1 - Zara
Preview of Tempting Rebel Princess
Zara
“I want you to hurt me,” I breathed, staring into his eyes. They were a dark, sexy shade of blue. They compelled me to do terrible, dirty things to him and for him. Things I had never imagined I would ever want, but… there was something about him that made me want to be just Zara.
Not the Princess who had her own castle, who ate with a golden spoon every day, who was spoiled rotten from the day she was born.
No. With him, I just wanted to be Zara, a woman who wanted to be pleased and do the pleasing.
“Where do you want me to hurt you, Princess?” Hayden asked, a hint of a smirk on his lips as his eyes gleamed with unknown emotion.
My lips parted, but no words came out. He wants me to make the first move. He wanted to make sure I wanted this just as much as he wanted it, even though I was eleven years younger than him.
The thought of this man, this handsome, sexy man wanting to hurt me because I told him to, scared and excited me. It was thrilling.
“Here,” I placed his calloused hands on my breasts, still covered in the satin fabric of the beige dress. His eyes darkened, his face becoming sharper when he clenched his jaw. I licked my lips, sliding his hands to my waist. Lower. “Everywhere.”
His nose flared, pulling his hands away from my touch as he glared at me. I took a sharp breath when he pressed closer, my back against the closed doors of his hotel suite.
“Don’t mock me, Princess. I will bruise your lips, kissing them, fucking them until you cry,” he rumbled, swiping his thumb over my bottom lip. His hand lowered to my neck, wrapping it around my throat. My eyes widened when he pressed lightly, my pulse getting slower as anticipation and pleasure burned through my core. “I will choke your slender neck. Just. Like. This. Making you hold your breath until you cum for me.”
I gasped, tears blurring my vision when he lowered his hand to hold my breasts. I blinked at him, at the sight of his large palms holding me roughly.
No one has ever touched me like this before. As if they were claiming me with their touch, their words.
I never wanted him to stop.
“You like this, Princess?” He asked, his voice gruff with desire. He squeezed my breasts until a whimper tore out of my lips. As if satisfied with my answer, his hands lowered to my thighs, yanking the hem of my dress over my hips and between my legs.
I held my breath, staring at him through my half-lidded eyes, waiting for him to be rough with me.
But he didn’t.
Hayden ran a finger against my drenched underwear, from my slit to the pleasure nub, rolling his finger around it. He leaned closer, his musky scent wafting in my nose as he whispered, “I will spank you right here, Princess. Get your clit red and swollen before I stretch your pretty little cunt with my thick cock. I will fuck you hard and rough and won’t stop until you scream. You know why?”
“Why?”
He pulled back, trailing his finger over the side of my cheek, the same finger he had between my legs. I could scent my feminine musk on it. My legs clenched.
“Because you begged me to hurt you, Princess.”
I gasped when his fingers clenched around my hair, tugging them back and pulling me closer. I felt the hardness of his length against my legs and I knew he wasn’t kidding about stretching me.
“You can leave right now, Zara, or stay here and allow me to hurt you.”
I didn’t even give it another thought.
“I want to stay.”
He tugged my hair harder until it hurt. His ocean eyes narrowing on my face, “Then for this night you belong to me.”
The dominating tone made something click inside of me. As if that was what I wanted for the longest time after being caged and coddled as a Princess. I could have whatever I wanted, but not… this. This pleasure, this need of getting hurt through pleasure, because who would ever hurt the Princess of Azmia? No one but him. Hayden.
He didn’t know I was a Princess.
He wanted to please me. Hurt me.
I wanted him to please me. Hurt me.
My stomach dipped as if I knew the answer even before he had asked me. I felt my pussy moisten when I sealed my fate and said, “My answer is yes, Hayden.”
His hold on my hair loosened, but he didn’t let me go. No, I didn’t think he would let me go until next morning. I didn’t think I would complain even if he tied me up on his bed and held me captive.
Bringing his face closer, he crooned, “Such a pretty Princess.” He smiled and there was nothing sweet about it when he whispered, “I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”
PART ONE
“I want you to hurt me.”
1
Zara
I did not want to be a Princess.
The constant thought rang thorough me, sighing at the cluster of men who kept glancing at me. I looked at Safiya, my maid, who was busy rating princes and Royals on their looks while my two personal guards stood two steps behind me. They followed me everywhere I went, except my room. They were ordered by my brothers, Zain and Khalid, the Sultan and Prince of Azmia, for my protection.
