until I found a smaller bedroom. Once there, I peeled back the luxurious silken bed linens and climbed onto the queen-sized mattress, patting the space beside me in invitation.

  “Come here.”

  Marco Varasso was a take charge kind of guy. A man whose presence commanded respect without even trying. Yet when it came to us, he often let me take the lead. I’d initiated the first kisses between us, and then specifically asked for the sexual contact we’d shared. Now, I attempted to guide him again, this time to provide comfort.

  All he wore now was his white oxford-style shirt, the tails at the front and back hanging low enough to obscure the most tantalizing parts of him. He kept the shirt on as he did what I asked, sliding in beside me and resting his head against my chest.

  “It helps to talk about it, you know,” I encouraged him. “If you ever want to.”

  He remained silent for a long time, so I assumed he didn’t want to discuss it. But then, he spoke up.

  “It was a house fire,” he told me, his voice a murmur. “It destroyed the home my brothers and I lived in, the one we grew up in. The upper floors caved in and…” he trailed off, but I could guess what happened next.

  “Did anyone else get hurt?” I asked, curious but trying not to pry too far. I wanted to know more about him so badly, but I didn’t want to come across as nosy.

  “Yeah. Luca got burned on his legs. Second-degree, mostly. His worst injury was a broken shinbone. He still limps a little from it.” He paused. “Also, our housekeeper died. She never escaped from her room on the first floor.”

  So many questions skittered across my brain demanding to know more, but I hesitated, afraid of overstepping. Luckily, he spoke up again so I didn’t have to torment myself over what I could ask.

  “That’s never happened to me before.”

  “The panic attack?”

  “Yeah. I’ve had plenty of nightmares, but nothing that sucker punched me in broad daylight.” His tone sounded irritated, as if he was upset at something out of his con
trol. Maybe he was upset because it was out of his control.

  “I’ve had panic attacks, too, if it makes you feel better,” I admitted.

  “What’s yours about?”

  “Just general terror about a lack of money,” I chuckled out, combing my fingers through his hair over and over. I loved the feel of it. “Like, that I’ll lose my job and my parents and me will end up homeless. Like the creditors on my mom’s medical bills will sue us, and we’ll wind up in debtor’s prison or something. I know that’s not really a thing anymore, but that’s what I freak out about. I know that sounds crazy…”

  “It’s not crazy. You’re not crazy. Or at least, if you are, then I’m batshit insane.”

  “Two peas in a pod, are we?”

  He rose up on his elbow, propping his head on his hand, his lips uplifted into a faint smile. “I guess we are.”

  He kissed me, slanting his mouth over mine before teasing me with his tongue. I’d never been in this position, in a bed with the weight of a man pressing me lightly into the mattress, and I was anxious to go forward. Marco had already spun me higher than I’d have thought possible prior to meeting him, and I wanted to fly with him again.

  My fingers sought out the buttons of his shirt, working them loose so I could take it off. I wasn’t sure why he’d continued to wear it. Eventually, because of the way he was positioned over me, I couldn’t reach any more, and I stopped kissing him for long enough to try giving him a command.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  “That’s okay.” He said it not in acquiescence, but more as a refusal. But that was just silly.

  “You know,” I started rocking my body against his. “You’ve seen me naked twice. I’d say it’s time for you to return the favor.”

  “I’m naked where it counts,” he grinned mischievously, thrusting his hips forward so that I could feel exactly how naked that part of him was.

  And as much as I wanted to explore his body further in regards to that, I could tell he was doing his best to avoid doing what I wanted. Fed up, I finally just asked straight out.

  “Marco, why won’t you take off your shirt?”

  He stopped moving and frowned, but answered nonetheless. “I don’t want to gross you out.”

  “What do you think I’ll be grossed out by? Your…” I gestured toward his crotch under the covers.

  “No. Christ, I hope that doesn’t gross you out.” He pulled away, sitting up and releasing a male noise of frustration. “I’ve already fucked this up once—ruined the moment. I’d rather not do it again.”

  I have to admit to feeling bewildered for a few seconds. But then, everything clicked into place. The burn scars. He was hiding them from me. If he was this concerned about them, he must think them hideous. I considered the photos I’d seen of third-degree burns on the internet.

  Some were gory. Some disfigured the patient to the point of hampering their mobility. All were tragic and permanent.

  But would they ruin the moment?

  Not if I didn’t let them.

  As long as I proved to him that they didn’t bother me, it’d be okay. Right? They’d quit being an issue. I hoped.

  Swallowing hard and gathering my courage, I took a deep breath. “I want to see you. All of you.”

  In response, he scowled at me. Scowled.

  I’d been privy to several of Marco’s moods and reactions.

  He had both a serious and a playful side. I’d seen what he was like when in pain, when filled with lust, and when angry and aggravated. I’d seen the nurturing side of him, too. And a little bit ago, I’d seen him be genuinely fearful. Now what I saw out of him was a mixture of several at once: I could feel his anger and aggravation, yes. But I could also sense his fear.

  Much as I doubted he’d admit it.

