Chapter 4

4

Gwen

Don’t. Do not kiss him.

Kissing the giant is a terrible decision.

And completely unlike me.

I don’t go around kissing men, let alone rulers of entire kingdoms. This man has explained in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t want a wife. That he is in the market for a mistress only. By kissing him, he might think I’m considering the proposition. But I most certainly will not. My parents raised me to demand respect. To believe in myself. And I won’t let them—or my sisters—down by accepting a position as the king’s paramour.

That isn’t to say it isn’t an occupation that doesn’t deserve respect, but it’s less than I’m personally willing to accept.

That being said…

Is he becoming more and more attractive as time passes, or did that cup of wine from earlier affect me in unexpected ways? Or perhaps it’s the slow, winding burble of the loch. The full moon and endless scattering of stars. The lonely call of the wind and drums beating low in the distance. The scene is romantic. That has to be why I’m so anxious to slide my fingers up into his unruly dark hair and invite his mouth down to mine.

Corbet of Fallstrom is a warrior.

Already a legend and he can’t be older than thirty.

He’s called me beautiful—meant it, too—and his palm on my cheek, it’s stirring a cauldron of new sensations beneath my belly button. He did bring me out here with the intention of taking his male relief between my thighs. Am I wicked for being sort of…excited by that? I remember the way he approached me, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. As if he was compelled to get as close as possible. Even now, his ample body heat penetrates the thin material of my dress and warms my skin, makes my nipples tingle.

I’ve thought of what it would be like to make love to a man. Sure. It’s natural to picture it. But because I’m rounder of hip and curvaceous, I’ve always imagined the man being equal in size or slimmer. Never larger. Never much, much larger. There is something very tempting about the idea of lying on my back and having this giant block out the world. To feel…overpowered for once, instead of constantly in charge. Making decisions.

To feel like a prize for the taking.

I’m not so desperate that I will give physical liberties to the first man who calls me beautiful, however. No, I have more confidence in myself than that. In fact, I’m a catch.

And so this kiss is on my terms.

I’mdeciding to kiss a king on this magical evening.

I’m doing it because I want to. Because my body is begging for his contact.

Tomorrow, I will have the memory to lock deep inside me while I go hunt for a husband.

“Speak your thoughts out loud, woman.”

“You couldn’t keep up.”

Again, my ribbing only brings appreciation to his chiseled features and I like that. I like it too much that he doesn’t take himself seriously at all times. “Is that so? Try me.”

“I’m thinking that…a kiss would be acceptable.”

A muscle clenches in his cheek. “A kiss.”

I hum quietly, my gaze settling on his mouth quite shamefully. “That’s right.”

His black brow wings upward toward his hairline. “You think I will be able to stop at tasting your mouth?”

Moisture gathers between my thighs so abruptly, my lips part on a shaky intake of breath. “You’ll have to manage somehow, Your Majesty.”

Gripping my hair, he tips my head back and examines the line of my throat, his attention sliding down to my breasts where they threaten to spill from the neckline of my dress. And he makes a rumbling sound deep in his chest that causes me to arch my back, without a command from my brain. Letting him look. “Let’s amend this plan, shall we?” he rasps.

Danger. Turn back.“How so?”

“If you want me to stop after a kiss, I’ll stop.” His tongue traces the seam of his mouth. “But if you want more, you’ll say the word…”

“Jester,” I supply, breathily.

He chuckles quietly, his mouth lowering to mine. “That’ll do.”

I brace a hand to his chest to slow his progress. “Just so I know exactly what you mean…what does more include?”

I only observe the slightest jump of his lips before they’re on mine.

He presses our mouths together, the contact firm, like a stamp. The sides of our noses touch, his beard tickling my chin. Already it’s the most intimate I’ve ever been with another person and I sink into the sensations. The flavor of ale, the way my curves mold around his muscle, my tiptoes pushing me up so I can get close, his arm slung around my lower back possessively. And then he licks into my mouth with a growl—and the kiss takes on new life. A life I’ve never lived before. It’s wild and messy. It happens so fast.

One second we’re in the shadow of the mountain and the next, he’s walking me farther into the shallow cave and pressing my back to stone, his mouth insatiable on mine. Collecting oxygen becomes a bothersome chore. We break away only briefly to drag in droves of the stuff before our mouths are reattaching, his tongue rubbing against mine, his hands twisting in fistfuls of my hair while I claw at the front of his tunic, dragging my nails over heaving muscle.

Oh lord, oh lord.

His shaft is thick against my belly, and just like the rest of him, it’s enormous. Experimentally, I rub my stomach side to side, something deeply feminine inside me satisfied by his hoarse moan.

But he’s not satisfied. Oh no, the move seems to frustrate him to the point of pain. “Say the word, woman.” He kisses me hard, dragging at my lower lip with his teeth. “Say it. I need your touch more than I’ve ever needed anything.”

It seems so fast. Didn’t we just begin? But my hands are aching to explore him and it’s obvious, so obvious, that going further than kissing is inevitable and I was too naïve to realize it at the outset. “Jester,” I whisper.