It’s not that I hated being a Princess. There were perks, but the cons of being one outweighed the pros.
I hated being looked at as some kind of conquest. The way the hungry eyes of men from noble families looked at me, their sons, sheikhs and princes eyeing me like I am just an object waiting to be sold to the highest bidder.
“I want to get out of here,” I mumbled, sipping on the bubbly champagne. My stomach and back itched from the tight fabric of the lace corset dress. Safiya had cinched it too tightly to show some cleavage, despite how small my breasts were. No doubt the dress was beautiful and perfect for a Princess with a heavy skirt, but at that moment, it annoyed me because I wanted to rip it off and scratch my back.
“But it’s your birthday party, Princess Zara,” Safiya frowned, her brown eyes blinking at me. “Don’t you want to have dinner, eat spicy food, cake and open the expensive presents all these people have gifted you?”
Her eyes were shining like stars, in awe at the corner of the Court Room where a pile—no, a mountain of presents with big boxes wrapped in pretty, shiny gift papers were kept together. I scoffed, seeing royal security in their suits guarding the presents.
I dreaded the moment I would have to open them and accept the luxurious clothes, dresses, blouses, that would be released in next year’s fashion show, tailor made by the designer with gold jewellery, personalised for me, Zara Al Latif, the Princess of Azmia.
My eyes flickered to my eldest brother, Zain, sitting on the throne where father used to sit before that night. I rubbed my wrists, glad to see the pale skin soft without any marks. Khalid prowled towards him with a glass in his hand, smirking and taunting him while Zain glared at him playfully.
Their happiness mattered to me more than anything. They had saved me from a monster and it had tainted them to their soul. Saving me had made them afraid of their past, so much so that Zain didn’t want to get married.
I could see the irritation behind his obsidian eyes, the same way the constant staring and attention irritated me from the royals in the crowd. Khalid didn’t mind. He and Zayed, Sheikh of Azmia, his close friend, liked the attention.
“Found anyone yet?” I asked Zain, saving him from the batting lashes and flirting, lacing my arm around his elbow and walking with him on the marble floor designed in beautiful, tangled patterns.
Even though it was my nineteenth birthday party and New Year’s Eve celebration, we held the for Zain so he can find a suitable bride and the future Sultana of Azmia. If I had to describe his preferences after living with him under the same roof for nineteen years, I would say he was a rock. He didn’t like women or men or any other genders. I had never seen him flirting and if I did, it would be a miracle.
Meanwhile, Khalid had different women in his room most of the time. I had learned my lesson to always knock and enter after seeing two of his conquests sprawled naked on his bed, kissing and doing other stuff while he was, thankfully, in the shower. I may or may not have run to the library and looked for some books that mentioned two women or three people in the act of intimacy.
Who knew that could happen? Certainly not me.
Being a Princess, I was sheltered and coddled since the day my mother, Isabella, announced that she was pregnant with me. The only time I had ever been physically alone was in the washroom. Sometimes Safiya insisted to ready my bath with oils and dresses and even scrub my back before special events like that day. I didn’t mind being nude with her in the bath, she was just a year older than me and the closest person I would consider as a friend.
That was why I wanted to go out. Sneak out of The Golden Palace of Azmia and into the Capital Street, go to the club and maybe kiss a stranger. I wanted to be reckless. Do something impulsive and have fun.
I was nineteen and haven’t kissed anyone. Well, I had, once, but it was awful. I didn’t want to kiss a boy with fumbling fingers and gentle lips. I wanted to kiss a man who knew what he was doing. Who knew how to mould a pair of lips together and feel the rush of adrenaline.
The kind of kiss that makes a Princess forget who she is just for a moment.
Unfortunately for me, I can’t outright tell my brothers that I want to go out and kiss a man. It would create a lot of argument. That was why I would sneak out tonight.
As soon as Zain agreed to allow me to go to our club (because we owned the club, it was only for royals and celebrities, Khalid would be there) I rushed to go to my room.
“Going somewhere, Princess?”
My eyes widened, and I halted hearing his silky voice. It felt wrong, but I couldn’t help feeling the hate and the giddy feeling of having a crush whenever he was around.
I glared at him, at his charming smile, the dimples and the dark curls. “What do you care, Zayed?”
