“You knew?!” she hissed as we moved to the huge table set for dinner.

Of course I knew.

Of course I knew who she was for longer than she fucking knows. Her mother and the customs of her kingdom wouldn’t let her date, or see suitors or anything like that until she was eighteen. I’d been there, at her “unveiling ball” — the birthday party that her mother invited a gazillion strangers to in her quest to auction her damn daughter off. I’d been there, and when I’d laid my eyes on Colette, I knew I was done for.

I’d seen the way she was so gorgeous and pure — a mix of too smart for all this bullshit and wide-eyed innocence. And then that touch of brattiness. And it fucking turned me on — a rebellious streak I knew I could and wanted to tame, like a wild horse I’d make mine.

She’s had suitors since then. Hell, she had suitors that night. Three of them. One was smart enough to walk away. The other wanted to get paid like some little bitch. I did, but not before I laid him out with a fist to the mouth for being a cretin.

Yeah, I knew who she was. I’d seen her that night a year before, but I knew then that as much as I wanted her — as much as I craved her — I knew the best thing I could ever do for a girl like her was to walk away. She was too sweet, too good. And a broken, angry, solitary man like myself would only soil that innocence, and drag her down to my level.

So I walked away, and I did everything in my power to put her out of mind.

…Until I couldn’t anymore.

It started as a business move. My company was expanding into the Middle East, but I was hitting a roadblock. The Saudis saw an unmarried man as a business liability. Unmarried meant “ungrounded” which meant investments were slow to come in. Contracts weren’t given where they would have been elsewhere at the drop of a hat.

Bottom line, I needed a wife. Now.

I had no time for “dating” and “seeing” people. No fucking interest either. And part of that was that I was a busy fucking man, but the other part — the bigger part which I’d hidden away away from myself — was that a piece of me never left that ballroom on Colette’s eighteenth birthday. I’d done everything in my power to put her out of mind and stay the hell away from her, to not even think of her, but it was a losing war.

I’d seen the unattainable. My eyes had tasted the forbidden fruit, and I wanted fucking more. I wanted all of her. I needed all of her. And when I found out Monty fucking Scott was seeking her hand, and had been granted it by Colette’s mother, I couldn’t possibly stay away any longer. A piece of human trash like Prince Scott thinking he could take what was mine shattered the last of my resolve.

No other man would have her. No one else would try and tame that fiery, bratty, sassy, mouth. No one else would watch those lips fall open in cries of pleasure as he drove his cock deep inside her untouched, virgin little cunt.

No, all of that would be for me and me only.

So I acted. And now here we were — the beast inside of me growling and clawing to get out as I watch that look in her eyes as it dawned on her who I am. My cock throbbed at that wide-eyed look. It’s the look I hoped she’d make when I slid every inch of my thickness deep inside of her for the very first time. It’s the look she’ll give me when I tear her panties to the side and run my tongue up and down her slick, honeyed pussy.

My cock pulsed as I imagine the sounds she’ll make when my tongue curls around her clit.

“Of course I knew who you were,” I growled into her ear as she huffed her way to the dinner table. I could see the way the skin of her neck pricked into goosebumps at my voice, and the way her breath caught.

Oh, she would be mine. And soon.

“Well, way to just hold back on that one. Asshole,” she grumbled over her shoulder.

“Brat.”

She gasped as I grabbed her ass as we approached the table, her lips opening so sweetly and her body coiling against me.

“You can’t do that,” she hissed.

“Yes, I can.” I moved to pull a chair out for her, but used the opportunity to pin her against it, my eyes blazing into hers as I pressed my body tight to hers.

“You’re going to be my mine, Princess.”

Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink, and that sexy little tongue of hers darted out to wet her soft pink lips. I wondered if her pussy lips were the same enticing, soft shade of pink.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” she sassed back.

“Well, you don’t.”

She glared at me as I grinned right back at her.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t,” I said plainly. “I’m settling your mother’s considerable debts for your hand.”

Her eyes blazed at that one, and fuck did it make my blood run hot and my cock ache to be released inside of her.

“You can’t just buy me,” she muttered, still pinned between my body and the large, high-backed dining chair.

“I did,” I purred, reaching out and brushing a lock of her wild, untamed blonde hair behind her ear. I longed to grab the rest of it in a fist and pull her head back while I ran my lips up that chaste, pure neck. I longed to hear that bratty mouth cry out in pleasure as I tugged her hair back and drove every inch of my cock inside her velvety soft, untouched pussy.

