Crown Me, Prince Read online

  So when he takes off his pants and reveals a massive, hard, thick cock, I gasp at the incredulity of my life. He just pressed his fingers so deep inside me I basically exploded on his face, and he loved it. And I loved it. I felt gorgeous and desired, my body hot and alive and ready.

  Ready for his cock to be inside me again.

  “Oh my god, you’re so big.”

  “You can handle it,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

  I blink slowly, my senses awakened, my pussy once again on fire. Now that I’m lying across the bed, I watch as Garrick straddles me, his hands running over my shoulders, over the peaks of my breasts, down my rib cage, until he reaches my entrance. One hand palms my pussy, fluttering against the folds. I close my eyes, unable to think or breathe. His hands are so big and they touch me so well.

  “When I come in you, I’m going to fill you with my seed. I’m going to fuck you and I’m going to fill you with an heir.” He looks at me and means every word he says. It gives me a thrill; my entire body awakens, because the idea of giving this man what he needs, the idea of being able to provide for him what he wants, is intoxicating.

  It’s more than I imagined.

  I want to give this man what he wants. A baby.

  “Come in me again, come in me like you promised.”

  He nods, his mouth meeting mine again and he kisses me as he drills his cock deeper into me.

  “Oh Princess, you feel so good.” He moves deeper and deeper and deeper in me until there’s nowhere else to go. Both of us, drenched in sweat, my legs wrapped around him so tight.

  He rocks in me, my pussy tight and full, and right when he is about to come, he pulls put.

  “I’m going to mark you as mine, Princess,” he tells me.

  His cock is hard in his hand, pulsing with life, and my pussy cries, wanting him in me again.

  He pumps his cock, and ropes of come spurt from the tip, the milky pleasure falling over my breasts, my nipples. I reach up, wanting to rub his come all over me, wanting to be marked by him just like he promised.

  “I’m still so fucking hard for you,” he tells me, and I reach for his length, feeling the soft ridges of his cock, amazed by the weight and thickness of it. It makes me wet all over again, just holding his manhood.

  “Oh god, Garrick, I’m so hot for you again,” I moan, unable to stop my pussy from aching for him.

  I pump his length, getting him harder than he was before, and he kisses me, grinding against my body.

  I press his cock inside of me, and his hands cradle my face.

  Oh, yeah. That is what I need. What I want.

  We fuck, we come. All night.

  Together. Forever.

  This is right.

  Our bodies orgasm, and any doubts I may have had slip my mind.

  They are replaced by exhaustion, as my body lies cradled in his arms.

  When I wake, bright sun shines through a small window across from the bed. I sit up and see that no one is beside me.

  No one, meaning my husband.

  Husband. The word is still so foreign on my lips. I look at myself—wrapped in a sheet, naked—instantly remembering the way he took my body last night. So fully and completely.

  After we made love many times, I fell asleep. My eyes closed as the exhaustion of the day swept over me.

  I moved to a new country after saying goodbye to everyone I love, boarded a plane and arrived in Alpinweiss, and met my husband—well, actually I married him first. Then we fought, made up, and made love.

  And now, sitting up in bed, I look around this one-room cabin and realize it’s actually icy cold. A shiver runs over me. Last night, it was dark when I woke up from a fainting spell.

  I woke in a room filled with candlelight and a fire blazing in a wood stove. I wasn’t able to make out the details of the room around me, mostly because I was blinded by the way Garrick looked at me—like he wanted me, needed me.

  The same way I looked at him.

  I stand, wrapping the sheet around me, and walk toward the wood-burning stove. There’s a log in it, but it’s fading fast. The neon-orange embers glow against the ashy gray.

  Sighing, and not at all interested in setting my new husband’s house on fire, I step away from the wood stove and assess the situation. “Garrick?” I call out. “Are you here?”

