Possessive Royal (Duke of Tudor #2) Read Online Amarie Avant

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: Duke of Tudor Series by Amarie Avant
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
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“Oh, thank heavens. You’re done talking. Now listen—”

“Done with you!”

Callused hands frame my face and amusement dances in his hypnotic blue eyes. “Do you require a timeout? Sit on my face, Little One. Have your moment.”

“Oh? I’m young, dumb, huh? I’ll walk to the closest Atlantic shore and swim across just to get … how dare you laugh at me!”

“You’ve carried about ridiculously since my arrival just now. How could I not?”

“I almost forgot what an asshole you are, Vic. Now I’m having triggers of our first dinner date.”

He chuckles as he had over our candlelit dinner. “Good, now you’ll recall the rules. Consult with me first. No flaunting bloody accusations.”

“I’d rather consult with my friend, Burt. Where is he?” His fingers grip my shoulders, but I barely repress a sob, snapping, “My mother would roll over in her grave if I carried on with—”

“I’m not bloody engaged!” His explosive shout hits me full-on.

Over a foot shorter than him, my voice cracks as I attempt to match the beast’s ferocity. “You don’t give a fuck about me! You just allowed those guards to carry me off.”

“Your mannerisms allowed those guards to carry you off.” Victor towers over me. He tips my chin and commands, “If we disagree, you come to me. Do not ever bring a dispute to attention before others.”

The blood drains from my face. “Princess Mary threw me to the wolves, and clearly, you’ve no qualms about it.”

“You’ve my word, my mum’s antics will not go unpunished. What did she do?”

“She wounded my pride. You crushed it. Anyway, your mother brought something to my attention, Vic. I don’t fuck married or otherwise engaged men. I’m done with all of you.” I round off my comment with the old one-finger salute

He grabs my wrists, and something tells me that God’s love for me is saving me and my middle finger. Victor flings my hands over my head. I’m pressed back to a wall, breasts exposed to him. Lust washes darkly over Victor’s face before transforming into malice.

“Let me get one thing straight with you, Luxury Whitson.” He uses one hand to capture both wrists high while the other clasps my cheeks, puckering my mouth like a foolish, little fishy.

“You will not speak to me in such a brazen manner. I am Prince Victor Wesley Tudor, Duke of Arlington. You do not want to find out what happens to anyone who disrespects me.”

Entranced by the deep blue sea that is Victor’s eyes, I stare up at him. His head drops as he brushes his mouth against mine. I mumble, “You’re right. I don’t want to find out, you sadistic bastard. I don’t want to be in your presence at all. I can make my way home. I want nothing to do with you.”

Low, laughter flows from a cruel mouth. “Luxury, you left North America and democracy behind. You’re in the company of a man who has the blood of the reigning monarch in his veins. You will listen to my explanation; you will stay.”

“I will no—”

“Now, for the warning.” Victor brings my hands down behind me, shoulder blades flexed, crushing himself to me. “I’m not speaking solely as royalty. See, mummy dearest will have her comeuppance for harming my Little One. I vow to you, as the bloke to whom you verbally confessed ownership, that you will always be under my protection.”

“I wish I never—”

Victor lets my wrists go, and with the pressure of having them restrained at my rear, they fall limp at my sides. He grips my throat, thumb running over the silky hollow of my collarbone that causes a rainstorm in my pussy and my spine to tingle in fear.

He’s not constricting.

It takes a second to realize that.

I murmur, “Where’s Burt? He’ll take me.”

“Lux, I’ve never disrespected you or lied to you.” His thumb caresses my jawline as he holds my neck siege.

“Sure, you haven’t,” I sneer.

“Shhh.” His pelvis presses against mine, rock-hard cock tormenting my valley.

I’m in love with a man who refuses reciprocity and is engaged to another. Every inch of my body is on fire, not giving a damn about Victor’s engagement, not giving two shits if he were married for years with children.

I don’t . . . want him.

The obsessive woman who possessed my body and fell for him all too soon comes rearing her stubborn head.

I. Want. Him.

It’s official. I have split personality disorder.

“I hate you, Vic. Let me go home,” I murmur. If Victor releases me, I will leave. That should satisfy this impulsive bitch who threatens to take over. “Just let me go.”

“Little One, Madeline Elliot is not my fiancée. Never was.” Victor wipes gingerly at the tears streaming down my cheeks. It’s as if the touch of my tears unleashed his humanity. His tone is a caress to my heart. “Little One, I will not let you leave. I will not allow it.”


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