Colette’s face burned bright red, as if I were whispering my filthy thoughts right into her ear. She pursed her lips and finally pulled away from me, twisting and sitting down in a huff.

I grinned.

She was bad at hiding it — the heat in her eyes, and the way her body arched towards mine. She might have been telling herself that she despised me, but every single way she moved and breathed and hesitated told me otherwise. She wanted to hate me, or make me think she did, but she didn’t.

Not at all. That was obvious. No, it wasn’t hatred in her eyes.

It was lust. It was want, and curiosity, and a yearning to let go of that uptight, good-girl, princess mask and let me do every single dirty, filthy thing that she’d always secretly fantasized about.

Fuck, I wondered if her little pussy was getting hotter and wetter as she wondered what I had in store for her.

We all sat, me right next to my soon-to-be bride and grinning as I ignored her little pouts. Soon, I’d tame that bratty little sass. But for the time being, I sat there and smiled, nodding and pretending I was listening to her mother’s half-drunk banter and gossip about various royal goings on.

I hated this shit. I hadn’t grown up royal, and this petty shit didn’t interest me in the slightest. I had nothing against royalty, per se, but most of the ones I’d met had just made my blood boil, especially the rich, snobby princely-types who’d never worked a day in their lives. Me? I’d worked my ass off for every dime I had now. I was rich — richer than a lot of princes, truth be told — but I’d earned it off the sweat of my brow.

My father started the company, but I’d taken the small local excavation company and grown it into a worldwide powerhouse. I’d quietly bought up half the drilling and mining rights on the damn planet. And now, here I was, sitting at a queen’s table, about to marry her princess of a daughter.

My parents would have never believed it.

My dad had passed when I was twenty and just starting out in the family company. But my mother had died much younger, when I was just a boy. They might not have given me a crown, but they’d given me bigger hearts than I could ever have asked for.

I knew Maryanne, Colette’s mother, was one of those old-school types who had probably balked at the idea of a “non-royal” marrying her daughter. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned becoming one of the richest men on the planet, it’s this: money fucking talks. And when it came to paying off her debts and letting her continue to live in the fashion she’d become accustomed to, Maryanne was more than willing to take cash over a crown.

Suited me just fucking fine, because it meant I got her.

It meant Colette would be mine.

So, Rourke,”

Maryanne’s drunken slurring snapped me to attention.

“You train horses as a hobby, don’t you?”

“I do, Your Highness.”

Maryanne blushed, waving at me flirtingly.

“Oh, such a chivalrous tease.”

I smiled curtly at the half-drunk queen, but I could see Colette’s jaw tighten next to me.

Interesting.

“Colette rides, you know.”

“Oh does she?”

I turned and ginned hungrily at my soon-to-be bride, watching her face burn red.

“And do you enjoy riding, Princess?”

She blushed furiously.

Good.

Colette pursed her lips, and I knew she wanted to say something but she bit her tongue back and nodded.

“Yes,” she growled.

“Fast or slow?”

Her face flushed an even brighter red.

I was enjoying this.

So was she.

“Depends on the horse,” she said quickly, making me grin at that hidden sass as she turned to her plate.

Little tease.

Two could play that game though. I dropped my hand under the table, and when I moved it to her knee, she jolted like I’d just touched her with lightning. She gasped quietly and shot me a look, but I kept my hand firmly on her knee.

“Oh, she’s quite good,” Maryanne went on from down the long banquet table. “Good form and position.”

“I’d love to see that some day, Princess,” I purred hungrily. “Soon,” I growled, my hand sliding higher and tugging her gown up with it. Fuck, I could almost feel the heat from her soaked little panties from here, and I was only at her knee. I groaned to myself, pulling her knee towards me and spreading her legs wide under the table, like it might let me feel her heat or smell her arousal.

She gasped quietly, and she went to close her legs, but I held them firm.

“Just like that, Princess,” I growled quietly into her ear, moving close under the pretense of reaching for one of the dinner dishes. “Keep your pretty legs just like that for me.”

Her breath caught, and her eyes blazed something fierce at me as she raked her teeth over her bottom lip. Slowly, her legs relaxed, and when I felt her spread them wider under the table, I groaned as my cock fucking lurched in my pants.