Even after his rejection at my advances when I was thirteen and girlish and naïve that a Sheikh like him could ever want me back, I had tried my best to push away the attraction I had felt towards him.
“You’re Khalid’s little sister, Zara,” he had said in a calm voice under the roof of a stable, the horse neighing as tears burned my eyes.
“But I have liked you for so long!” I had complained, stomping on the dirt like a spoiled princess who demanded to be loved back by a twenty-six-year-old man who was a Sheikh and best friend of my brothers.
“It’s a silly crush, it will go away.” He had the same patient voice, melting chocolate eyes. “I see you as my little sister. I apologize if my actions made you think otherwise.”
I had cried, turning away from him and grabbing the stable boy my age and kissing him in a tack room so I could feel what I wanted from Zayed. But, of course, it was utterly wrong and felt awful, apologising to the flustering boy and running back to the palace to cry the heartbreak away in my room.
I blinked at the long hallway lit with small golden chandeliers, my room only a few steps away from him. Zayed walked towards me, my body straightening up. I didn’t have that silly crush anymore. After ignoring him for a year, I had grown a conscious and realised that even princesses aren’t loved by everyone, no matter how pretty they are.
“I care plenty, Zara,” he said, noticing I wasn’t with my maid or guards. “Where are you going?”
I narrowed my eyes at him and crossed my arms. “I am not telling you.”
He looked at me, at my defiance, and smiled. Zayed whispered as if someone might hear us in the empty hallway, “If you are going to sneak out of the Palace, use the gate on the East and go to the Sayih Club in Naureen Street. It has tourists and your brothers won’t think you’d be there.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Okay, I know in my heart I don’t have that crush anymore, but I enjoyed talking to him because he treated me as his sister, which he could spoil with mischief. I had learnt most of my pranks from him.
“Why are you telling me this?” I demanded. “What’s in it for you, Zayed?”
One of the things princesses learn when homeschooled by three brotherly royals and an old advisor: Never accept gifts from royals because they always have an ulterior motive that will benefit them.
Those gifts I received? From designers and royals? They would have an invitation to their show in London, Milan or New York for more publicity. Royals will have more invitations for me to visit their palaces and mansions and ask for my hand in marriage.
“I have taught you so well, haven’t I?” Zayed grinned, standing straight. “But I promise you I don’t have any ulterior motive. I want you to go out and have fun but still be safe.”
He lifted his hand, and I saw a shiny new black phone. Probably the latest model.
“What’s this?”
“A phone.”
“I can see that, but why are you holding it? Are you showing off your new phone—?”
He signed and handed it to me. “It is for you, silly. I want you to press this button thrice as soon as you feel you are in danger or need my help. It has mine and the number of your brothers, your maid, guards and even Rahim’s number.”
Rahim was our advisor who mostly acted as our cool uncle. “Why Rahim’s number?”
“If you cause a fire or kill someone, call him, not me. I will panic.”
He said that with a grin.
Zayed had caused a fire in the Palace running in the hallways and since then he was banned from ever running on the palace grounds. He still won’t tell me how he did it and won’t share his secret. Rahim had helped control the situation while we all evacuated the Palace. He was also present that day… that night when my brothers saved me, killing our father. He had handled it all and took care of us in a way true father would.
I looked over the phone, unlocked it and noticed it was brand new. I never needed a phone. If I wanted to get the latest gossip, I could ask Safiya and look around her phone when she was with me. I didn’t have any use of it. I never needed to call anyone or had anyone to message. I took pictures with my own DSLR and read books in the library, painted with Khalid in his art studio, studying in Zain’s study room or ride a horse from one of the stables Zayed owned.
But Zayed was right. If I go out of the palace alone, I would need one. To take pictures and call him if I needed anything.
“What’s the number of this phone?” I asked, wondering if someone would ask for my number like I see on TV shows and movies.
Zayed chuckled, ruffling my hair and quickly moving his hand, when I glared at him. My dark hair was wavy and thick, so they turned into a mess when ruffled.
“Do you plan to give it to someone?”
“Maybe.”
He looked at me, waiting for me to break under his stare.
Ha! He should have known better.
I squared my shoulders and asked him for the phone’s number again and smiled when he told me.
“Don’t do something I wouldn’t do,” Zayed said when I moved towards my room.
“No problem.” I grinned, looking over my shoulders, “That’s a pretty comprehensive list.”