With a harsh grunt, his right hand leaves my hair and snags my wrist, drawing my hand down to his lap and pressing my palm to his erection. Using me, fondling himself with my touch.

“It longs to pump between your pretty thighs, woman,” Corbet says, his lips flush to mine. “Jesus Christ, I’d go back and fight all my battles a second time for the honor of pushing up these skirts and mounting that pussy.”

I gasp. Of course I do. I’ve never heard coarse words bandied about like this. I taught my sisters to knee a man between the legs for such disrespect, but oh…when he says the words while his hot open mouth is skating up the side of my neck, they sound so good.

And the stiff weight of him in my palm calls to me, begs me to explore. It was only supposed to be a kiss, but I can sense the pain he’s harboring in that thick stalk of flesh. Can feel it in the vibration of his muscles and the manner in which it throbs, throbs, in time with the beating of our hearts. I stroke him once, hesitantly, through his breeches, and he stumbles into me, pinning me to the wall with my hand between us. His breathing is ragged and uneven in my hair, his hips grinding into my hand, and I understand now. I understand why seemingly sensible maidens lose their virtue at the Joining. If they feel even a hint of the desire that’s encompassing me right now, it makes all the sense.

“I’ve gone a long, long while without relief, sweet woman,” Corbet says, tracing the shell of my ear with his lips. “I thought the pleasures of the flesh were for weaker men. And then I saw you and years of denial caught up with me. I can think of nothing but getting my bare cock as deep inside you as possible.”

A tremor wracks me, lust curling deep in my belly. For this man. I want not only to release him from his obvious pain, but I want to feel him planted deep within me. Want to be his savior for those precious moments, watching him turn from man to animal in the name of relieving the male hunger he’s been plagued with.

I cannot lose my head, though.

I cannot give my virginity to this man. This king. He will not take me as his wife and no other man will either, without my virtue intact.

“No,” I breathe, shaking my head, although my hand continues its journey up and down his steel rod, growing bolder and bolder with each pass.

Corbet bashes a fist into the side of the mountain, bares his teeth.

And that same fist falls to my breasts, his knuckles teasing my nipples through the thin material of my dress, stiffening them further. “There will be pleasure for you in a good hard rut, woman. I won’t be the only one finding satisfaction.”

“I might be a virgin, but even I know that’s a lie that men often tell women.”

By accident, I’ve issued a challenge and it makes his eyes bright. I’ve made a mistake in doing so, because this is not a man who takes a dare lightly. “Do you question my honor?”

“It’s not a question of honor, it’s a question of skill.”

Lord, why can’t I seem to stop digging my own grave?

When I expect him to react with affront, however, he only nods with conviction. “By demanding better from me, you prove what I already knew. You were made for a fucking king.”

Without taking his eyes off mine, he slowly unties the bodice of my dress, freeing the laces that keep my bosom plumped in my neckline. But with the loss of support, the material of my dress sags and reveals my large breasts clothed only in moonlight.

“Dear God, beautiful Gwen,” he says gruffly, going down on his knees, taking my breasts in his large hands and kneading them reverently. “You are without equal. Sent to me from God himself.”

Without his erection to caress, I no longer know what to do with my hands, but they spear into Corbet’s hair when he guides a nipple to his mouth and molests it with his tongue. Raking it up and back until I’m whimpering. Eyes glittering up at me, he sucks the stiff peak past his lips and pulls on it deeply, his hands gathering the hem of my skirts, revealing more and more of my legs. But I can’t seem to form the word stop. Not when he’s creating this…this magnificent tug between my legs that promises something magical.

Something I’ve never known.

“I will see to your pleasure first, woman,” Corbet rasps, his mouth sliding across to my opposite breast, wrapping his warrior’s mouth around my puckered nipple and groaning, suckling it atop his tongue, before letting it go reluctantly. “Then we will discuss mine.”

I’m far more naïve than I realized, because I think he means to drive me to a climax with his mouth on my breasts. It takes the cool night air kissing me between the thighs to realize there is more. Oh, so much more.

With my skirts wrapped around one fist, Corbet pulls down my underthings with the other and makes a hoarse sound, pressing his face to my naked womanhood. His broad shoulders pin me to the stone side of the mountain, my hands scrabbling on either side of my hips for some kind of anchor. Or support. But there is nothing, so when his tongue delves between my folds, there is nothing to grasp but my own hair. Nothing to do but sob at the incredible fuss of awakening nerves, the coiling of hunger in my belly.

“Corbet,” I push through my teeth. “You mustn’t…”

What?

Mustn’t perform this act I didn’t even know existed?

Mustn’t stop?

Yes, the second option. Definitely the second option, I decide definitively, when his tongue meets a very sensitive spot at the apex of my valley, his breath hot, his throat making rough, hungry sounds as he worries it, lapping at it, pressing firmly and batting it. He presses my bunched skirts to my chest and I take them without a word, my neck losing power when he uses his newly freed hands to palm my bare buttocks, yanking me forward toward his mouth and licking, licking, licking until I’m sure my legs are going to collapse.

