Crown Me, Prince Read online

  “Oh, Princess, you’re magnificent.” Garrick’s mouth is on mine again, kissing me. His hands run through my long hair, the braid untangling under his fingers. Our lips are bruised and swollen as we hungrily devour one another.

  His tongue against mine causes my pussy to ache. I clench my thighs together, so horny, so consumed with the idea of him and me—and for a moment, I forget about my ultimatum. About my plan.

  I forget the lingerie underneath my clothes, under this big winter coat. The red lacy bra and thong I bought.

  I forget about all that, because all I can think about is Garrick’s cock bulging between us. I pull down his pants, my fingers on the waistband of his boxers, ready to inch them over his massive rod. The one I saw last night, the one I felt inside of me last night—but not one I had a chance to lick, to suck.

  And maybe I made an ultimatum about what I would give him with my body. But I didn’t make any ultimatums about what I would give him with my mouth.

  And with my mouth right now? I plan on opening it as wide as it needs to go, sucking him until he fills my mouth with that seed that he filled my pussy with last night. I want to taste his come and swallow it. I want him, so fucking bad.

  “Oh, Princess, don’t tease me,” he says, as I reach my hands into his boxers. I pull them off, my hand wrapping around his length.

  “You like that? You like it when I touch you, Prince?”

  His head falls back, and a groan escapes his mouth.

  I like making him feel this way. I like making him feel so much. Because that’s exactly the way he’s made me feel.

  His back is against the wall. With my fingers splayed out on him, I run them over his chiseled abs, then lower, until they land on his bare ass. I squeeze his tight cheeks as I rest on my knees.

  “Princess, that feels so fucking good.”

  His affirmation is all I need. I take his length with one hand and roll his balls with my other. His cock is so hard, firm and veiny. His tip already dripping with pre-come. I lick the bead of cream away, licking my lips after I swallow.

  I raise my eyes, lock them on him. Garrick shakes his head ever so slightly, his cock thrumming with life. The intensity of this act, of this moment, causes the world to become so small. In this moment, it’s just us.

  I open my mouth, suddenly nervous. I pause, looking back up at him. “You’ll tell me how to do this, won’t you?”

  He nods.

  I ask, “Is this right? Is this what you want in my mouth?”

  “I want you everywhere. There is no way you could do this wrong. Everything you do is so fucking right.”

  My lips tighten around his length, and I fill my mouth with his largeness until the tip hits the back of my throat.

  When Garrick moans above me, his hands resting lightly on the crown of my head, it causes my pussy to seep with pleasure. I’m so wet, and that just gets me more excited.

  With my nipples tight and my pussy swollen, I begin to suck vigorously. My fingers roll his balls, and I suck him hard. In and out, in and out, my eyes closed, my mouth full. Everything about this moment feels so right.

  The more he groans, the tighter his cock becomes, and I can tell that he’s inching toward release.

  I pull him out, wanting to lick his balls, suck those, too. I drop one in my mouth and suck it, as my hand wraps around his length and pulls slowly up and down.

  I love sucking his balls, rolling them in my mouth, and then I let my tongue lick him again, rolling over his top, and put his tip back in my mouth and suck.

  “I’m so fucking close,” Garrick tells me. “I’m going to come.”

  It only makes me want to do better.

  More.

  And so I do.

  I suck him until he starts to explode, coating my throat with his milky seed. I swallow him, letting his salty release fill my mouth.

  I keep sucking until every last drop is gone, until his thick cock tempers itself. I pull him from my mouth, kissing his length as I do, kissing his tip. I love the way his massive cock looks, love the way it fits in my mouth and fits in my pussy.

  Like it was made just for me.

  “You taste so good,” I tell him, wiping my mouth again. I don’t want to let go of his cock, even if that sounds insane. It’s just so warm and powerful. It makes me feel like a goddess. Powerful, wanted.

  I want to feel like this always.

