Fatal Princess by Ella Miles

Ri

Beckett follows me to my bedroom, but I doubt there will be much sleeping tonight. It’s not because we’re going to have crazy animalistic sex all night, but because Beckett is a mess.

Every blood vessel in his eyes is shot, his clothes are disheveled, he hasn’t taken a shower, and he’s barely eaten anything all day. And he’s barely talked.

I assumed it was because he doesn’t trust anyone, but I’m beginning to think it’s because he’s hiding a sin that cuts deep.

I gently close my bedroom door and lock it as Beckett continues his pacing into my bedroom. I consider my words carefully, knowing he’s close to a mental breakdown.

“Tell me why you left the Black Empire,” I say.

Beckett sits on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hand. His shoulders rise and fall violently, and I’m not sure if he’s crying or just trying to catch his breath. I want to hold him, but he needs his space, too. I sit next to him on the bed and gently put my hand on his shoulder, letting him know I’m here for him.

“I can’t,” he eventually says.

“Why not? You can trust me.”

“It’s not that.” He stands abruptly, pacing once again while I stay seated on the edge of the bed.

I wait for him to explain more.

“It’s—I—I just can’t share yet. You would think differently of me, less of me. And I just—I can’t.” His eyes look like he’s about to spill enough tears to fill Lake Michigan. The pain he carries is overwhelming. It’s more than what happened to his arm, more than what I felt when he betrayed me. He hurt someone he truly loved, possibly even killed them.

My heart breaks for him. I want to take away his pain. I want to carry some of it myself, at the very least.

“There is nothing you could say that would make me think less of you.”

Beckett turns and looks at me sternly, his eyes a deep-sea of brown and agony. “This would.”

“Tell me; it will make you feel better.”

“I don’t deserve to feel better.”

I frown. “That’s not true. Of course, you deserve to feel better, to not carry the pain yourself.”

Beckett shakes his head. “This time, I do. It wasn’t like what happened with us, Ri. I didn’t protect someone I should have. They died because of me. The only reason I can even be with you is because you don’t need me to protect you. I never lied when I said I can’t be your hero. I’m nobody’s hero.”

“You’re my hero, and I’m yours. Whatever happened, whatever we are going to face, we face together. But we can’t do that if you don’t tell me.”

“It’s my burden to bear.”

I sigh. We are going around in circles. It’s clear at the moment he won’t tell me what happened. We’ve shared a lot of truths with each other today; maybe it’s not fair to ask for more so soon.

Instead of asking again, I just sit and watch Beckett pace until he eventually talks again. “My brother wouldn’t hurt me, though. None of them would.”

I nod, encouraging him to say more.

“Odette has lied to me so many times. I don’t believe a word she says, but I saw the video.”

“Just like you saw a video of me killing Odette. You can’t always believe what you see.”

“Yes, but that combined with how they’re reacting now… I don’t know what to think.” Beckett sits on the edge of the bed and then falls back in despair.

I lie down next to him as I stare at him. “Maybe your family realized that Odette was bad news, saw she was still alive, and they questioned her with the intent to return her to you. Maybe they rescued her and were about to return her to you. Maybe there’s an explanation that makes sense.”

“Maybe, but whatever the reason is, they should have told me, or they should have answered my call to explain to me now.”

I rest my hand on his chest; he’s right. So much pain could be avoided if we were all just a little more open and trusting with each other.

“What do we do now?” I ask.

“We win the game. We find a way to destroy the Retribution Kings from within. And then I talk to my brother and find out the truth.”

I nod. It’s all we can do, but even though our future seems bleak, it still hurts that he didn’t mention us. There was no mention of us together. I don’t care if we get married. I don’t care if we have to be kings and queens of a criminal organization and rule together or if we run away and hide out at the end of the earth. It makes no difference to me; I just want my life to be mine. I want the choice to be mine. And I choose him—I want him in my life.

He’s not mentioning it because it’s a promise that neither of us can keep, not because he doesn’t love me. But I need hope, to know there is a one percent chance of being together in our future. That’s all I need—one percent. Just the possibility will keep fighting.

