Owned By the Prince by Tristan Rivers

Chapter 7

Blair

That arrogant prick. My ass hurts and my face is hot with shame. He thinks he can bring me here and keep me as his plaything? Just because he’s the Prince of Anglia. Fuck. How did I go from being locked in my room to agreeing to stay here for a whole month? Andallow Prince Max to punish me? What the hell is wrong with me? I’m as mad as hell, but mostly at myself. You need the money, I remind myself. That’s all. Seven hundred thousand dollars will solve all my problems.

Predictably, I get lost on the way back to my room and end up wandering through a warren of grand, echoing corridors. Eventually, a girl in a maid’s outfit appears and shows me the way back to my wing. I’m confused. Mightily confused. But I only have five minutes until my tutorial is due to start. I open my laptop and discover there’s a 4G dongle plugged into the USB slot. Normally, I’d be disturbed by this, but it’s so low down on my list of priorities right now that I don’t give it another thought. When I cross my legs, I discover that my panties are very damp. I hate him. And I hate the fact that I still want him. Well, it’s never going to happen. I might have agreed to spend a month here, and I might have made some crazy agreement that he can punish me while I was clearly out of my mind, but he’s not going to have me. I promise myself that.

My laptop beeps, and I press the green button to answer the call.

“Is this thing working?” Professor Hodge’s ancient face fills the screen, like a giant tortoise stretching its neck out for a piece of cabbage.

“Hi, Professor Hodge, I’m here,” I say loudly, aware how unreliable his hearing can be.

His bleary eyes blink rapidly, and he gives a dry, cracked, death rattle of a laugh. “Oh, there you are, Blair! How are you?”

“I’m good, Professor. You don’t need to sit so close to the screen, though.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I’m not used to these contraptions, you know!” He shuffles backward with a wheeze of embarrassment. Five minutes of explanations and adjustments later, and we’re ready to begin.

It’s actually great having his undivided attention for an hour, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s speaking to me with more respect than usual. We year-abroad students don’t get much attention from the professors who, I figure, think we’re not around long enough to bother about. But today, he’s full of compliments on my essay.

When we’re done and I end the video chat, I lean back in my chair and let out a long sigh as Prince Max intrudes into my thoughts again. I liked it when he whipped me. But why? I was almost disappointed when he stopped, and the recollection makes me squirm. What a freak I am. And more to the point, what does he get out of punishing me? I saw his cock tenting out the front of his pants, saw his eyes burn with cold fire. Before I know it, my hand has strayed between my legs, and I press my clit through my panties. It’s been a long time, and I’m craving a release. I gaze around the room. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s bugged. If cameras are watching me right now. If he’s watching me. I snatch my hand away. There’s no way I’m going to give him that satisfaction.

There’s a knock at the door. It’s James with a menu, asking whether I’d like to “take lunch” here or on my private terrace. I say here, and a few minutes later he’s back with a crazily delicious mozzarella and tomato panini. When he returns a third time to clear my tray away, I’m desperate to ask him what’s next. Am I supposed to wait for Prince Max’s orders? But somehow, I know the answer to that question already. Instead, I nod to the polite dip of his elegant silver head and return to my solitude.

I lie on the bed and begin to read through my class notes, but it’s not long before two nights of crappy sleep catches up on me and I doze. I have no idea how much time has passed when I come to again, but rectangles of light are falling across the bed, indicating that it’s late afternoon. A phone is ringing. I get to my feet groggily and look for it. It’s on the nightstand, of course. It’s a modern recreation of an antique style, a big heavy receiver resting on a cradle. I lift it cautiously.

“Blair, it’s Max.” A little spark of something lights in my chest. It’s funny hearing him call himself that. Not Your Royal Highness, or Prince Max. Just Max, like the guy next door.

“Hi,” I say, trying hard to sound wide awake.

“Were you asleep?”

I startle at the intimacy in his tone. “No.”

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were. We had a late one yesterday.” And I’m transported back to last night. The intensity of being at the party, the panic of the overdose, the sexy, courageous stranger with those incredible lips, kissing me with such tenderness and hunger. “Anyway, I have some work for you to do. Please change into the outfit I gave you earlier, adding only the shoes you arrived in, and come to my quarters. I’ll see you in ten minutes.” The line goes dead.

I gaze at the dress, which is now lying over the back of an armchair with the panties on top. Adding only the shoes. He means no stockings and bra, I get it. A deep reluctance knots in my core. But I get to my feet, reminding myself that if I want to get paid for this gig, I don’t have a choice. I also don’t have long to get ready.

I take off all my clothes and put on the panties. They’re made of silk, and they fit perfectly, no harsh elastic at the edges, only caressing softness. I slip the dress over my head. It’s equally sleek and skims my body as if it was made to measure. I step into my heels and walk over to the full-length mirror on the closet.

“Pretty hot, Kirkham,” I mutter. The low front of the slip reveals a hint of my lightly freckled cleavage, while the tight fit shows off the curve of my waist. My nipples are visible, pushing at the fabric, which makes me feel as vulnerable as hell. I press them with my thumbs, trying to get them to soften, but it has the opposite effect, and they become more erect and needy. My hair is a mess, mussed by the pillow, and I run my hairbrush under the tap and smooth it back into shape. I check the time. I now have two minutes to get to Prince Max’s quarters, which is just enough time, as long as I don’t get lost on the way. The door leading to the passageway isn’t locked this time, and I slip out.

I take one wrong turn, and I’m there in three minutes. He snatches the door open as I arrive. He’s now wearing chinos and a white shirt with the first couple of buttons undone. His expression is stormy, but it turns to desire as he takes me in. I swallow hard.