  “I want your pussy,” he tells me. “Your pussy must be aching for me.” He reaches for my hands, helps me stand.

  I feel delirious, intoxicated. And I know it wasn’t the beer. It was swallowing his release.

  “Let me take you now,” he says.

  I blink, wanting this—but then I remember my stipulation. I’m not giving him my pussy unless he moves me out of that shitty shack.

  Is that shallow? Probably. But the stupid words are already out of my mouth.

  “My pussy does want you,” I say. “But does that mean you’re ready to agree to my ultimatum, as you called it?”

  It’s too late to take the words back.

  His eyes narrow; his lips curl in confusion.

  “Back to that already, are we?” he asks.

  I press my lips together, not knowing how to edge my way out of this, wanting him to give me what I want without any strings attached.

  I gave him a blowjob because I wanted to. I was completely swept up in the moment. Getting on my knees and submitting to Garrick felt so right, so natural. So hot.

  But now he’s looking at me like he has no intention of moving an inch from where he is perched with his opinions, and that makes my head spin in frustration.

  A knock on the bathroom door tears us even further apart than we already are, then we became in a matter of seconds.

  Garrick pulls up his pants, buckles his belt. We lock eyes.

  “We need to discuss these terms,” he says, nodding curtly, before pulling open the door.

  Chapter 18

  We head up the stairs and my eyes are on her perfect ass the entire time. I just had the blow job of my life, and come to find out, my wife doesn’t want me to return the favor.

  We find our seats on the stools, and Iris eyes me with frustration. Which is bullshit—I’m the one who just got turned away.

  Fuck, every time I feel like she and I make an inroad, something comes between us. I need a chance to explain that I’ve come to my fucking senses.

  Before I can speak, the kitchen door swings open and Kurt appears. He’s carrying hot pretzels and sausages in his hand, and he drops them before us with a flourish.

  “For the princess. I hope the food is to your liking.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it will be just wonderful, Kurt. It smells delicious.” Iris smiles tightly. I want her to tell me everything she is thinking.

  This greasy pub is anything but fine dining, but once again I’m reminded that Iris is gracious and kind to anyone she comes across. I swallow, realizing I don’t have that same skill whatsoever.

  Sure, I’m able to get along with people here in the village. But the people at my parents’ castle, the place I need to be putting in more time, paying my dues? I can’t seem to make peace with my royal obligations and my own desire.

  And damn, right now my own desires are growing.

  Needing to take my mind off my still-hard cock and what it wants to do with Iris, I order another round.

  Kurt quickly takes our steins and fills them. He sets them down before our plates of food and then leaves to attend the other customers. The customers still watch Iris and I closely, but I don’t pay them any mind.

  Right now, I only have eyes for her.

  “You ready to talk about the ultimatum?” I ask.

  She exhales, picking up a skewered sausage and taking a bite. Ignoring my question. “This food is really good,” she says. “Do you eat out often?”

  “I eat here most days, to be honest. As you saw, our house isn’t exactly set up for cooking.”

  With my reference t
o my one room cabin, I see Iris physically bristle. Reminding her of our place just seems to remind her of the ways I have refused to give in.

  “So that’s the plan then, we’re just going to eat out every day?” The sexual chemistry from the bathroom has dissipated.

  “I don’t really know what the plan is, Iris. We just got married yesterday.”

  “I know when we got married, Garrick.” Iris rolls her eyes.

  I run my hand through my hair. “Damn, Iris, I thought a shopping spree would lighten you up. And I thought, downstairs, that you and I were seeing things eye to eye. But I swear to god you want to get all wound up over nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Iris huffs.

  “Not nothing,” I amend. Fuck, she might not like my compromise. She’s back to insisting we move out, for good. “Can we just set our differences aside for a moment and enjoy a meal?” I take a deep breath, not wanting to fight.

  “Fine. Let’s talk about something less political.” She picks up her beer and chugs in a very un-lady-like manner.