Beckett rolls over to look at me, and I see what he can’t say in his eyes. I have to remember—baby steps. We shared a lot today. We said we love each other for the first time. We shared a lot of history and pain. That’s a good start; the rest will follow. That is if we live long enough to survive it.

His lips brush mine. At first, I’m hesitant—I want words, not kisses. I want truths spoken out loud; not promises only whispered with our bodies. But as his lips brush mine, I melt against him.

I can’t deny myself a chance to have him. Not when life is too short. Not when there is no promise of tomorrow or even an hour from now, not in our world.

Our lips are the only thing physically connecting us as we kiss. We don’t reach out to claim more. We take our time, like two teenagers kissing for the first time and not wanting to take things too far.

His tongue parts my lips and sinks into my mouth. Mine battles back in a swirl of endorphins releasing in my body. One lick, and I need more—so much fucking more that my body literally aches for this man from my lips all the way to my toes.

“Why do I want you so much that it hurts?” I ask.

“Why can’t I stay away when I’m just going to end up hurting you in the end?” he says.

Neither of us gets an answer to our question.

Our lips lock, and we don’t stop again.

Our hands reach out and run up and down each other’s bodies.

I never changed out of my robe, so he has easy access to my body. My struggle to reach his skin is harder, but I manage to push his shirt up enough to touch the ridges of his abs and the soft tufts of hair that disappear into his pants.

What starts off as soft and loving quickly turns rough and frantic. As much as we love each other, we are also pissed the fuck off that we love each other. Our lives would be so much easier if we didn’t.

I should be focused on getting my freedom back.

He should be focused on becoming the leader he was always meant to be.

Instead, we are tangled up in each other. We’re destined to be the death of the other.

“I’m not going to be gentle,” he growls as he yanks on my hair to access the sensitive skin behind my ear.

“I won’t either.” I dig my nails into his chest until I draw blood.

Our eyes turn to fire. We are too perfect of a match for each other. Too fiery. Too independent. Too stubborn to surrender to the other.

It makes for fucking good sex, but it doesn’t lead to the best decisions outside of the bedroom.

I jump on top of him and ditch my robe, straddling him and pinning his arm above his head with both of my arms. His strength far outweighs mine, even with all of my strength pushed into his one arm. He won’t let me pin him for long. I need to use better techniques if I’m going to win this battle—and this is definitely a battle.

A battle for us to keep our hearts. To stay sane. To not let our love overtake everything else. It’s a battle to prove we won’t let our love overwhelm us.

It’s a battle we will both lose.

My teeth scrape down his chest, over his scars and the Retribution Kings’ tattoo on the center of his chest.

He growls deeply; I smirk.

His hips buck, and suddenly, I’m pinned beneath him. He rips his shirt off over his head.

I grin—one step closer to him getting completely naked. I’ll take that as a win. I’m naked beneath him, and his hungry eyes look over every slick spot of my skin like he owns it.

“I’m no one’s property.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he replies.

“Your eyes did.”

“I’m not responsible for what you make up in your head.”

I knee him in the balls, wounding him enough to grab the knife tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. We haven’t brought much violence to the bedroom before, but neither of us is the lovey-dovey type. We can both only handle so much lovemaking. We need it rough and controlling and feisty.

He grins, cocking his head when he sees the knife.

“You’re not going to win,” he smirks.

“I’m better with a knife than you are, old man. You rely too much on your gun.”

“Is that true?” he chuckles.

I nod my head slowly, my eyes peering into his completely in lust.

“You make me want to fuck you and cut you at the same time. No one else drives me so crazy like you do,” I say.

He moves to pin my hands again, but I slice through the air, nicking his palm.

The deepest growl I’ve ever heard from him vibrates through the room.

I grab his palm with my other hand and bring it to my lips, kissing the shallow wound that I know hurts like a deep paper cut. But when my tongue brushes over it, his eyes roll back in his head, and his cock pushes between my legs. It’s pure ecstasy instead.

