Praise Me: Princess (Praise Me Daily)
Praise Me: Princess: Chapter 13

Of all the bullets I’ve dodged in my lifetime, this one came the closest to killing me.

One month of service. That’s all? Only four measly weeks and I will have this woman as my reward? I would have agreed to serve the rest of my life if only to stop her marrying that clown. That motherfucker who had the nerve to covet what is mine.

Mine.

One month and that claim will be official.

I am kissing the princess now, her tight body sandwiched between me and the door, her thighs circling my hips, tiara askew. We haven’t fucked since this morning, so she’s extra whiny in between thorough pillages of her sweet, young mouth, and without laying a finger on her, I know she’s soaked straight through her panties.

I’m going to give her what she needs, but fucking isn’t the only thing on my mind. I don’t like the tears in her eyes. I don’t like seeing her fear for my safety.

We aren’t leaving this room until she has her bravery back. Until she’s confident.

“Don’t go,” she sobs against my mouth. “There has to be another way.”

“There is no other way, baby,” I gather her skirt up around her hips, massaging her outer thighs, then up to her hips, squeezing, before slipping around to her taut ass, gripping and kneading it, memorizing every inch of her I can for the dark, lonely nights to come. “I would serve forever knowing you’re waiting for me.”

“No.” She rains kisses all over my face. “What if you get hurt?”

I consume her with a French kiss while dropping a hand to unfasten my pants, lowering my zipper to allow my cock to jut out, my sensitive head punching the seam of little cunt, causing her to cry out. “What do we say when you’re scared, Greta?”

“Nothing gets through you,” she whispers through swollen lips, her eyelids dropping to half-mast when I jerk aside the material of her underwear. “Not bullets, not acts of nature, not shrapnel or blades.”

“That’s right.” I mash our foreheads together, looking her in the eye while I pump my cock home between her smooth, welcoming thighs, my balls already hard as fucking rocks. “Daddy is going to come home to you.” I pull out halfway, driving myself back in while we both shudder, the hinges rattling to my left. “Daddy is going to come home from war to his little girl and her pretty, wet pussy. No one and nothing will stop him.”

“I love my Daddy,” she murmurs haltingly, because I’m thumping her harder now, her sexy ass smacking off the door. “I love him so much.”

“I can tell, baby. That little flex of muscle when I’m balls deep tells me everything I need to know.” Ah Jesus, here comes the groaning. I physically can’t stop myself from baying like a mating lion once she’s warmed up and taking all of me, her tightness stretched to capacity, suctioned around me like nobody’s business. I can do nothing but pin her to the door and pound my hard meat into her clenched fuck hole, her sexy catches of breath serenading my ear, her tits overflowing her neckline and shaking around. “While I’m gone, you keep these legs sealed up like a tomb. There will be no horseback riding until I’m home.” I bury my cock as deep as it will go and capture her chin, forcing it up. “I don’t even want a saddle in my place.” I thrust three times. “Nothing touches you here but me. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” she breathes, clenching around me, her legs restless, her back arched. “Yes, I promise. I promise. Do it harder!”

My hand slides from her chin down to her throat, clasping the delicate stem. “I’m warning you in advance, I’m going to come home from war and raid your body like a demon. You’re going to get my cock up, down and sideways before I’ve even taken off my muddy boots.” I’m shaking the door with violent fucks of my hips now, impaling my flushed and moaning princess to the door. “I might still kill him for touching your hand, Greta. So help me God. These hands are mine to warm in sleep, mine to top with a ring. They are the hands that will hold my children. No one else should ever touch them.”

“No one but you.”

“Who will guard you while I’m gone?” I bemoan into her neck, my voice cracking.

She lays kisses on my mouth, my cheeks, my chin, sweet to me even though I’m pummeling her like an out-of-control bastard. “I promise to keep myself safe,” she hiccups. “As long as you keep yourself safe, too.”

“I will,” I vow, slamming up between her legs now, panting, driven into a frenzy by how she tightens up like the devil, but her voice grows more angelic, that combination pushing me to my limit. “Take my seed, little girl. Grow it for me while I’m gone.”

She looks up at me through her lashes. “Better give me a lot, Daddy.”

Every muscle in my body is seized by a spasm and I frantically rub her clit with the licked pad of my thumb, her head falling backwards, our orgasms colliding, the door shaking loud enough to be heard back in Leidenstein, my roar muffled by her sweet neck, the soft innocence of her cunt twisting around me, ruining me, forcing me to acknowledge what I’ll be missing for a month, while also making me twice as determined to return to paradise while wave after wave of relief inundates me.

When our fevers cool and she’s full of my come, the excess dripping down her inner thighs, I press my lips to her forehead. “Tell me you believe in me. That nothing in this world or any other will keep me from returning to marry my princess.”

