Masked Prince - Nikolai Andrew Page 0,27

time to focus on her…and what I needed to do to her. I made sure she was as comfortable as possible, then I mounted my horse with her safe behind me and rode for the palace under a darkening sky.

A storm was coming. I could feel it.

Lightning lit my way through the dark passages into my private dungeon. It was deep beneath the Ruined Tower, and like the rest of that forgotten corner of Ironhaven Castle, it was all fucking mine, to use however the fuck I wanted, whenever the fuck I wanted.

All those years, all those nights, thinking about her body, her cunt, her being, all led up to now. To this. At long fucking last, I had her here where she was always meant to be.

She began to wake as I hoisted her over my shoulder to open the last of the locked and bolted doors. We were four stories down, far enough underground that nobody would ever see us or find us. No matter how hard she screamed when she came, no matter how hard she cried when I pounded her senseless, nobody could hear a fucking thing. It was my very own vault for my most prized possession.

I had my arm hooked over her ass so I couldn’t see her face, but I felt her twist slightly to try to figure out where she was. “Randal?” She said groggily.

“I’m here, baby,” I replied, with a firm grab of her ass. Her cunt was right fucking there, so fucking close, but I resisted the urge to slip my fingers inside her as I carried her. I’d waited long enough, I wasn’t about to balk at waiting a few minutes more until everything was how I’d imagined it. To rush this would be a fucking tragedy.

“Where… Where are we?” She asked.

“Somewhere safe,” I told her, slipping the key into the lock. I kicked open the door and carried her across the threshold and through the dungeon. I set her down on a wooden table fitted with black leather restraints on the far side of the room. “Somewhere I can keep you in my sights.”

The dungeon was decent sized, and I’d made sure it was just right. A thick oak post ran vertically down the center, and attached to that was a breeding pole, bolted to the floor with six-inch iron bolts. A sawhorse was fitted with a black leather saddle, with restrains for her arms, legs, and neck. On the walls were chains and irons for restraining her in any way I wanted—by the wrists, the ankles, the waist, the neck.

There were ropes, whips, switches. Bridles, bits, reins. A fuck stick, paddles, every kind of device for pinching her nipples and her pussy lips to hold them open while I ate my fill of her—before filling her cunt with my seed.

Everything was organized according to material — leather, fabric, metal, even a row of glass cocks for double-penetrating her. I’d been preparing it for her for nearly two years now, and every time I felt like I’d thought of everything, I discovered a new plan for fucking her raw and took my time gathering all the necessary gear to do so. All my preparation meeting a lifetime of fantasies. The place was fucking stocked.

I’d jacked off so many times in there, thinking about her. Hundreds of times. Thousands. But never did I dream that she would want this as much as I did, not until she talked about relinquishing control to another. Not until she told me with her eyes that she felt the very same draw I did.

As soon as I set her down, she understood what was happening. Or she thought she did, anyway. Sweet thing had no fucking clue what I had in store for her. But she got the general idea, and that was enough to scare the shit out of her.

She scampered towards the door, falling to her knees and clawing at the stones. I took a few strides and caught up to her, scooping her up over my shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful when you’re afraid,” I told her. “But you will submit to me, Iris. It’s what you need, and you know it. You said as much yourself.”

She beat my back with her fists, and it made my balls throb—the feel of her fighting me? Goddamn.

But there was time for all that—there was time for us to go to battle. She had to learn the rules first. She had to learn to fear