My other hand lets the knife trace down his chest, over his tattoo that says his heart and loyalty belongs to a group that has done nothing but betray him time and time again.

He gives me a warning glare.

I smile deviously and strike through the crown with the knife, defacing the tattoo in one quick sweep.

“You’re mine, not theirs.”

He knocks the knife out of my hand and flips me over in one swoop. My ass is in the air pressed against his front as his hand massages it.

“And you are one wild woman who needs to be punished for cutting me not once but twice.”

His hand comes down on my bare ass.

I yelp at the sudden sting and am shocked by how wet I get from having my ass slapped.

“I need to be punished more. That cut on your chest was deep; it’s going to leave a mark.”

He complies, slapping my ass again, pulling a deep whimper from me.

I feel sticky, warm blood from his hand as he hits my ass. It hurts him as much as it hurts me, but we both welcome the pain. It means we are alive. It means that as long as we keep feeling, we get a chance—a tiny, infinitesimal chance, but it’s a chance of happiness.

“You drive me fucking crazy, Princess.”

“You make me want to be saved by the handsome prince, Hero.”

He growls as he almost always does when I call him Hero, but I won’t stop saying it. He’s my hero. I didn’t need someone to physically save me, just someone to love me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted—to be loved.

I feel him rubbing his wet and swollen cock at my ass, not my vagina.

Fuck, what did I get myself into?

I cut him, egged him on, made him bleed—of course, he’s going to retaliate. He’s the leader of the Retribution Kings. It’s their specialty.

“Why so quiet, Princess?” Beckett asks as he rubs his swollen dick against my asshole.

“How do you always seem to win our battles?” I groan when his cock rubs from my slit all the way to my ass, spreading my wetness along the length of me.

He leans forward until his breath is hot on my back. “Pretty sure we’re both going to win tonight.”

Next thing I know, his cock is pushing at the entrance of my ass. I’m sweating and tense as my muscles refuse to let him in. I’ve been fucked in the ass before, but every time it takes some convincing.

He doesn’t tell me to relax. Instead, he runs his nails down my spine, and I feel my body loosening, letting him further in. I’m reminded who’s behind me. A man who loves me in every way possible. A man who wants everything from me just like I want everything from him.

It’s then that I let him all the way in, that I want everything from him. I want him inside me as deep as he can go. I want him. All of him.

“Jesus, you’re incredible,” he mumbles almost incoherently as he thrusts inside me.

I flick my hair over my shoulder and shoot him a fiery look. He better give me the best orgasm of my life if he doesn’t want me to make him bleed again.

I feel his blood on my ass as he slaps me again, sending tingles radiating through my body like tiny firecrackers going off.

“Who fucked you in the ass, Princess? Lennox? Gage? Who?”

“I—I, uh, don’t know.” Beckett is thrusting into me so hard and fast I can barely keep up.

“Good. When you think of men fucking your ass, you think of me.”

I grin. “Jealous prick.”

“When it comes to you, always. Do you understand?”

His palm comes down on my ass again when he doesn’t get the answer he wants from me. I almost refuse to say anything just to feel that sweet sting again vibrating through my body and making me pant even more for him.

“When I think of fucking men, all I think about is you, Hero.”

“Stop calling me Hero.”

“I can’t. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

The next thrust pushes us to a new place, one where neither of us can talk. He pumps in and out, his hand finds my clit, intensifying my pleasure until I’m shaking, barely able to keep myself on all fours on the bed.

And then we come together. It’s messy and explosive. It’s everything that we are.

We collapse together on the bed. We’re covered in sweat, cum, and blood. Neither of us gets up to clean off. It’s the mark of each other, and there is no rush to remove that.

Beckett pulls me tightly to him, and I let him, even though I’m not sure how either of us is going to be able to sleep.

“I love you, Ri,” he says into my hair. They’re words neither of us were able to say when we were fucking.

I grin. “I love you too, Beckett.”