  I turn in a circle, getting a grip on my surroundings. A queen-sized bed, an end table with a stack of books. Hurricane lamps, two windows. A kitchen without a stove ... though this wood-burning stove is here. A water pump mounted above a white enamel basin. A table with two chairs; in the center, a bowl of apples. There are two chests of drawers.

  There’s little else. A braided rug on the floor, with two rocking chairs. A few rifles hang on the wall, and an axe hangs below them.

  This place is really rustic. Really rugged. Being here alone, I feel exposed—naked and alone. My suitcase waits by the front door, and when I walk to get it I notice a small door leading to the bathroom. Thank God. For a moment I had this terrifying thought that there wasn’t actually an indoor bathroom.

  By which I mean, there are limits … and then there are limits.

  I toss my suitcase on the bed and root around for my toiletries. I need to brush my teeth before Garrick shows up. Grabbing my bag, I step inside the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind me.

  I pee, sitting on the icy toilet seat, looking around this man’s bathroom. And it’s exactly that. I don’t think it’s ever had a woman’s touch, let alone ever had a woman sit on this seat.

  At the sink, I realize there’s no warm water handle on the faucet. And the cold water does nothing to warm me up.

  I reach into the tiny shower stall and turn on the water, confused when only cold water pours out of the showerhead, also.

  I suppress a full on melt down and decide now is not the time to act like a four year old. I’m a grown-ass woman and can handle a little cold water, right?

  Besides, I don’t have a choice.

  I need to bathe. Because besides being coated in my own come, and Garrick’s come, I’m also gross from yesterday’s travel.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  I gingerly step under the showerhead, bracing myself for the chilly water. Holy hell, it’s cold. So, so, cold.

  I shriek. Because fuck my life.

  “Oh my God,” I yell, dancing on my tippy-toes as the water falls over my hair and my shoulders and my skin. “Torture. This is torture.” Reaching for the faucet, I turn it off as fast as I can.

  On the other side of the door I hear Garrick.

  “What the hell, woman? Stop your hollering.”

  I roll my eyes, looking around for a towel. “Where do you put your towels?”

  “Unlock the door and I’ll show you.” His voice is full of humor, but right now I’m not laughing.

  Reaching out of the shower, I click open the door but jump back inside the stall, holding the shower curtain over my naked body. Over my naked, goosebump-covered body.

  “What are you hiding?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He’d holding to-go cups of coffee and pastry bags.

  “Do you not have warm water?”

  “Why would I have that?” he asks, deadpan.

  “Because it’s 2016.”

  “Oh, Princess, living in the present tense is over-rated.” He opens a cabinet above the toilet, finds a clean towel, and hands it to me.

  I grab it, pulling the curtain to cover me, and begin drying my legs. I can hardly breathe, it’s so cold.

  “This is ridiculous. Not having hot water here is unacceptable, Garrick. What other archaic rituals do you subscribe to? Let me guess, you wash your laundry by hand?”

  He scoffs. “I didn’t, the laundress in town did. Now, though, I won’t have to send it out.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask from behind the curtain. I squeeze my wet hair, and droplets of cold water fall on my toes.

  “You’re my wife.”
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br />   “I don’t follow,” I say, stepping out of the shower with the towel surely fastened around me. Even though last night was blissful, the morning has quickly created a divide between Garrick and me.

  “Why do you think I need a wife?” he asks.

  “Because your parents wanted an heir. Because you’re a grown man.”

  “I don’t know how things operate back in Elexia—if women just get married and lounge around all day—but that’s not how things are going to work between us.”

  I shake my head, wondering how someone so good with their hands can be so dense. I don’t even know how to address his statement, so I avoid it. “I need another towel.”

  “Why is that?” he asks. “One is enough.”

  “Are you seriously rationing my towel usage?” Pushing behind him, I grab another towel from the cabinet. I fling my hair upside down and gather it in the towel, then wrap it in a turban on top of my head.

  I pull out my blow dryer from my toiletries bag and scan the bathroom, but I can’t find an electrical socket. Of course there’s not a single socket here.