“I’d love to take you riding someday soon, Princess,” I said evenly, keeping my lust barely in check for the sake of the table. For the sake of not tearing her dress off, bending her over, and fucking her like she deserved to be fucked right here at the dinner table.

“I have a huge steed you’d be perfect for.”

Colette’s breath caught as she looked away, her cheeks burning red.

Maryanne clapped drunkenly down the table. “Oh, marvelous!”

The rest of the table fell into a jumble of mixed conversations about horses, and I took the opportunity to move close to Colette, my lips brushing against her ear and making her gasp.

“Would you like to see the stallion, Princess?” I growled.

“No, thank you,” she spit back under her breath, her whole body saying otherwise.

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

She gasped quietly. “You can’t talk to me like this!” she hissed quietly.

“But I think you like me talking too you like this,” I growled. My hand slid higher, pushing her gown up and letting my fingers tease over her bare thigh.

And she moaned.

It wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t overt, but fuck did that small little sound drive me fucking insane. My cock throbbed between my legs, my balls aching for release, and my heart skipping a beat as it fell from her lips.

“Now I know you’re lying about wanting to see my stallion, Princess,” I growled lowly, making her gasp quietly. Her chest rose and fell quickly with her breath, and I watched as her bottom lip caught between her teeth. I took her hand and pulled it under the table to my lap, and when I rested it on my pulsing hard, thick cock, sweet little Colette whimpered.

“This is how hard you have me, Your Highness,” I purred into her ear, my hand sliding back to her bare thigh. She moaned quietly again, her small hand resting on my thick erection. I slid my hand up higher, and higher, and her trembling and gasping little sighs became harder and harder to conceal. I didn’t care. I didn’t care if the whole fucking table knew how wild I was driving her, and how wet I was making her, right under their noses.

But patience is a virtue.

Suddenly, I pulled away, just before the knuckles of my hand brushed her tight, sweet, soaking wet and cotton-encased little cunt.

Her breath came out in a trembling gasp, and her jaw dropped as she whipped her head around to stare at me. And I knew that look. It wasn’t anger, or scandal.

It was fucking lust. Raw, barely contained lust. She swallowed heavily, her chest heaving as the flush bloomed through her cheeks.

“Greedy girl,” I growled into her ear.

“I was—” She glared at me, her eyes alive with fire before she suddenly, slammed her napkin down on the table and slid her chair back. She shoved her gown back down over her legs and stood abruptly.

“Mother, may I be excused?” she muttered, making a point of keeping her eyes away from mine. I grinned at her little outburst, knowing it was just a show — knowing it just meant taking her, and having her beg me for it harder and deeper would only be sweeter.

Maryanne frowned at her daughter’s outburst.

“What? No, we’re still having dinner!”

“I’m—” Colette turned and let her heated, pretend-angry glare land right on me.

“I think I’m full.”

Maryanne started to protest, but I stood, smiling at the table as I helped pull Colette’s chair out and took her arm, looking every bit the chivalrous gentleman, and not the barely contained beast that wanted to tear her panties off with my teeth and use them to bind her wrists behind her back as I bounced her up and down every inch of my rock-hard cock.

“Not yet you aren’t,” I growled into her ear, making her gasp. “See you soon, Princess.”

“Well see about that,” she spat back, swallowing thickly as her big blue eyes burned into mine.

“I think we will,” I grinned back, holding back the growl that caught in my throat.

Colette turned on her pretty little heel and strode from the room.

“So, Rourke, shall we discuss the suitors’ ball?”

I blinked, scowling momentarily at the interruption pulling me away from my Colette. I turned and smiled a plastic smile at Maryanne.

“Yes, of course.”

The suitors’ ball, being thrown by King Lucian over in Avlion was Maryanne’s idea of the ideal place for us to “announce” our marriage. It was a ridiculous — not to mention tacky — idea, seeing as the whole point of it was to find suitors for King Lucian’s three famously virgin daughters, Isla, Imogen, and Ilana. But Maryanne was adamant that Colette go, on my arm, of course.

I smiled again at the queen before I turned and let my eyes linger on Colette as she made her way from the room. My gaze locked onto the sway of her hips as she walked, and my cock bulged at my pants.

Princess Colette was going to be mine. Hell, she already was. Now it was just time to show this royal brat how mine she was.