  It’s fucking hot as hell, and I realize, as she sets the half-downed beer on the bar, she’s not very happy with the conversation.

  I hate that.

  I hate that I’ve done any of that to her.

  She needs to know that I think she’s amazing in a spirited, don’t mess with me way. In a way that has me reconsidering everything I ever thought about women, about my life.

  Why would I want to be a lone ranger when this princess could be my partner in crime?

  “Well, Princess, I must say you look really cute in those clothes.”

  She gives me a sidelong glance, and a slight smile emerges from the corner of her mouth. We aren’t through here. “Oh yeah?”

  “Iris, I mean it. You look fucking fantastic. I know this morning we got off on the wrong foot—”

  “Wrong foot?” Her head swivels so fast, her eyes ablaze and locked on mine. She’s not letting me off the hook easily.

  And maybe that’s the exact sort of woman I need. A woman who won’t take any bullshit. Who says it like it is.

  “Garrick, that was not the wrong foot. That was a full-on fight.”

  “Okay,” I say, raising my hands in defeat. “A full-on fight. And I’m sorry for that.”

  She meets my gaze. “You mean that? You’re sorry?”

  “I am sorry.”

  “How sorry?”

  “Sorry enough that I’m willing to make a few concessions to make our living situation less tense.”

  “Concessions? Jesus, Garrick. I’m your wife.”

  “Exactly.”

  “As your wife I want more than a concession. I want your—”

  She stops herself mid-sentence, looks at her hands, then clasps them tightly, pulling them into her lap. Her cheeks flush and she looks embarrassed.

  “What is it?” I ask, as gently as I can manage. “What do you want?”

  Iris shakes her head, and I see a trace of tears in the corner of her eyes. Damn it, the last thing I want to do is make my wife cry.

  “Listen, when I said concessions I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. I have a few ideas of how we can compromise, is all. What you said this morning made a lot of sense. We should have some electricity in our place. And we should get a refrigerator. Maybe even a proper stove. That way you can cook our meals.”

  Iris looks at me, jaw-dropped.

  “What did I say now?” I ask, incredulous, pushing away my plate of food untouched.

  “So I can cook you your meals?” she balks. “That’s what I’m here for? That’s what you want from me?”

  “Hell, no. There’s a lot more I want from you. I think you gave me a pretty good hint of what you’re capable of in the bathroom.”

  “Garrick, I’m a princess,” she whisper-yells. “And you know what? All women are princesses for that matter. All wives are. All partners are. And to think I’m here just to suck your cock and make you dinner? God. If you see me….”

  She shakes her head, a blurry of tears filling her eyes. She must realize that there are people all around us, because she lowers her voice and speaks through gritted teeth.

  “If you see me just as a thing to have, instead of a person to have and to hold ... someone to cherish ... I don’t see how this is going to work.”

  “Iris,” I say reaching for her, realizing too late how fucking insane I sounded.

  But it’s too late. She’s stepped off the stool and headed to the door.

  Kurt may not have heard the entire domestic exchange, but he’s got the gist of it. He shoots me a raised eyebrow, shakes his head. “Prince Charming, you have some work to do.”

  Chapter 19

  I wipe tears from my eyes as I leave the bar. I’m embarrassed—and not because I wanted to exude some sort of perfection. Not in the least.

  I may be a princess, but I’m far from perfect.

  I run as fast as I can and duck into a side street, crouching behind a dumpster where, in the least ladylike way, I cry my heart out.

  I got uncomfortable at the bar, mostly because I realized Garrett doesn’t feel the way for me that I feel for him. I feel attracted to him sure, but more than that, I feel a connection to him. When his hands hold me, when his eyes meet mine, it feels like we’re connected on a level deeper than the physical.

  It feels like we’re connected, and it feels like love. There are glimpses where I think he truly sees me, truly understands me. Then the moment passes and his stubbornness gets in the way of anything real.

