Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) Rebecca Grey (first e reader txt) 📖

"You're just playing with the king to offend him," Juilliard sighs. Sloane pats his shoulder gently and turns to leave. His long skinny fingers wrap around her wrist. "Please don't leave me alone with these two."

"Juilliard," I scold. Nothing's even happening, I'm going to stitch up Marcello's leg. Even as I think about it, I can feel something thick in the air between Marcello and I. It's just the tension of the Games though, right? Is this forbidden attraction that obvious? I'm just a game to him, I try to remind myself.

"Sorry," Sloane whispers, slipping out of his hold and floating with Immortal grace right out of the tent.

Juilliard half moans, half whines as he collapses back on the cot and stares up at the white ceiling. He folds his arms across his chest with a pout. "I'm stuck here for a while so my bone can set and heal." He whispers and I'm not entirely sure he's actually talking to us, because it sounds much more like he's busy feeling sorry for himself.

"Alright. Take off your pants." I pluck the towel from Marcello's lap, enjoying Juilliard's loud sigh that follows.

The muscles in Marcello's shirt bulge as he presses his palms into the cot and slips off the side. A curl, dusted with dirt, falls across his forehead. His hips lean into the bed as he reaches for his buckle. Gold plated fastenings highlight the leanness of his waist, pulling my eyes down. Greedily, I watch.

I glance up, returning his gaze and sly tilted smile. Heat flames across my face, caught in the act of ogling. Even the embarrassment sparks a fire inside of me.

The open belt buckle jingles as he pushes his pants down his legs and steps out of them. I want to hold his stare, let him know that I'm not tempted by him when I know I am. Still I betray myself as my gaze falls down below the band of his undershorts. In his next life Marcello could be a Saint with his heartbreaking good looks. The Saint of Temptations. Because he's more of a temptation to me than the money by the door.

Below the dark leather pants are white loose boxer shorts. And an outline. An impressive outline.

Marcello clears his throat and edges back onto the cot. My attention flicks down to my hands, to the needle and wire I'll use to close up the wound. Damn, the wound, I hadn't even looked at it since I was so busy cock-gazing. Something's wrong with me. Something was wrong with me the moment I met him and that something became far worse today when I'd fallen and landed in his arms. I'd felt something. I can't remember the last time I really truly felt something I could grab a hold of. Something that seems concrete.

Feelings can be deceptive though. Because whatever is between us... it can't and won't last.

So I turn to his wound. The deep red gouge no longer bleeds profusely, in fact the muscle underneath already looks to be knitting back together quite well. It must be nice to have Immortal blood flowing through your veins, even if only for this one reason.

I ready the needle, running the wire through the eye. Keeping it between two fingers, pointed edge up, I nudge the skin back together. Marcello holds perfectly still, but his fingers curl into his palms. Flipping the needle in my fingers, I sink the point through one side and out the other.

With a quick glance, I catch Marcello taking a deep breath in and hold it. He doesn't look down at me or at the wound, only staring straight ahead. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

"Can you feel the tension between us?" he rasps, clearly trying to distract himself from the discomfort.

"You mean the tension of the sutures as I sew you back up?" I chuckle softly under my breath.

"No. I mean the sexual tension." His voice is a little stronger now. A tight smile is a shadow on his lips. Juilliard whines next to us and we both ignore him.

"You’re not my type."

"What is your type? Vampires? Blondes?"

I shove the needle into his skin with more force than necessary. Marcello's muscles tense, but he stays quiet. I breathe slowly, trying to keep my pulse from racing. He's just playing with you Nilsa.

"I like rough creatures, ragged at the edges. Not prim and proper supposed gentlemen from The Oasis."

"And why is that?" He draws his hands into his lap, folding them against him. My eyes want to follow, for a moment they do, until I shove the needle back out of his flesh and pull the sutures tight. I may be able to effectively close the wound, but these aren’t near as neat as Juilliard's.

"You're too nice."

Juilliard scoffs and Marcello's head falls back as he laughs. The noise shakes through his body, humming against my fingertips and traveling up my arm like a trail of goosebumps.

"Everything about you is sharp edges and flying fists. You're so aggressive." His voice turns to velvet. "So when you're ready, I'm going to touch you softly. I'm going to be gentle with you. Oh, Nilsa, I don't want you to scream when I touch you...I want you to purr."

My fingers go utterly still. What had felt like a warming fire inside my core moments ago lights to a full-fledged inferno that's burning up every inch of my body. I cross my feet at my ankles, trying to hide the way my thighs clench together and my body becomes eager.

I don't like soft touches. What is this lovemaking he is describing? It's not for me. I want to feel pain. Marcello, he what? Wants to caress me? Wants to hold me?

Finishing the small incision, I close the sutures and set