  He huffed out audibly and sat up. He finished unbuttoning his shirt, then yanked it down and off his shoulders. Keeping the shirt within reach, he remained ramrod straight in front of me, his breathing too fast and his gaze averted.

  He was sincerely nervous about this.

  So I steeled myself. No matter how awful they were, I made the decision to not react in even a minimally negative way. I couldn’t. He’d trusted me with this, and I wasn’t about to disappoint or upset him now.

  I raised up onto my knees and peeked over at him.

  The scar was large. It stretched in a wide patch along the tops of both shoulders and partway down his back. It reached up his neck to the place where a collar would sit, then dipped in an irregular pattern across the length of his shoulder blades.

  Within the scarred area lay impressions that must’ve come from skin grafts; there was a uniformity to those parts, like the meshed fibers of a loosely woven fabric. Parts of the scar matched his skin tone, while some were a darker pink or even a pale white color.

  Unlike the rest of his smooth skin, the scar was shiny in places, dull in others, and was upraised throughout. I was certain that if I touched it, I could feel the difference between it and his normal, healthy skin.

  But it wasn’t inconceivably horrifying or anything. I felt terrible that it had happened to him—I couldn’t imagine how excruciating that must’ve been for Marco to endure—but it didn’t bother me. And it definitely didn’t gross me out.

  To prove this, I scooted up closer to him. Using a feather light touch, I pressed my lips to the middle of his scar. His whole frame twitched when I did, as if he hadn’t been expecting that, but he didn’t stop me. I continued to cover every inch of the damaged skin with kisses, needing him to know that I accepted him, scar or no scar. I accepted him just as he was.

  When I finished, I enveloped him in my arms, pressing my bare chest to his back as I embraced him from behind. He twisted around and I loosened my grip, catching sight of his face.

  His expression nearly made me break down. It was equal parts astounded, stricken, and grateful, and when he touched his lips to mine, I could feel every bit of that emotion flowing out of him and into me.

  Our kisses went from tender to impassioned, and he began to massage me all over, building to something powerful. Once he brought me to the point of trembling, he drew back as if to leave the bed.

  “But…” If he left me high and dry now, I truly would break down and cry. “Don’t go.”

  “I’m not,” he promised. “Just need to grab some condoms.”

  I watched as he hurried out of the room and back—while the view of him going was wonderful, the view of him coming back was downright spectacular—carrying some foil packets in his hand.

  He ripped one open and I stared fascinated as he rolled it down his length, slightly intimidated by just how long and thick that length was. I’d heard some scary stories from my mom about how bad losing your virginity could be. Stories of blood and lots of pain. I hoped she’d exaggerated, but what if she hadn’t?

  Marco had already established himself as an expert at making me feel good, but I was fairly certain me screaming in agony would put more of a damper on things than either scars or panic attacks ever could. Now, I had the dubious honor of being the nervous one.

  I attempted to act blasé and nonchalant about it. Everyone had to lose their virginity sometime. But he didn’t buy it.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Kelly. I promise. If you need me to slow down or stop or anything else, you tell me.”

  One thing I’d noticed about us was that we both seemed to be very tuned in to each other. What I had with him stood outside of any of my other relationships, not just because of the sensuality of it, but because of the emotional intensity. Just like I’d been able to sense what would most help him, he always seemed to know what would most help me.

  And those words couldn’t have been spoken at a better time if he’d tried.

  “I trust you,” I told him, running my thumb over the cleft in his chin again.

  Then his hands passed over me, ratcheting up the tension throughout my system. He held my breasts in each palm, his thumbs brushing ove
r my nipples as he sucked the skin just below my earlobe into his mouth, making me cry out at the duel sensations occurring simultaneously. Laying my body flat, he hovered over me, dropping one hand to my folds.

  “Christ, Kelly, you’re always so wet,” he said, that familiar strain making his voice gravelly again.

  “You make me wet,” I told him, shocking myself. I’d never said any such thing before. Never used such crude and dirty language, even if it was the truth. But my reaction was nothing compared to Marco’s, who groaned, squishing his eyes shut and scrunching up his face. Had something gone wrong? “What happened?”

  “You almost made me come, that’s what happened.”

  “Just by saying you make me wet?”

  He growled then, and nipped at my shoulder. I gasped at how much I liked it. “Yes.”

  I smiled, feeling a strange feeling I’d never felt before. Empowered. “Good to know.”

  He smiled back, though his was far more predatory. “There’s something else you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Payback is a bitch.”

  “Lord, I hope so,” I giggled, enjoying this teasing thing we had going back and forth.

  But then he inserted two fingers into me at once, and my giggles died away. His predatory smile vanished too as he removed his fingers and placed himself at my entrance instead. I stiffened and shut my eyes tight, my entire body bracing itself against what he was about to do.

  “Baby?” he said, moving his free hand to frame one side of my face.

  “Uh huh?” I squeaked.

  “You have to relax, or this’ll hurt no matter what I do.” He looked away from me for a moment as if needing to regain control, then turned back. “You hear me? Breathe out, okay? Let every muscle go to mush.”

  I did as he said, making myself relax as best I could.