Claiming His Queen by Goode, Ella (best self help books to read .txt) 📕

bathed specially, rubbed lotion over each limb, dabbed scent at the back of her knees, behind her wrists, at the base of her neck, above her pussy. Her bush would be trimmed and tidied so that her pink pussy would be laid bare for my mouth.

I run my tongue over my lip and turn on the security cameras. Twelve in total flicker to life on my screen. Cora is in the one at 3 o’clock, arms folded protectively across her chest, staring pensively out the floor-to-ceiling windows in the sitting room of the suite. She keeps up the role well. If I was a more trusting man, I’d believe she was a shy virgin forced into this situation against her will instead of what she truly is—and that is an agent ready to bring me—and my empire—to its knees.

The tower room is a collection of three rooms—a living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. It’s spacious for a prison cell, with thirteen-foot ceilings and luxuriously appointed in custom furniture from a famous designer in Italy, but there’s only one access in.

Likely it is bigger and nicer than anything Cora is used to. Vieth’s orphans are compensated well but not this well.

I sit back and take my cock out of my pants. I might live like a monk in some ways, but there’s nothing dangerous about a good bout of self-love. It takes the edge off and keeps my temper even.

“Turn around, girl. Show me your goods.” I stroke myself lightly, wanting to see her face. As if she can hear me, she pivots slowly, her hands falling to her sides. She brings one up and sweeps the heavy fall of her hair away from her face. Her eyes search the room and then pause on the mantel above the fireplace. She walks over and stares at the large picture hanging above of a young woman with a large hat and golden curls. It’s a Rembrandt, one of the ones featuring his wife, Saskia. He’d loved her the short time that they were together. She died only six years later, and her death drove him to his ruin. You can see his love for her in every stroke of his brush. I didn’t love this painting when it was gifted to me because of its art but because of the placement of the camera hole in the frame. Everyone stares at the Rembrandt, and while they are looking at the painting, I’m studying the viewer, looking for weaknesses and flaws.

Only not this time. This time, I’m taking in a true beauty and imagining that her slightly parted lips are pushed open farther with the broad head of my cock. This time, I’m imagining pushing her to her knees, filling her mouth and then her throat with my shaft, pulsing in and out of her until cum overflows her lips and drips down her chin. I spend in my hand, choking out a soft curse.

With a shaky laugh, I clean myself up. This seven days might just be hell.

* * *

Outside of the tower room door, Bran and Hunt stand guard. “Go to bed,” I tell them. “I’ll watch her until the morning. Keep the guards at the bottom and turn the elevator off.”

Bran hesitates. “But what about you?”

“If I can’t handle a Vieth orphan, then I don’t deserve to sit behind the desk, do I?” I press my palm against the security sensor and wait for the lock to disengage. Without another word to my men, I go inside. Cora is no longer at the window. Instead, she’s in the eating nook off the side of the living room. A dinner cart with a lone domed plate sits in the corner waiting for her to finish.

She raises a plastic fork when she sees me. “I guess I should feel complimented that you think I’m so dangerous that I can’t be trusted with metal utensils.”

I take a seat across from her and pluck a roasted potato from her plate. “We should’ve gotten you finger food. For all I know you could kill me with the plastic fork.” I pop the potato into my mouth and savor the delicate seasonings. My chef is incredible. Cora watches as I remove the place setting from the dinner cart and set it opposite her at the small table.

Cora frowns.

“Are you unhappy you have company?” I ask, digging into my steak.

“I thought that was my dessert,” she replies.

A laugh from my throat takes us both by surprise. “Some women don’t eat dessert.”

“I’m not some women,” Cora replies tartly. She sounds offended, as if I’ve insulted her, or perhaps it is the notion of dessert she thinks I’m disparaging.

“Certainly not or you wouldn’t be here as Vieth’s parlay.”

Cora makes another face. I set down my fork. “What did I say wrong this time?”

“I’m not my m—Karin Vieth’s property. I’m my own person. I chose to come here.”

“Good.” I resume eating. Everything I do to Cora is welcome then, despite Karin Vieth’s admonition that Cora must return to the Vieth stronghold untouched. Cora is not here by force or coercion. She knew what she was volunteering for when she offered herself up as hostage. In fact, I’m sure she’s here to seduce me—and what a rich and delicious prize she is with her cherry intact. An unsullied maiden is rarer than the Hope Diamond in this world. What a magnificent temptation. I tip an invisible glass toward Vieth and this girl. They’ve set their trap perfectly, but I’m not entirely certain why unless it is just to cover up a killing.

“What’s the name of the girl Poppy hurt?”

“Sarah Bomi,” Cora answers immediately.

“How did he hurt her?”

“Can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Cora lifts one shoulder slightly in a dismissive shrug. “They are the same, but in this case, I don’t know, so anything I would say would be only rumors and I won’t share those.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re rumors and might not be true. Why start a war over rumors?” Her