Steel Princess (Royal Elite #2) by Rina Kent

She fought it when I pulled her into me.

Of course, she did.

Elsa is the type who feels like she’s failing herself if she doesn’t fight.

But she should know by now that her fight is futile.

Eventually, her energy waned and she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

We’re still on the sofa. The leather creaks as I manoeuvre her so she’s half-lying atop of me. Her head rests on my chest and my leg wraps around hers.

I can’t get close enough to Elsa.

Or touch her deep enough.

Not when a great part of her mind is numb to me.

I tilt my head to the side to get a better view of her.

Her uniform is in disarray, and the sorry excuse of a skirt barely hides her bare pussy. I’m tempted to finger her tight walls and make her come all over again and again.

The exhaustion on her brows stops me.

Dishevelled blonde strands fall on my chest. I run my fingers through her hair, stroking it back. She smells of coconut, sex, and me.

She smells of me and I’ll do anything to make sure she always does.

Elsa moans and mumbles something in her sleep.

My dick hardens in an instant.

She can lie to me all she likes, but her subconscious is the truth.

The truth is in the way she wraps her leg around mine. Or how she keeps her hand at the small of my back as if she doesn’t want to let me go.

Or maybe I’m being fucking delusional.

I become that way around this girl.

She had this effect on me long before she realised it herself.

For what seems like forever, she’s been carefully tucked beneath my skin like an unreachable itch.

I knew there would be a day where I would have to cut that itch clean, but I never planned for it to go this way.

I never planned for this fucking girl to get to me the way she did.

Jonathan and Uncle James — when he was alive — taught me and Lev to plan our moves before making them.

I’ve been raised on strategic thinking. Every move and every piece has a purpose.

Jonathan used to say that a king isn’t a king by title only, it’s also because of the power he has to bring everyone to their knees in front of him.

For my entire life, when I plan to do something, the result is clear before I even take the first step.

Until her.

Elsa fucking Steel.

She was supposed to be another chess game with a known result, but she’s turning out to be more unpredictable than any game I played before.

She barged on my board, shuffled my formation, and wreaked havoc in my court.

Everything changed when she refused to be a fucking pawn like she was supposed to.

I drag my thumb along her bottom lip and her mouth parts as if inviting me in.

Since I first saw her, she’s been pulling me in with her seemingly innocent ways.

Truth is, her ways are more destructive than innocent. And the worst part is, I don’t think she even recognises that.

She shifts again and her tits push against the shirt. I undo the first three buttons. My fingers freeze on the fourth button as the faded scar comes into view just above her pale left breast.

I run my fingers on the smooth, deep tissue. It’s been a while since I left a mark on that scar.

Hmm. I need to change that soon.

This scar holds an entire story of its own that I doubt her guardians would ever tell her.

This scar was the beginning of the end.

Elsa just doesn’t know it yet.

Since I saw this scar on the first day of senior year, I’ve been fucking everything up.

My thumb presses into the skin harder than I intended. Elsa mumbles something and I remove the pressure.

With careful fingers, I re-button the shirt. She doesn’t need to catch me staring at her scar like the freak she already thinks I am.

Besides, she’s too self-conscious about her scar. There’s no need to dig that wound open.

Not today.

I wrap my hand around her neck and caress the pulse point in her throat.

It’s curious how such a normal heartbeat can belong to her.

Frozen.

She really is.

She’s so frozen, it pissed me off in the beginning.

It still pisses me off sometimes, but I have other things to worry about.

Such as Jonathan and her fucking last name.

What would it be like if she were someone else? If she really was Elsa Quinn, not Elsa Steel?

Fuck.

Why would I even think about something impossible?

This girl isn’t only messing up my carefully-laid plans, but she’s also screwing with my head.

I’m the one who’s supposed to screw with heads, not the other way around.

Elsa shifts again, and this time, her eyes slowly peel open. She stares at her surroundings, appearing confused before she focuses back on me.

She freezes when her electric blue eyes meet mine.

Those damn blue eyes.

I don’t know if I want to poke them out or stare at them all day long.

Elsa freezes like this sometimes. It’s like she’s putting two and two together.

She’s trying to make sense of a situation that her politically correct mind isn’t able to accept.

Usually, she fails, and that makes her frustrated.

Like right now.

She glares up at me.

Will there be a day where she wakes up in my arms and doesn’t overthink everything?

In the beginning, I didn’t give a fuck. Now, it’s starting to piss me off like that unreachable itch.