  “Do you have electricity in this place?” I ask tightly.

  “Electricity?” Garrick crosses his arms, assessing me.

  I have literally zero patience for his games right now. It’s like a roller coaster with Garrick. The highs and lows are too much. I feel sick.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “Electricity is this thing that transmits an electric current, that makes things operate. Like charging things, or running things. For example, a refrigerator. Or a stove.”

  “That’s all unnecessary bullshit.”

  “Garrick. I could see how a cell phone charging may seem like “bullshit” to you. But a refrigerator is necessary. How do you keep your food cold?”

  “I knew it was going to be like this with you.”

  “You mean you knew your wife would want to refrigerate her milk?”

  “Exactly.” He smirks, kicks open the door, and leaves the bathroom—with the coffee still in his hand.

  I blink.

  Did my husband seriously just tell me we don’t have electricity?

  I tug the towel tighter around my body, realizing that I’m not going to be able to blow-dry my hair. Basically, ever again.

  I have to get out of the freaking woods.

  Chapter 12

  I knew this whole thing was going to be a cluster fuck. Last night, taking her against the wall in my old royal chamber, was an anomaly.

  It was the heat of the moment. She was high and I was hot and we were both ready. There was the exhilaration of getting married and having our first fight, and then walking into the castle ballroom. Her eyes lit up and her tits were taut and I was so pissed at even having to be there—it all led up to one passionate deflowering.

  And then later, it wasn’t just hot, it was heaven.

  But now, seeing her like this, unwilling to even take a moment and try to see where I’m coming from? It’s exactly what I thought it would be: a disaster.

  Unless a woman chose this life on her own there’s no way in hell she would want it. I don’t know how this is going to work, unless she calms the fuck down.

  She storms around the cabin, rifling through the suitcase that’s tossed open across our bed.

  “I got coffee,” I tell her, setting her cup on the counter. “And croissants. I don’t usually do that shit, but I thought it would help start things off right.”

  “Right. Because coffee is just going to make up for that fact we don’t have electricity.”

  “I was trying to be a fucking gentleman.”

  “Yeah, you should totally get a prize for that.”

  I shake my head and walk to the stove. I stoke the dying embers, add a log, and stare into the flames—because, hell, I don’t know how to deal with Iris.

  These four walls feel much too cramped. Not enough space for two of us.

  I look over my shoulder and see her, wrapped in a towel, looking for clothes in her suitcase. My cock twitches at the sight of her bare shoulders and dewy face. What I wouldn’t do to rip that terrycloth off and throw it across the room.

  “There’s some drawers over there,” I tell her, nodding to the dresser in the corner. “You don’t have to leave your stuff lying around.”

  “Seriously? Garrick, I’ve been here less than one day. Can you give me a break, just like a little bit? I’ll unpack, but God, it’s been like five seconds.”

  I know that defending myself, explaining that I didn’t mean she needed to do it right now, that I just wanted to tell her I made space for her, won’t do any good. Instead, I stand, take another drink of the black coffee I got from the shop in town.

  “This is an arranged marriage, Iris. I didn’t pick this match either. We’re going to have to compromise.”

  Still hovering over her suitcase, she bristles. “I was totally tricked into this. I thought I was marrying a prince who at least wanted a wife.”

  “Oh, Princess, nobody tricked you. Your daddy was desperate.”

  “Don’t talk about my father. You don’t know him, and you don’t know me. So I’ll tell you a few things, since you didn’t ask. I may have loved our time last night, but I am not just going to take it up the ass.” She crosses her arms, and walks toward me, obviously wanting to make her point crystal clear. “I’m not going to budge on the hot water issue,” she says, “or the refrigerator issue. I’m not asking for the freaking world, or the castle, or a maid, or even a car. I just want to dry my hair.”

  “Oh, I see.” I snort. “So you’re laying down an ultimatum now? One morning without your precious hairdryer and you’re hoping to strike a deal? I don’t do deals, Princess.”

