Vicious Prince: An Arranged Marriage Romance (Royal Elite Book 5)

The sound of tearing cloth fills the air as buttons fly everywhere, scattering around us.

For a second, just a moment in time, I’m too stunned to react.

For a second, I stare at him with wild eyes, as if that will make this situation a bit more understandable.

It doesn’t.

A second is all it takes for him to yank my jacket and shirt away, leaving me in my bra and uniform’s skirt.

A gust of air envelops my skin, and my heart resurrects back to life as if it had an attack — or rather an arrest.

The clothes fall to the ground with a soft whoosh, thrusting me back to reality.

I cross both arms over my chest — trembling arms, tingling fucking arms all covered in goosebumps and the promise of the unknown.

“What the fuck are you doing?” My voice is merely a whisper, not attempting to sound angry.

I should be; deep in my heart, I know I should be, but I can’t even muster up the courage to do it. There’s something about the way he ripped my clothes that’s making me weak in the legs; I’m surprised I’m able to remain standing.

“Making the fantasy come true.” He grabs my arms and shoves them both to either side of me.

His force is havoc-wreaking — it’s the type you can’t escape even if you try. It’s the type that shakes my thighs and turns me into that marionette I can’t push out of my head. Only this time, it’s the good type. The pleasurable type.

Ronan wraps a hand around my wrists and imprisons them behind my back. My breasts are thrust in his face, praying for attention.

“You have beautiful tits — did you know that?” He licks his lips like he’s about to dive into a meal as he unclasps the strap of my bra. My breasts spill free with a gentle bounce, and the look in his eyes darkens as if he’s about to devour me.

Own me.

No, no.

This is Ronan — he can’t do that.

“Stop it.” I choke on the words, my voice so weak it’s pathetic.

“Another one of your fantasies.” He wraps a finger around a nipple and twists so hard I gasp and moan at the same time. “Stop means more, doesn’t it, ma belle?”

Oh, God. Why the fuck did I write that? Why the hell does he remember it?

If I’m sick and he’s attuned to my sickness, what does that make us?

I don’t want to think about the answer. Something tells me it’d be a lot worse than the situation I’ve gotten myself into.

“You know…” He trails off, twisting my nipple again and making me fidget with the need to keep in the sounds clawing to escape. “This is the first time I’ve wanted to break someone.” He pauses, pinching again, until the searing pain takes over my entire body and my nerve endings tremble with the need for more. “No, that’s a lie. This is the second time. The first was when you knelt in front of me and moaned like a good girl. You’re not a good girl, but you turn into one when I corner you.”

“Ronan…” My voice is choppy, fragmented, and I have no idea what I want to say. His name feels foreign on my lips, newer, maddening.

“Do you want to come, belle?”

I swallow past the thickness in my throat, unable to stop feeling the sensations he’s eliciting in my nipple, the ones going straight to my aching core.

I don’t stop to think about the fact that he’s trapping me and blocking any exit I might have.

Perhaps that’s what I want, isn’t it? The lack of damn escape.

This is so fucked up, especially with everything that’s happened in the past, but I nod slightly.

A week or so ago, I didn’t know what it meant to come, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it, about him — his hands, his skin…the whole damn thing.

“I’m going to need words,” he muses.

I stare up at him with a pleading look, or that’s what I hope for anyway; I’m pretty sure I’m glaring at him. “Don’t make me say it.”

“But I want to hear it. You have your fantasies, and I have mine.” He pinches again and I collapse against his chest, biting my lip. “The words, Teal, or I can continue doing this all day. I’ll edge you close but never give you release.”

He can do that?

I peek at him, testing to see if he’s for real or playing with me. Judging by the dip in his brows, he seems dead serious.

“Just do it.”

He crushes my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I cry out as the pain takes over me.

I wish it was only the pain, but no, the pain brings something else — something that ends with arousal between my shaking thighs.

“That’s not the tone. Say it right.”

“M-Make me…”

“What?”

“Come,” I breathe the word. “Make me come.”

The word is barely out of my mouth when he pushes me back. I yelp as I fall against the bed. The shock of it leaves me speechless, unable to utter a word.

“Manhandled.” He raises an eyebrow. “Remember that in your pretty little list?”

“Screw you.” I stare at the wall, at his stupid football uniform peeking out of the closet — basically anywhere but at him.

I try to remind myself that those fantasies weren’t supposed to happen with him. They were meant for my very older and experienced men.

Besides, they were just that — fantasies. Aside from the club, I never thought I would experience them, especially not with someone who doesn’t fit any of my criteria.

How come he was completely off my radar and now he’s the only one on it? How come I see his face when I close my eyes at night and even dream about him?

I never dream about men. I only have nightmares about monsters — or rather one monster in particular.

“Do you realise how beautiful you look right now, belle? You’re all splayed out and ready for the taking.”

My cheeks heat, but it’s not out of embarrassment about my position.

He called me beautiful.

He thinks I’m beautiful.

Why the hell is my heart skipping a beat for that? I don’t want Ronan to think I’m beautiful. I couldn’t care less about it.

…right?

He kneels in front of the bed and parts my legs. I gasp as my skirt rides up to my waist, exposing my cotton underwear.

