Page 51 of Lost Prince

He holds my breast, sucking the nipple deep into his mouth as his other arm bands around me, holding me to him. My pussy is on fire with need. My movements become more frantic.

He groans. “Fuck… so good.” His hands grip my hips, and he moves me over him, urging me to go faster. I hold his shoulders as I let go, riding him with free rein. “Yes… fuck, Diana… I’m coming.”

So am I. I cry out as my orgasm rockets through me. My pussy is still spasming when he flips me over and drives in, hard, fast, letting his own orgasm overtake him.

Lazaro collapses on top of me, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “You’re too delicious for your own good.”

I smile. I love the way Lazaro talks to me, like I’m giving him something he’s never had before. But I temper the hope that it means anything more than simply two people enjoying each other's company.

He rolls, pulling me with him. I snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and protected. I give in to it, falling asleep in his arms.

I wake early, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains. I glance at Lazaro's sleeping form beside me. His face, usually so guarded and intense, looks peaceful in slumber. The hard lines of his jaw and the scar on his temple seem softer somehow.

As I lie there, drinking in the moment, my stomach growls quietly. Last night's activities certainly worked up an appetite. I blush, remembering how Lazaro turned our dinner into an erotic game.

But now in the morning light, it’s time for reality. One that means I need to get up and head to work. I’m nervous. Will Lana really be okay with my working here and spending time with Lazaro? Will Anna and the staff be awkward around me? Whatever the answer, I have to make do as best I can.

Carefully, I slide out from under Lazaro's arm. He stirs slightly but doesn't wake. Once I'm free, I tiptoe across the room, grabbing clean clothes from my backpack, and head to the bathroom. My breasts are sticky from the jelly and Lazaro’s mouth. I smile as I shower and remember the night before.

Once clean, I dress quickly and quietly. When I exit the bathroom, I check on Lazaro, still sleeping in the warm looking bed. Part of me wants to crawl back into bed with him, but I want to get to the kitchen early and resettle myself, have a moment to mentally prepare.

I slip out of the room and make my way downstairs. The house is quiet at this early hour, and I relish the solitude as I head for the kitchen. My sanctuary. A place where I can think clearly and prepare myself for whatever the day might bring.

I push the door open and freeze at the sight of Lana. She's sitting alone at the table, her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Her eyes are distant, lost in thought, and I pray she hasn't noticed me yet.

Slowly, I try to back out of the kitchen. As I take a step backward, the floorboard creaks beneath my foot.

Lana's head snaps up, her piercing gaze locking onto mine. I feel like a deer caught in headlights, unable to move or speak.

"Diana," she says, her voice neutral. "Come in."

My stomach churns with anxiety, but I force myself to enter the kitchen. There's no running away now. I approach the table cautiously, reminding myself that right now, I’m staff, so I stand at the ready for whatever she might order me to do.

She studies me, and it’s all I can do not to squirm under her scrutiny.

“I'm going to be blunt. I don't trust you, and I'm keeping a very close eye on you."

I swallow hard, my hands threading together in front of me in a bundle of nerves. I remind myself that she’s protective of Lazaro. "I understand.”

“If you really understood, you wouldn’t have returned. But Lazaro seems to feel some sort of connection to you. And for reasons I can't fathom, he insists on letting you stay."

I nod, not daring to interrupt.

"So, for now, I'm going to let this go," Lana says, leaning back in her chair. "But make no mistake, Diana. One wrong move, one hint that you're taking advantage of my brother's vulnerability, and you'll be out of here faster than you can blink."

I meet her gaze, trying to convey my sincerity. "I understand, Ms. D'Amato. I promise, I have no ill intentions toward Lazaro or your family."

Lana's expression remains skeptical, but she gives a curt nod. “I wouldn't get too comfortable if I were you. Lazaro's affections can be rather… fleeting."

My stomach drops at her words, but I try to keep my expression neutral.

"You see, my brother has quite the history with women. He's always been a charmer, a real Casanova type. The girls just fall at his feet."

She pauses, taking a sip of her coffee before continuing. "Before his accident, Lazaro would go through women like tissues. He'd sweep them off their feet, shower them with attention, and then move on to the next pretty face that caught his eye."

She trails off, leaving the implication hanging in the air between us. I feel a mix of emotions swirling inside me—hurt, anger, confusion. But most of all, I feel a deep sense of uncertainty. Could Lana be right? Am I just another conquest for Lazaro?

These thoughts highlight how terrible I’ve been at trying to keep my emotions out of the situation. I have no reason to believe I mean more to Lazaro than any of his previous women. Perhaps there’s a little something extra about me that helps him feel calm in the storm his life has become, but that doesn’t mean he feels more for me than he has for other women.