Steel Princess (Royal Elite #2) by Rina Kent

I glare up at him with all the maliciousness I have inside.

“I told you,” he whispers in a chilling tone. “You wronged me first.”

He works his thumb on my clit, and a needy sound claws its way out.

“Maybe I need to remind you who you belong to, huh? You look like you need a reminder.”

He scissors his fingers inside me and flicks my clit over and over.

And over.

My eyes roll to the back of my head. My back arches against the bed, causing the ropes to dig deeper into my wrists.

I want to run, hide, and never return.

But my body doesn’t recognise the need for survival.

It doesn’t even try to see the danger Aiden represents. It’s still enchanted to his touch, to the way he knows all the buttons to push in my body. To the way he works me up like I’m a marionette.

Because that’s all that I’ve ever been to him.

While I was falling and being an idiot, he was playing me like a marionette.

A pawn on his board.

A little insignificant pawn.

He thrusts his fingers inside me harder and faster. The brutality and my chaotic feelings draw a sob from my throat.

It’s like he’s punishing me. He’s making me fall to his will by using my body.

And I do fall.

It doesn’t even take long for the wave to hit me.

My lower abdomen contracts. My back pushes off the bed, only to be pulled down by the ropes.

My nails dig into my palms so hard that I’m sure I’ll draw blood.

I come with a sob, my chest heaving like I’m about to have a heart attack.

I don’t even notice when he removes his hand from my mouth.

“That’s it,” he murmurs near the corner of my lips. “Break for me, sweetheart.”

I do.

I just do.

Tears fall on my cheeks and my heart aches so much that I can’t breathe or speak.

Aiden leans over and like that first day at senior year, he flicks his tongue on my cheek and licks my tears.

He takes his sweet time tasting them before he licks my bottom lip and bites it into his mouth.

“Good girl.”





8





Aiden





I knock the white queen with the black king.

Hmm.

It feels good to knock down queens.

I lift her up, let her stand proudly in the middle of the board, then I knock her down again.

It doesn’t feel as good as the first time.

This is how addicts feel. It’s almost impossible to recreate the first high, but they keep chasing it anyway.

I should’ve known better than to run after an imaginary high.

The light goes on in the lounge area, and I blink.

Jonathan stops at the entrance. He’s wearing black trousers and a button-down. A mug of coffee hangs from his hand. He’s probably pulling an all-nighter. I’m surprised he didn’t stay at his company’s office.

His eyes narrow on me.

He doesn’t like it when I stay in the dark. Usually, I’d avoid triggering his red alarms.

But I don’t give a fuck today.

I just left Elsa in her bed after I wrenched an orgasm out of her.

I unbound her hands and left without fucking some sense into her.

Not because I wanted to stop. Fuck no. But because I knew I would freak her out more than I already did.

I would push her to the road of no return.

She was right there, bound, and spread for me. She glanced up at me with tears, anger and fear in her eyes, and it took all my self-restraint to leave.

Because at that moment? I was tempted to make her cry more.

Hurt more.

Break more.

I tell myself that I don’t really want to hurt her. That, deep down, Elsa is special.

But the harder she engraves herself under my skin, the more persistent I become about ruining her.

Since I left her room, I’ve been ‘blowing off steam’ — Jonathan’s words, not mine — by working out and playing chess. I had to stop myself from climbing back into her room and showing her the true blackness inside me.

She thinks she knows.

She thinks she has an idea of who I am.

Truth is, she’s so fucking clueless I’d pity her if I knew how to pity people.

Elsa Steel won’t truly see me until the truth hits her in the face.

“Do you want to play?” Jonathan motions at the board.

It’s four in the morning.

Jonathan tries to blame his lack of sleep on being a workaholic.

Lifting a shoulder, I rearrange the board so the black glass pieces are in front of me. Jonathan always plays in white because he’s a control freak who likes to make the first move.

He pushes his first pawn forward. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I’ve been thinking about Alicia,” I say with fake care.

“Cut it, Aiden.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Cut what?”

“You haven’t been thinking about Alicia.”

“I was trying to remember what Alicia looked like. She’s becoming a blur.”

“That’s because she’s been dead for a decade.” He pushes another pawn forward.

He lives by the belief that a king can’t rule without sacrificing a few pawns — or all of them.

I watch him closely. He’s speaking about his dead wife, but he shows no emotions whatsoever.