The King's Lover
Chapter 32: Don’t Fight It

Chapter 32: Don’t Fight It

Trigger Warning: This Chapter includes coerced sexual activity. Please proceed with caution or skip if needed.

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He spread her apart, rubbed back and forth before slipping his finger in. Rose had to put her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. The Crown Prince had shoved two fingers right into her. Her other hand gripped the door for her life. f(r)eew(e)bnovel.(c)o(m)

This was nothing like the night before. His movements were aggressive, almost like something had happened. Rose shook her head; she was just making excuses for him. The Crown Prince was cruel and ruthless, and he stopped at nothing to get what he wanted.

He pulled his fingers out, and Rose felt something smooth and slick at her entrance. She was unsure if the slickness was from her. Her eyes widened, and she tried to pull away. It was really happening. It wasn’t Ander behind her. It was someone else. She groaned in protest, her hand over her mouth while the other still held the door to keep her from falling on her face. f r\eew,eb novel.c(o)(m)

"Tch," the Crown Prince said, irritated, and Rose felt a sharp pain as the Crown Prince smacked her buttock yet again. It was just as loud as the first one, but this time, it was on her bare skin.

She was too stunned to move, and he pushed right in. Rose’s vocal cords that had been sealed were released instantly. Rose’s cry echoed through the chamber, sharp and raw, but it was quickly swallowed by the oppressive silence of the castle walls. Her knees buckled, but the Crown Prince’s grip on her waist tightened, holding her upright. She clawed at the door, her nails scraping against the polished wood, desperate for something to anchor her. Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

"Quiet," he hissed, his breath hot against her ear. "Unless you want the guards outside to know exactly what’s going on here."

Rose clenched her teeth, biting back another scream. Her body trembled, torn between the instinct to fight and the paralyzing fear of what might happen if she did. She gripped the door tighter, putting all her strength into holding herself up and bearing this until he was done.

He moved again, and Rose’s breath hitched. He was certainly bigger than she could take. Rose could feel herself being stretched thin. She didn’t focus on that; she focused on the cold wood beneath her fingertips, the faint scent of tung oil from the wood her face was pressed up against—anything to keep herself from shattering.

"You should be honored," the Crown Prince muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Not every commoner gets this kind of attention from their future king."

Rose’s stomach churned. She wanted to spit in his face, to scream that she would never be his, but the words caught in her throat. She was trapped, not just by his strength but by the weight of his power. He was the Crown Prince, the heir to the throne, and she was nothing—a pawn, a plaything, a whore. Her thoughts raced to Ander. Where was he? Why wasn’t he here to save her?

The Crown Prince’s grip shifted, his fingers tightening on her hips as he leaned closer. "You’re hiding in your head," he said. "Do that again, and I’ll ram this up your arse."

Rose’s eyes flew open. She knew he wasn’t speaking lightly. He was brutally moving in and out of her, her face slamming against the door with each push. Her walls were sore from the constant assault, and her legs were running out of strength.

How long would this go on? Ander didn’t take this much time ever, and yet he would—

"I said don’t space out!"

Rose couldn’t keep the sound in as he thrust in, even deeper. There was more of him, she realized in horror. Rose’s breath hitched as his hand moved, his fingers brushing against where they were joined. She flinched, her body instinctively recoiling, but there was nowhere to go. The Crown Prince’s grip on her tightened, his other hand pressing her firmly against the door. Her cheek was pressed to the cold wood, his lips to her ear.

"Your father is alive, isn’t he? Or did you not like your wedding present?" he asked, his voice low and mocking.

He had checked the contents of the bag. She had thought it was simply protocol, but the Crown Prince himself had looked at the contents of the bag.

"Answer me," he muttered, his voice dark in her ears.

"’E is," she voiced out. "Mi Fat’er is alive."

She understood his underlying words. He had kept his end of the bargain; it was her duty to do the same.

The Crown Prince’s movements grew more deliberate, his touch calculated to elicit a reaction. Rose bit down on her lip, drawing blood, as she fought to keep herself from crying out. She focused on the pain, on the sharp sting of her split lip—anything to distract herself from what was happening. But it was no use. Her body betrayed her, trembling under his touch. A strange sensation started to grow, one even the pain couldn’t conceal.

Rose bit deeper into her lip, but it didn’t help. He didn’t slow down; rather his movements steadied while his hand moved from her waist to her chest, squeezing, rubbing, flicking, and pulling. However, it was the fingers on her clit that were the real problem.

Rose’s breathing changed, and her hips started to move on their own, matching his rhythm. She tried to stop herself, but the more she tried, the itchier she felt, and only—Rose couldn’t dare complete the thought.

"Don’t fight it," he groaned into her ear. "Might as well enjoy it." fre eweb\(n)ovel(.)co(m)

Easy for him to say, Rose wanted to say, but her body wasn’t listening to her, it was listening to his husky voice. She heard a sound that didn’t sound like hers at all. It sounded similar to what she heard Delphine make. She hated it, but she couldn’t fight it. She was mush in the Crown Prince’s hands; he knew exactly what buttons to press.

The same sensation from last night started to build up again. It felt as though every single pore on her skin was on fire. Rose gripped the door until her knuckles turned white. She was so close. Rose felt an urgency she couldn’t describe. Suddenly, there was silence, and she came apart like water bursting out of a dam.

Her ears rang, and her throat felt hoarse. She heard a satisfied sound, and the Crown Prince let go of her. Rose slumped against the door like a sack of potatoes, her legs barely able to hold her. She didn’t turn around, didn’t want to see the smug look on his face, but more than that, she was appalled by the wetness she could feel trickling down her legs.

She heard him adjust his clothes, his footsteps echoing as he walked away from her. "Get yourself out," he said dismissively as if she were nothing more than a stain to be wiped away.

He walked to the table, slipped into his coat, and walked back to the door. She scrambled away from it. He merely glanced at her before leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Rose fell to the ground, curled into a ball, and wept.