Page 37 of Stolen Princess

Sven: Or we kill you and take the necklace.

Me: You could try, but you don’t know where I am, and I don’t have the necklace. It was taken. I’m trying to make amends, but the truth is, I want no part of any of this. I’m done.

I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I’d rather deal with Sven and Lars than go searching for that woman again. Let them chase her while I sort this side of it.

Sven: Send us what you have on the woman, and we’ll look into it.

With that piece sorted, I stand and pace over to the window. The street below, illuminated by yellow lamps, is wet with rain, and the sky is dark. I’m not going anywhere tonight. I shouldn’t be here with her.

What do I care what the girl does with her life?

I sigh and scrub my hands up and down my face. This is growing more complicated by the minute, and it all centers around⁠—

The bathroom door opens, and she comes out, her hair wet and her face clear and shiny. She’s wearing the same thing she wore last night. A tank top with no bra and tiny sleep shorts. I grit my teeth, grab my bag, and go into the bathroom.

I turn the shower to cold, strip down, and get in, jumping around and gasping in pain as ice water shoots down on me. I wash up quickly, thankful my dick is no longer hard, and get out. But with that cold shower and all the shit that’s happened today, I’m more determined to get away from all of this than ever.

Nothing good will come of my sticking around. I’ll either get killed or have to kill, and I’m not in the mood for either. This girl has managed to fuck up my entire world in a little more than a day. If I believed in karma or penance, this would be mine. I don’t, though. So all this means is that I have to devise a new plan.

I brush my hair, throw on a pair of clean briefs, and say fuck it. She dresses like that, then she can deal with me sleeping how I’m comfortable.

When I step out of the bathroom, she’s sitting up in bed above the covers with a book in her hand. Her chin slowly lifts, her eyes raking me in, and when they reach mine, they’re dark with lust, and her face is flushed.

Fuck.

“Never seen a shirtless man before?” I quip, making sure she feels my tease.

“No. I haven’t,” she bites back, but she’s still staring all the same.

“Take your fill then, princess. Look all you want.”

I expect her to look away, to be embarrassed as she tends to get, and return to her book. But not this girl. The book hits the bed, and she sits there, working her lip between her teeth.

“You have a lot of tattoos. And muscles. I didn’t know it was real…” She laughs. “I have no clue what I expected. Most of the men I read about look like that but have weird-colored skin and stuff. Are you, um, are you going to sleep like that?”

“Yup,” I pop the p sound.

She swallows and nods, but to my surprise, she climbs out of bed and walks toward me. “Does it hurt?”

My brows furrow. “Does what hurt?”

Her hand comes up, and her finger lingers over my sternum without touching me. I glance down, and she swirls a circle around the cut she gave me with the knife last night.

Chills erupt across my body, and gooseflesh rises on my skin, and she’s not even touching me. But I want her to. The notion of her soft hands on me has my cock once again pulsing with blood. The cold shower rendered all but useless.

I look back up at her, but her eyes are on her finger and not mine. No. It doesn’t hurt. In fact, I all but forgot about it. Yet for some reason I can’t comprehend, I say, “Yes.”

“Can I… that is, would it be okay…”

My stupid mouth, driven purely by my dick, answers, “Yes,” before I can think better of it.

Her finger presses to the skin beside the cut, and it’s nothing. Barely anything. Yet, I feel that one small point of contact everywhere.

“I don’t think it’s infected. I know I shouldn’t. I know you’re not good. But I want to anyway.”

Before I know what the fuck is happening, or even what she’s talking about, she dips and kisses the cut. Her lips are soft, and her breath is hot, and I shudder like a guy who’s never been touched or fucked anyone before.

“What are you doing?” I manage.