Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5) by Rina Kent

The part he never shows to anyone else.

It’s a shift in dynamics, a play of power. Just because I’m on my knees doesn’t mean I lack power; it only means I’m earning it in a completely different way.

A knock sounds on the door. “Mon chou? I brought Lars’ scones.”

Both of us freeze at Charlotte’s voice — and by freezing, I mean Ronan stops at the back of my throat, keeping me there by my hair.

Black dots form at my peripheral vision due to the lack of oxygen. I struggle for breath, and maybe that’s why the haze doesn’t wither away even with someone else’s presence. I’m still drifting, riding the wave, needing more of it.

“I’ll be right out, Mother.” He sounds normal, or at least a bit normal considering the circumstances. He focuses back on me and whispers in a lust-filled voice. “How do you feel about someone walking in and seeing you this way, all choked with my dick?” I shake my head frantically, but he just smirks. “You want to be my fiancée, but you’re my whore now.” His hold on my hair turns stronger, more controlled. “Made only for me.”

Those words make me lightheaded, and it’s not only because of the lack of air.

The more he speaks to me like that, the wetter I get. The more depraved he becomes, the deeper I fall into his web.

He goes back to thrusting in and out of my mouth, faster and harder this time. He uses my hair to guide me, not allowing me any movement outside of his approval.

I’m a marionette in his hands, a wanton, willing marionette who can’t get enough.

His shoulders become rigid and his head tilts slightly back. I can’t help staring up at his masculine beauty and complete control as he stops powering into my mouth. Something salty hits the back of my throat then drips on my chin, mixing with the drool and tears covering my face.

Ronan grunts, watching me intently, almost as if in a haze himself as he pulls out of my sore mouth. He gathers his cum with his thumb and coats my lips with it, smearing it all over, as if he doesn’t want to miss an inch, doesn’t want to waste a drop.

When he nudges my mouth open, I don’t hesitate to take his thumb inside and suck it clean. He laps his single digit against my tongue, groaning deep in his throat.

The sound does something to me. I feel pride, because I’m the reason behind that. I’m the reason his godlike features crease with satisfaction.

I feel lust, because even after two orgasms, I’m greedy for more. I want his hands all over me again. His strong, lean hands that know how to wrench me out of my self-imposed fortress.

There’s another emotion I can’t quite pinpoint, one that snaps my shoulders together and makes me want to run and never return.

“Ronan?” Charlotte’s voice comes again.

The spell breaks as he pulls up his boxers and trousers, and just like that, he appears normal, not like someone who just fucked up my entire universe.

He throws me one last quizzical glance and motions for me to stay quiet before he heads to the door.

I remain slouched by the bed, my heart almost beating out of my chest as I watch his back disappearing around the corner.

For the first time in my life, I feel used, and yet so utterly pleased.

That’s when I take the time to finally admit I’m in so much trouble.





15





Ronan





The upside of pretending since the day I was born is that most people can’t see the real me.

Hell, even I can’t see that bastard sometimes. It worked just fine for years, and we’re talking about a lifetime subscription.

The difference between me and, say, someone like Teal — who’s currently glaring at me from the top of the stairs at her house — is that she can’t hide.

She’s too real, too raw, even if she has this ‘fuck off’ aura. She can’t fake or say things she doesn’t mean, and it’s why she’s never fit in the hypocritical game of RES’s halls.

When girls did everything to fit in, she just followed what she liked. She never once laughed or smiled because it was expected. She’s a socially awkward bean with a twist. Most socially awkward people don’t want to be in that category, whereas Teal likes it — if anything, she might even take pride in it.

Her glares are real, too. They’re probably the most real thing about her, the way her thick brows scrunch and her skin reddens with pent-up anger. Without words, she communicates that she hates having me here. She hates my guts and my existence, basically.

Get in line, belle.

For the past week, I’ve been picking her up for school, despite her protests and jabs and attempts to throw me under the bus like a mechanic every time an adult is around.

She tries to brush past me, ignore me, pretend I don’t exist. When that doesn’t work, she attempts to make me look bad.

Teal still doesn’t understand that she can’t win against me in the peopling game. I’m way too loved, too approachable, and I don’t give off the deceptive calm façade like Cole. For that reason, people like me and naturally gravitate towards me.

It’s not a gift. It’s a commitment I made to myself when I decided I’d never be alone.

Not for one second.

Not even for a blink.

To accomplish that, people needed to take a liking to me. Before I knew it, I was becoming the epitome fantasy of any person looking to socialise.