  “I didn’t ask you to make a deal with me, Garrick. I’m just telling you like it is.” She drops the towel and tosses it on the floor.

  My eyes rake over her gorgeous, naked body. Her hips are begging me to hold them, her breasts full and made for a titty-fuck. Her pussy is perfectly shaven, perfectly mine.

  She wants to fight? Fine. I’ll just have to get her on her back and make her stop all this fussing.

  “How it is, huh?” I ask, taking her by the waist and drawing her to me. “I know you don’t want to take it up the ass, but Princess, your pussy will do just fine.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Iris asks, looking up at me.

  “What’s your deal, woman? I thought you were ready to go again.”

  “You’re wrong.” She pushes away from me. “You don’t want to play games? Fine. I don’t either. You don’t want to make a deal? Fine. I don’t either. You want to have sex with me? Fine. Move me out of this shack.”

  “What are you getting at?” I step toward Iris again, still enamored with the rise and fall of her tits, but also the rise and fall of her question.

  Move out of the shack?

  “You heard me, Garrick. You know perfectly well what I’m saying to you. You want this,” she asks, gesturing up and down her body. Her bare naked body. “Then you need to change this.” She waves her hand around my cabin.

  I sigh, running my hand over my jaw.

  “Your body has a price, that’s what you’re saying?” I ask.

  “Not a price. I’m looking for respect Garrick.”

  I woke this morning wanting to make a bridge from her world to mine. I got her fucking coffee and thought she’d be able to handle a conversation. I thought the two of us could sit on the front porch—my front porch—and talk things out like reasonable adults.

  She wants to fight instead?

  I’m not leaving this place, not for her, not now. Not ever.

  “So what’s it going to be?” Iris asks. She reaches for the towel on the floor but makes no move to wrap it around herself. The confidence this woman has is intoxicating. She shakes her wet hair out, droplets of water falling across my hardwood floor.

  My floor. In my cabin. The place I’m not leaving for anyone. Especially someone who won’t calm the fuck down and talk things
through. She’s so riled up.

  I’m not going to be swayed by one pussy, no matter how perfect it is.

  “Princess, you’re not going to move me with those tits. It’s going to take a lot more than that. This is our house. So you can just get the idea of leaving out of your pretty little head. This idea you have of us moving to the castle? No way in hell.”

  “Oh my God, Garrick you’re such an ass.” She turns from me, reaching into her suitcase, then grabs a tiny thong and pulls it on. I watch her exposed ass cheeks as she chooses a bra, clasping it on and adjusting her perfect tits in the cups.

  “What, you’re just going to sit here and watch me dress?” she asks. “Don’t you have something better to do, like hike in the woods or chop down a tree? What do you even do all day?”

  “I have plenty of things to do, and you’re right: I’m not going to sit around here watching you bitch about your life.” I walk to the front door, grab my rifle, and sling it over my shoulder.

  “Oh my God, what are you going to do with that gun?” Iris asks, standing in nothing but her bra and panties.

  “What do you think I’m doing? I’m going to go find us some food. We live at the base of the mountain. I’m a mountain prince. You’re my mountain princess. I work in the castle, but in my time off I fucking live like a man who lives in the woods. And as my wife, who lives in the woods with me, I suggest you go to town to find yourself a pair of boots. Maybe a coat. Because those sun dresses and bathing suits?” I point to her suitcase. “They won’t cut it here, Princess.”

  “Just like that?” she asks, crossing her arms. “You’re just leaving? This is a joke of a honeymoon.”

  “Honeymoon? That’s what you’re pissed about?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I never expected a honeymoon like Violet is having. She and Hunter are in love. So it’s different. He wanted to give her everything she wanted because they want to be together.”

  I clench my jaw, looking at the fucking croissants on the counter and wondering how the fuck I thought that would be enough to win Iris over.

  She’s a woman. My bride. And I thought a fucking pastry would be enough.