* * *
A small grunt made its way past my lips when Safiya helped me remove the enormous dress I had been wearing.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Your Highness?” She asked, her voice low as I jumped out of the lacy, puffy fabric that pooled around my ankles.
I nodded, removing the corset. “I am sure, Safiya, and how many times do I have to remind you to call me by my name? We are almost the same age,” I said, raking my hand through my hair. She opened her mouth to argue, but I said, “No. It’s my birthday so you have to call me by my first name when we are alone. Understood?”
“Yes, Princess. Er, Z-zara.”
I grinned and went behind the ornate wooden screen to change into the stunning cream coloured backless dress I had seen in a fashion magazine Safiya had been reading. I had to get it and as my birthday, the fashion designer had it customised for me. The dress felt like a soft hug from the richest silky fabric, its thin straps comfortable on my shoulder. It ended on my thighs but had a slit that reached to my inner thigh. Scandalous. Something a Princess wouldn’t wear.
My fingers nervously fidgeted with the material even though it clung to my body with my back on display. I had bought it to wear it for the party held in the Golden Palace, my home, but knowing there would be so many royals, sheikhs, sultans and princes, my confidence had wavered. I didn’t want them to see me in that dress. It didn’t matter that my brothers, the Sultan and Prince of Azmia, would do anything to protect me. I didn’t want to be seen as a conquest or a challenge for them.
I wanted to be seen like a nineteen-year-old celebrating her birthday and New Year.
“Help me with the zip please!” Safiya said, just as I stepped out of the screen.
“Aw, you look just like a princess, Safiya!” I cooed and helped her with the zip.
“Look who’s talking. You look stunning in the dress. I am quite jealous,” she muttered when I straightened the fabric of the dress I was wearing moments ago.
When my eldest brother Zain, the Sultan, allowed me to go to our club, I knew I had to try. Try to have a night off from being a princess. I didn’t want to be coddled and protected safely, which I knew would happen if I went to the club we owned. Knowing Khalid, the Prince, would be there didn’t help. He would make sure no men made any eye-contact with me and if they stared at me for over five seconds, he would threaten to pull his eyeballs out.
I had seen him threaten a man once when we were out in the market. “No one gets to stare at you like that. You are the only Princess of Azmia and my little sister,” Khalid had said with no ounce of regret after I scolded him for threatening the stranger.
Today’s my lucky day. I won’t be a Princess tonight. Just a nineteen-year-old, sneaking out of her house—er, palace, to go to a club.
“Please don’t do anything stupid,” she said, pinning two strands of my hair on the crown just how she does her hair every day. I liked it. It made the sharp features of my face stand out.
“Define stupid,” I answered, applying a red lipstick. It made the beauty mark on the corner of my upper lip look more enticing. I wished I could dress up like that every day.
“Don’t get arrested. Don’t threaten someone. Do not even try to help a stranger when they ask you for direction,” she threatened, her usual soft tone gone.
“Why not? They need my help—”
“Zara,” she said. “You are terrible at giving directions and if you are looking like that, the only thing that stranger would want is a direction towards your bed.”
I pouted.
“Princess, are you ready?” The guard knocked on the double doors of my room as Safiya and I rushed to wear heels.
“Just a moment!”
I strapped the nude sandals on my feet as Safiya wore flats with rhinestone that worth more than the club I would go to. I safely tucked a sheer dark veil across her face so the guards wouldn’t know that Safiya was pretending to be me for a night. I was sure she would extremely enjoy the attention she would get while I would wander around the capital on my own.
“Will you be safe?” She asked, watching me wear a coat to hide the dress.
“Of course.”
“You won’t be a Princess outside the palace, Zara,” Safiya said, her brown eyes softening. “No one will recognise who you are. Please don’t get killed.”
“I promise I won’t get killed.” I hugged her. “Now quit worrying about me and have fun for the night.”
The feathers of the mask on my face kept tickling my nose, but I had to wear it until Safiya was safely seated in the Rolls Royce waiting for her. The guards frowned at the sheer veil, but they hurried behind Safiya when she walked ahead of them, leaving me alone in the palace’s hallway.
I could hear the musicians playing instruments in the Court Room. My brothers would be busy engaging with the guests.
This was my only chance.
So I turned, a grin on my lips and went to the gate on the East, towards the Naureen Street.
A/N: What do you think of the first chapter so far?
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