  I’m embarrassed because I was so close to telling him that yes, I truly am falling for him.

  But I know he isn’t falling for me.

  I’m just the person he wants to order around the cabin.

  Back in Elexia, when I sat with Dahlia and packed my clothes, she told me I needed to brace myself for the worst-case scenario—worst-case scenario being that Garrick doesn’t want to be married to me. I told myself that wasn’t even a real option.

  Of course I want my husband to want me. Sure, it’s an arranged marriage, but I have this naïve desire to be swept off my feet and carried away to a romantic happily-ever-after. Full-on unicorn rides into the sunset.

  But as I sat in the bar, listening to Garrick’s words, on the heels of me getting on my knees, I couldn’t help but feel like a fool.

  I thought he and I were getting closer, and I have all these big feelings—feelings of wanting to be his.

  I want to yell at him or scream at him. I wanted my plan, this plan where I buy fancy lingerie and whipped fucking cream, to work. I thought maybe it could be as easy and light as that.

  As if this was something besides my actual life, my actual marriage. Garrick deserves more than that.

  Our marriage deserves more than a push-up bra and an aerosol can. Doesn’t it?

  In the street, there are tourists all around taking pictures of the wedding chapel in which I was just married, posing in front of white horses that draw carriages, snapping photos in front of the city square.

  I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be around all these people, in a country that feels unknown. I thought I wanted an adventure, but right now I just want to curl up in bed and cry.

  Shoving my hands in my new coat’s pockets, I walk down the alley, knowing I need to make my way toward the cabin. Where else am I supposed to go? The castle isn’t an option.

  I could see through the flimsy façade of Garrick’s parents last night, see the way our marriage was a show for them. An opportunity for them to put us on parade, just like Garrick wanted to avoid. They may be my in-laws, but they don’t feel like family.

  And that’s what’s so crazy about Garrick. I’ve only known him a day ... yet already I’m willing to fight for this marriage.

  And yes, fight him, too.

  I want to punch him in the face. I want to yell at him and scream at him and tell him how I really feel. He hurt me—but that doesn’t mean I’m going to run away from him.

 
; I stop in my tracks, realizing that’s exactly what I’m doing. I ran out of the bar, instead of sitting and saying Garrick, listen to me. You’re hurting me. I deserve better.

  I should have stayed.

  I keep saying I want an adventure, but what that really comes down to is wanting to experience things outside of my comfort zone, being forced to expand into a bigger, better person.

  Being brave is an adventure too, it’s walking into the unknown. And maybe the adventure I’m looking for is inside a tiny cabin with a man who makes my knees weak and my belly flop and my pussy ache.

  Maybe that isn’t settling for something small.

  Maybe it’s granting myself permission to take a leap of faith with the man I’m married to.

  The man I have fallen for. Hard.

  Maybe if I jump, he’ll catch me.

  I take a deep breath and turn around, knowing that I need to march back into that bar and give Garrick a piece of my mind, not caring who hears me. I’m going to go in there and let him know that I’m fighting for this.

  For us.

  And that I won’t walk away again.

  I’ll also explain that he is a freaking idiot to think I’ll starch his flannel shirts and make him beef stew every night.

  I’m a princess. Just like every other woman. And I deserve to be treated as such.

  Hell, I’ll drag him back down to that bathroom screaming his face off and tell him how I really feel. Because blinking back tears does nothing, and wiping away tears isn’t going to get me the marriage I want. The relationship I want.

  The life I want.

  Running away is only going to leave me alone.

  At the bar, I pull open the door, and scan the room. Garrick isn’t here. I bite my bottom lip, wondering where he went.

  Kurt’s eyes meet mine. He walks over to me, handing me a handkerchief. “He left Princess, moments after you ran out. But that must have been ten minutes ago, or more. Want to come to the bar, love, and have a drink?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Thank you, but I need to get home.”