She looks up at me like I’m the only man in existence.

For her, that’s exactly what I am.

“I believe in you, Commander,” she whispers, her fingers busy twisting the lapels of my shirt. “Come home, so I can call you my husband.”

Another spray of bliss catches me off guard and I fall against her, shuddering, my joy over being referred to as husband pooling on the floor while she gasps in delight, cooing into my neck and praising her Daddy’s stamina and size.

“Fuck a month,” I pant, shaken. “I’ll be back in two weeks.”

Greta

I’m taking a bath when there’s a knock at my bedroom door.

“Princess Greta.”

I recognize the voice of one my mother’s assistants, but there’s something different in his tone of voice. Something that has me rising from the bath, water and suds sluicing down my torso and legs. It sounds almost like…gravity. Excitement.

“Yes?” I call, quickly reaching for a towel.

“The commander has returned.”

My eyes fill with hot tears, a pressure descending on my chest. I let out a gulping sob and leap from the tub, drying off with haphazard hands and donning a royal blue silk robe. I’m shaking so severely, I can barely function, my heart bursting with relief and joy. We’ve been getting updates on the progress in the north and Conrad’s presence has indeed made all the difference, our forces pushing the rebels back to the northern border, the threat diminished in a matter of weeks.

I’ve missed him in a way that should be examined by science. I have been a helium-filled balloon with no string, bobbing aimlessly, trying not to think of him being wounded or worse, forced to sedate myself on several occasions, the crushing fear of him not returning became so difficult to control. My soul misses him. My body aches and grows wet at night without relief, his scent on my sheets the only thing anchoring me to reality.

Now, I run barefoot down the hallway in nothing but my robe, my hair coming loose from the bun I’d fashioned on the top of my head, gasping sobs issuing from some deep, dark, lonely well inside of me. I reach the stairs and bolt down them at a breakneck pace, turning on a dime at the bottom, bypassing my horrified mother to get outside.

Get to Conrad as fast as possible, by any means necessary.

There he is, limping and disheveled, just after climbing from a military vehicle. He’s grown a beard and there’s an air of weariness about him, but it vanishes as soon as he sees me. His heart leaps into his eyes and he stalks haltingly in my direction, opening his arms. “Greta,” he whispers, then his voice lifts to a shout. “Greta.”

I throw myself into his arms, clinging to him like a second skin, legs around his waist. His face buries in my neck, inhaling my scent with a desperation that only makes me hold him tighter. “You’re back. You’re back. You came back to me.”

“Of course I did.” His kisses race up the side of my neck, his hands burrowing in my hair to tilt my head, making room for his mouth. “I don’t break promises to my princess.”

“No, you don’t. That’s only one of the reasons I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby. And you dared to grow more beautiful while I was slaying the men who put a brand on your precious skin?” He growls against my ear before lowering his voice to a rasping whisper. “As soon as I get a few things straightened out, I’m going to tie you to your fancy princess bed and eat your tight pussy until the horrors of war fade from my mind and there’s only you, my perfect girl.”

“I won’t let you think of them,” I whisper, nuzzling his nose with mine, sipping at his mouth. “And I won’t hear of my pleasure coming first. I’m going to bathe you and feed you and ride your cock all night, because that’s what a hero deserves.” We groan into a kiss that leaves me trembling in his arms. “That’s what my husband deserves.”

He hisses through his teeth, followed by a choked sound, color suffusing his face. “You know what that title does to me, Greta.”

“Do I?” I say innocently, biting my lip.

With that, Conrad is marching toward the entrance of the palace, and I know I’m minutes from being ravaged like a virgin sacrifice on my back. I guess the hero’s treatment will have to wait, now that I’ve provoked him. How terrible.

Before Conrad can carry me inside, he calls to my mother. “Get a priest here by tonight. I’ve kept my vow to you, now I’m keeping the princess.”

She salutes him. “That was the plan all along, you know,” she sings to Conrad’s retreating back. “Thank you for following it.”

Conrad and I trade a look of shock on the way up the stairs, soaking in the revelation that my mother orchestrated our meeting…and quite possibly never intended for me to marry the prince. “I’ll never question the queen again,” Conrad vows.

“Me either, apparently.”

And that’s the last time we speak for hours, except to moan and whimper and grunt, because our mouths are occupied, locked in kisses that taste like eternity, while my future husband expends himself vigorously on top of me, my knees tucked under my armpits, the bed scraping up and back on the stone floor, causing lights to flicker throughout the palace.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” I whisper against his sweaty chest many hours later.

His hand splays on the back of my head, pressing my ear tighter to his rioting heart. “Never, my princess.”