The First And Future Prince

Prolouge

A/N: Yes! Finally its released exited that I could cry! My pain in the neck story is published.Not my first story.My other account(reneeliously_cute) will never get an update ever again.so obviously I can't go back there for some reason.
I can't continue my story there! Anyway hope people will forget it,cuz I'm not continuing it. I'll focus here hope you like it and leave a comment in your thoughts for my prolouge and first chapter.

Enjoy

P.s by the way the anime guy is inspire by the prince in my mind...

-ReneeShyNaMe
Reneeliously_cute

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Eight years ago

"Come closer, Phoebe. I won't bite. Not too hard."

Leandro's rumble reverberated in Phoebe's bones.

She choked on the surge of response, on the breath that was trapped inside her lungs. The breath she'd been holding waiting for him to contact her. The one she always held until he did.

She still couldn't breathe. He stood as if carved from rock, staring out of his penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows at the Manhattan skyline, which glittered like clusters of stars set in arcane patterns. Her starved senses registered only him.

The power of his physique, the silken layers crowning his head, dimmed spotlights overhead caressing copper overtones from the hairs' deepest mahogany. Her hands stung with the memory of convulsing in that hair as he'd exposed her to the mercilessness of his pleasuring.

His scent invaded her with a maleness and a potency that were only his, an aphrodisiac even from the distance he bade her to eliminate. He'd already gotten her to travel four thousand miles to "come closer."

Eight hours ago, she'd received a message from Ernesto-Leandro's right-hand man, and their secret go-between-during Julia's daily physiotherapy session. She'd thought he was inviting her to yet another clandestine rendezvous, one even more secret because Leandro's situation in Castaldini was more delicate than ever after his resignation from his ambassador post. But she hadn't found Leandro. Just his jet. There'd been no word from him all through the seven-hour flight to New York.

There hadn't been one in four months. She'd feared silence had been his way of informing her it was over. But it wasn't....

"I turned thirty, two months ago."

She lurched at his rasp, a twist of longing in her gut. She'd known that. On October 26th. The urge to call him that day had frayed what had remained intact of her nerves. But his rules had been clear. He contacted her. It had seemed he wouldn't anymore.

"Happy birthday." She winced as the lame response left her lips.

His huff abraded her. "Indeed. The happiest birthday ever."

He turned to her then. She would have staggered if she hadn't been incapable of moving a muscle, even involuntarily.

"Nothing more to say, bella malaki?" My beautiful angel. The endearment shuddered through her, that mix of Italian and Moorish only he used. He prowled toward her, his shirt phosphorescent in the dimness, unbuttoned to his waist, revealing chiseled power that bunched and gleamed with every step. "Shall I make it easier? Give you a lead?" He stopped half a breath away, his emerald eyes flaring and subsiding like pulsars. "Miss me?"

She'd thought so. She'd been wrong. She'd starved for him.

He reached out to her, warm, large hands singeing her, steadying her body, shaking everything else. "Shall I find out?"

Yes, her every cell shrieked.

But he did nothing, stilled. She started to shake.

The moment her tremors hit him, his pupils obliterated his irises, black holes that sucked coherence from her mind, wrenched hunger from her depths. She pitched forward, a helpless satellite yanked to an inexorable planet, hurtled into his containment.