“Oh, look at that.” He runs his middle finger through my folds over the cloth. I try to clench my thighs, but he slaps them apart, making me yelp.

“You’re wet and soaked and ready for some fucking.”

“Stop saying things like that,” I murmur.

“Like what?” He teases my entrance through the cloth and I arch my back. “Like how hard I’m going to fuck you until everyone hears you beg for more? How loud I’m going to make you scream as you come?”

If my cheeks were red before, they must’ve turned to crimson by now. Never in my life did I think I would be brought to the edge this brutally or that I would be so turned on by dirty talk.

Ronan hooks his fingers in either side of my underwear and slips them down in one go.

“Keep your hands on the sheet.” He speaks so commandingly it causes a tremor to shoot down my spine. “If you don’t, I’ll stop.”

Before I can ask what he’ll stop, his face disappears between my legs and he swipes his tongue from my clit down. My back arches off the bed at the mere contact.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I pant.

“Not him.” He emerges, licking his lips like a lion about to start his meal. “Me.”

And then he’s back to lapping against my folds fast and hard. As if that isn’t enough to drive me insane, his tongue thrusts in and out of my opening suggestively, fucking me, devouring me.

“You’re so delicious, belle. I could eat you all day long.”

A thousand shivers explode on my spine. I reach for his hair, needing the contact, needing to torment him as much as he’s owning me. I’m close, so close to that wave I felt when he was torturing my nipples at the club.

The wave only he can bring.

No orgasm I’ve brought to myself has been as satisfying as that time — not even when I picture him doing it.

The moment I grab a handful of his hair, his tongue leaves my folds.

I whimper at the loss of contact. “W-What? Why…?”

I can’t even speak like a normal human being.

“Told you I’ll stop if you don’t keep your hands on the sheets.”

I let go of his mane of hair and slam my hands back on either side of me, panting as if I’ve been running up a hill. “I’ll be good.”

His eyes darken with indecipherable emotions. It’s like the rich brown wants to become black, potent, and wild with fury.

I might not understand the emotion behind the change, but I know something tickled him in some way.

“Repeat that.” He speaks low against my core, and I feel the vibrations on my sensitive skin.

“I-I’ll be good,” I whisper.

That’s all it takes.

He curls his tongue against my hypersensitive clit, and it’s like he never stopped.

It’s like he’s able to throw me over the edge without even trying. It’s my fantasy, and yet he’s smashing it, ruining it, moulding it so it’s almost his, not mine.

And in some way, it’s even better than my original one.

My back snaps upright as he wrenches a strong orgasm from me. Tiny shivers crawl up my spine then explode all over my skin. It’s not my first orgasm, but it feels like it is; it’s stronger and owns me whole.

Just like the one who brought it out of me.

I hide my face in the pillow to erase the sound. It comes out like a muffled shriek, something you’d hear in dark alleys late at night.

I’m still riding my orgasm when a sharp slap hits my pussy. I shriek, my eyes fluttering open. I stare, incredulous, as Ronan’s face emerges from between my legs.

“Why…why did you do that?” I pant through my pain mixed with agonising pleasure.

“Don’t hide your screams again or it won’t just be my palm against your cunt. Let’s try again, and this time, scream.”

He yanks my legs apart, stretching me wide before his lips go back to my swollen clit. He doesn’t even bother with taking it slow. It could be because I’ve never been so turned on in my life, or it could be because of his maddeningly fast pace.

It could be both.

This time, the wave hits me harder and much quicker.

I scream, my head rolling back and my eyes fluttering closed. “Ronan…oh, Ronan…”

“That’s right. Me.” He nips on my tortured clit. “Just me.”

I writhe on the bed, my nails digging into the sheet, unable to keep quiet or still. He’s turning me into someone even I don’t recognise.

“Ronan…”

“What do you want, belle?” He speaks against me, the vibration of his voice turning me delirious. “Maybe you’ll get inspiration after another orgasm.” He licks me from the top to the bottom of my slit, and I shiver. “I still can’t get my fill of you.”

“I-I’m…I’m…”

“What?”

“S-sore.”

“So?” He emerges from between my legs and suggestively licks his lips.

The fact that he’s licking me off him should be repulsive, but it isn’t.

Shit, why isn’t it?

“You know, it should stop me. It did in the past. I don’t make girls sore — I make fucking love to them, but not with you, belle. I want to fuck you like a dirty little whore.”

The words should offend me, but they’re making me wet. Why do I love the sound of that on his lips.

“You like being mine to use.” He grips my thigh tighter. “Don’t you?”

He climbs on top of me, flicking my tormented nipple on the way before he grabs me, pulls me up so I’m sitting up halfway, and slams his lips to mine.

Unlike the other time, he doesn’t stop to take it slow. He invades me, conquers me, and most of all, he tastes of me: slightly sweet, a lot dirty.

I never kissed before. I liked to get it over with, and kissing got in the way of that. Any form of intimacy did.

The fact that I can’t get enough of Ronan’s kiss should be alarming — and it is. I just can’t seem to get enough.

There’s not enough kissing, not enough touching.

There’s simply not enough.

I’m starved for more.

So much more.

“You taste like fucking sin.” He breathes against me. “But do you know what will taste better?”

I shake my head, barely able to focus.

“My cum down your throat.”