Steel Princess (Royal Elite #2) by Rina Kent

“Tell me, Aiden, please.” I grind against his erection, rubbing my arse cheeks all over him. “I’ll do anything.”

“Stop.” He grips my arm hard, causing me to whimper. “I won’t fuck you when you’re like this.”

“When I’m like what?” Frustration and the fear of the unknown claw at my chest and I just snap. “A mess? A fucking maniac? I hurt my aunt in the hospital, Aiden! The wound I left in her wrist is so deep, I can’t look her in the eyes without feeling like a monster. I scratched you the other time and I almost bashed Silver’s head to the pavement just now. I keep escalating with no way to stop it and you’re refusing to fucking tell me what happened!”

Harsh breaths heave out of me after my outburst. I try to push off him, but he grips me by the shoulder and keeps me pinned to his lap.

“Do you think you’ll feel better if you know the truth?” He grinds out every word.

“Of course!”

“Believe me, sweetheart, it’ll be a lot fucking worse.”

“Let me be the judge of that. It’s my life, Aiden. Mine! I’m tired of people making the decision for me. Let me screw up on my own! I’ll take responsibility for it all.”

He throws the towel away, wraps a tight arm around my waist, and stands up.

I’m thrown over the bed before I can think about what’s happening. Aiden lunges at me and rips my shirt open. I gasp as buttons fly everywhere. The sound dies in my throat when I stare at his crazed expression.

He’s about to snap.

And I’m the one who drove him to the edge.

“You want to know, huh?” He grips the middle of the bra and yanks it open.

I cry out, but it’s not only out of surprise. No. His brute strength always got me in a knot whether I like to admit it or not.

He hovers over me, straddling my stomach with his knees, and grabs a breast in his harsh hand. His fingers dig into the flesh, and my limbs shake.

As if possible, his eyes darken more.

It’s like he’s not with me.

I’m losing him to his demons.

“A-Aiden?”

His free hand squeezes my throat, killing my words and my air. When I try to speak again, he tightens his grip. Barely a few breaths reach my lungs.

“Let’s start with this scar.” His voice is calm. The frightening type of calm. “Do you know the story behind this fucking scar, hmm?”

I squirm, clawing at his hands.

He squeezes harder, cutting off the small air supply I have left. “Stay. Fucking. Still.”

If I continue fighting, it’ll be a war of physical strength and I won’t win in that.

Smarter, not stronger.

I let my arms fall on either side of me.

Just like that, Aiden slowly eases his clutch on my neck, but he doesn’t completely release it.

I gulp in sharp intakes of air and watch him closely.

Aiden massages my throat and the pulse point with an obsessive interest before his metal eyes slide down to my breast.

No. Not my breast.

My scar.

He leans over and nibbles on the flesh then sucks it into his mouth.

Shock reverberates through my entire body.

Stop it.

He flicks his tongue over the skin, licking before he bites down ever so gently.

Stop.

His assault goes on and on until I’m whimpering.

Although soft, his touch hurts.

It cuts me open like a sharp object.

I’m bleeding out.

It hurts.

Somewhere in my mind, it fucking hurts.

His teeth and stubble graze my scar as he speaks against it. “This scar is a sign of your weakness. Just like my scar. And guess what, sweetheart? We’re not allowed to be fucking weak.”

I’m breathing harshly as I stare at him. He finally lifts his head and meets my gaze with his dark one and that twitchy left eye.

He’s pissed off.

No. He’s enraged.

But it doesn’t appear directed at me.

At least, I hope not.

Because right now, I feel closer to Aiden than I’ve ever felt before.

His scar and my scar.

His heartbeat and mine.

“Are our scars connected?” I ask in a small voice, afraid that a higher one will ruin the moment.

Silence.

I wrap my hand around his and slowly peel it from around my throat. I’m surprised that he lets me. He doesn’t even stop me when I sit up, forcing him to sit, too.

My fingers tremble as I undo the buttons of his wet shirt. I can feel his eyes watching me, nearly drawing a hole at the top of my head, but he doesn’t stop me.

I peel the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I try to make him turn, but he shakes his head.

So I do the one thing I can.

I flatten my breasts against his hard chest and wrap my arms around his back. My fingertips glide along the slash marks.

He stiffens.

It’s just a tiny reaction, but from Aiden, it’s everything that he doesn’t — and wouldn’t — say.

It’s proof that he’s scarred not only on the outside but also on the inside.

Just like me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, inhaling his scent mixed with the rain.

“Why are you sorry for something you didn’t do?”

“I’m sorry that you went through that pain.”

“What makes you think I did?” His voice is quiet, too quiet, I barely hear him.