Page 18 of Heartbreak Prince

He’s good at this. It’s what he does—he lures people in, fucks them, uses them for his entertainment. It infuriates me that even here, on what should be my turf, he still reigns supreme.

I take things a step further, touching my breasts and my belly, even rubbing my fingers between my legs. I’m used to listening to the audience’s breathing, discerning their level of lust by the faintest of sounds. When I turn my back to the watchers and bend deeply, I’m rewarded by male groans.

Vawn’s body language tells me that the knight’s breaking point is near, and I’m determined to make my part of this duet as convincing as possible. I need to make every man in that darkened audience as ravenous for me as Vawn is pretending to be.

I swish my hips and dance saucily around him, moving with the rhythm of the music, legs arched high with each step. So far, neither of us has spoken, but I voice two words in my haughtiest tone. “Down, dog.”

The knight lowers himself onto all fours before me, with his rear toward the audience. As I circle behind him, I glide the tip of the riding crop along the curves of his ass, then strike him lightly, first on one cheek, then the other.

He flinches beautifully, muscles contracting in the broad expanse of his back. I run my fingers along the slopes of his shoulders, absorbing the silken heat into my palm, wondering how his skin is so flawless.

I smack him once more and start to dance away, wiggling my ass for the benefit of the watchers.

With a low, desperate growl from deep in his chest, the knight attacks.

He lunges for me like a panther leaping onto his prey. I squeal, and the sound isn’t entirely fake. My first instinct is to fight him with every skill I possess, but I force myself to stay in character, to be the soft princess entrapped by her knight. I writhe in his arms, locked against his chest, voicing helpless little gasps.

He spins me around so we’re face to face—or helmet to mask—and he shakes me briefly, like he’s telling me to yield. When I lift the riding crop as if I might strike him, he seizes my wrist with a snarl of warning.

A soft gasp comes from the viewers. They’re invested in this, in the dance between us and the barely suppressed anger we hold for each other.

The prince’s height and breadth should give him dominance, but I’ve faced off against countless well-muscled fighters, some taller and broader than him. They all have similar weaknesses—specifically the one standing at attention between his legs.

I shift closer, pinning his length between us, and I press my hips forward, rolling my body against the prince’s front.

The tension in his limbs and the grip of his fingers breathe violence, transmitting the silent threat of everything he wishes he could do to me. My body registers the danger even though my mind knows—or hopes—that it’s just an act. The clash of the two contradicting messages raises goosebumps on my skin… proof that he’s affecting me.

I writhe against him again, softly, just enough contact to be tantalizing, and when his hold loosens, I dart away.

He recaptures me, dragging me back against him, clawing at the bustier I wear. His fingertips dive between my breasts, unhooking the garment. He flings it aside and grabs my tits with both hands, kneading the flesh hungrily. I knew he’d be touching me, but it feels better than I expected, and heat surges between my legs.

A shuddering groan from the darkness beyond the screen startles me. For a second, I forgot we were being watched. And that frightens me more than the attackers in the Lyre & Vice or the wild ride on the magic carpet.

Vawn made me forget my work. For that, he will pay. I refuse to yield to intrusive thoughts or to my own pleasure. This performance serves one purpose—to earn money so we can get out of the city. Nothing else matters.

The music filling the room is passionate, visceral, and the dance we perform beats with the same pulsing desire. The knight’s hands are everywhere, sliding over my bare breasts, squeezing my thighs. When he says, “Down, dog,” and forces me to my hands and knees, more groans of pleasure issue from the audience.

“Rub her cunt,” someone calls.

I tense, because it’s against the rules for clients to direct the performers. But Vawn doesn’t know that.

I can’t bear the thought of him touching me there. If he does, even with my underwear in place, he’s going to realize how wet I am. Nudity doesn’t bother me, but I don’t want him to perceive my body’s response. The very idea makes me cringe inside.

He’s the Naughty Prince. The one many people in this kingdom would love to have in their bed. But I never wanted to react to him like this. I wanted to be the exception, the one person immune to his allure, and it bothers me that I’m acting just like the rest of them.

Vawn’s hand is on my thigh, moving inward toward the scrap of fabric covering my pussy. I shift under his touch—the barest quiver of reluctance. I doubt that anyone in the audience would notice the slight recoil, but Vawn does.

His fingers abandon their path, and instead of touching me from behind, he leans forward and pretends to fuck me, gripping my hips and rolling his body for the benefit of the audience. His erection bumps my rear lightly with every feigned thrust.

The watchers cheer him on, goaded to frenzied arousal by the scene. The knight’s hand splays over the back of my skull, forcing my head down while he pretends to fuck me. I make sounds, whimpering gasps and fluttering sobs. They’re not the sounds any woman would make if she was being forced by the man who was sworn to protect her. These are soft, playful, completely fake. Part of the game.

Men like high-pitched whines and mews and whimpers. I’ve learned precisely which sounds make them hard, and I give them what they want.

At last the knight goes still behind me, his thick hardness pushing against one of my ass cheeks. He’s leaning over my back, his heat against my spine. His hands clasp my waist, then surge along my ribcage, pausing right beneath the heavy curves of my breasts. He cups them and pushes lightly upward, feeling their soft weight. And he groans, deep and ragged, as if he just came.

Spirals of pleasure unfurl through my body at the sound. If the knight cupped my pussy and massaged me there right now, I would come in seconds.

Huffing gasps and prolonged moans fill the dark room beyond our showcase. Sounds like we have several successful comers. I’m not sure how many clients are watching this session, but hopefully all of them reached climax.