But no, I hold myself up because there’s a surge of satisfaction approaching.

It’s almost terrifying, this rapid gathering of pressure in my loins, but I bite down on my lower lip and prepare to be battered. And I’m driven toward it faster by Corbet’s groans, by the hands roughly massaging my backside, the fingers that dare to slip between my cheeks and tease that forbidden place, ownership in every masterful rub of his finger.

The storm breaks and I’m thrown up against the rocks, bliss barreling into me from all sides, my flesh clenching, back arching violently, my cries echoing off the yonder loch. I’m shaking and I can’t stop, can’t stop the incessant pulsations holding my sex hostage. Nor can I do anything about the moisture that coats my folds and turns the insides of my legs slippery.

When I can finally catch a decent breath, I look down to find Corbet riveted by the sight of what he’s done, his mouth damp from my pleasure. Eyes heavy with lust.

“I will have this perfect little cunt for my own,” he says thickly, climbing to his feet and laying a firm hand on my shoulder, pushing me down to my knees. And I go. Willingly. Aching to give him the same relief he’s given me. “I’ll respect your wishes and not rut you tonight. But it’s coming, Gwen. I’ll put you on your back and steal the virginity from between your legs.”

Stealing. That’s what it would be, right?

Stealing something he doesn’t mean to properly keep?

None of my reservations are sticking, though. I’m too lost to his spell.

Too sated and eager to give.

“And with your thighs glistening with come, you will no longer question my skill, woman.” He fists my hair. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I breathe, my eyes level with his tented breeches.

This obedience is not typical in me, but it feels so right in this moment. I spend my days worrying and working and saving with no one to take the reins. Allowing him to do so is…effortless. In a way it wouldn’t be with anyone else. It requires trust, but somehow he’s earned it in a short amount of time. And now I’m watching in almost a trance as my fingers work to free his arousal from behind the muslin, his breath turning shallow above me.

When his heavy flesh springs from the opening, I suck in a breath because it’s so glorious. Maybe I ought to be afraid of the large appendage, for it’s my first encounter with one and it’s much, much larger than I could have imagined. But I can only marvel at the intersection of veins, the smooth stretch of skin layered over steel, the subtle upward curve. I can only lean in and brush the ruddy tip with my parted lips and revel in Corbet’s ragged inhale.

“Don’t tease me,” he says unevenly, propping his free hand on the cave wall, far above my head. “I need a good, rough suck from that defiant mouth.”

I yearn to give the king what he wants, but I hardly know where to begin. His testicles are fat and engorged at the base of his erection, his thighs flexed and hairy. There is so much masculinity staring me in the face, it’s hard not to be intimidated. But I notice the tremor in his fingers and realize he’s vulnerable. At my mercy. And that emboldens me enough to wrap my lips around his staff and suckle the broad head of his sex.

It encourages me to bathe his shaft with my tongue, creating a slippery path for my lips to follow, and I start to bob my head up and down, bringing him as deep as possible, pulling roughly of his flesh on the way back up, the manner in which one might suck a sweet candy, trying to pull all the flavor from it with one concerted effort.

Corbet moans, winding my hair around his fist, hips pumping. “Don’t stop, woman. Goddamn.” He huffs several hard breaths, each more urgent than the last. “I will have monuments built in honor of this mouth. I will worship before them on my knees.”

He is close to the precipice.

His manhood grows thicker in my mouth, giving subtle jerks whenever it hits the resistance of my throat, but when his mighty thighs begin to tremble, I venture lower and choke down another inch, my hand reaching up to gently squeeze the ripe fruit of his testicles, and Corbet roars, seed firing hot and salty from the head of his arousal. “Gwen!”

My head is held fast in his big hands while he erupts, my tongue and throat bathed in spurt after spurt of salty release, his hoarse cries filling me with a sort of pride I never expected. Satisfying him fulfills me as much as my own pleasure did. My heart…

Yes, my heart, it riots wildly, bouncing off my ribcage.

Everything feels decadent, even my knees on the hard ground. His fist in my hair, the pressure in my throat. It’s all so wonderful and it feels so right that I start to think maybe…maybe Corbet is the man I seek at the Joining. Of course, he is resistant to the idea of a wife, but there is something that feels almost fateful between us. I’ve never encountered another human being that inspired such huge emotions, and surely that must mean something.

Even as hope begins to rise in my chest, I remind myself of one very important fact.

He is a king.

I am a commoner.

Letting these fanciful notions take root could prove disastrous, but…

Corbet pulls me to my feet and wraps me in his arms, holding me like a long-lost love and swaying us side to side, exhaling roughly into my hair. With my skirts floating back down to my ankles, I am breathless in his embrace. Warm and safe and more cared for than I’ve ever been in my life. It is not against the law for a king to take a commoner as his wife. Maybe it’s not so far-fetched after all—

“So we have an understanding, then?” Corbet asks, kissing my temple.

A pit forms in my stomach. “An understanding?”

“Yes. You will return to Fallstrom after the Joining.” He strokes my hair, his gaze running laps around my face. “You are henceforth mine. Mine, Gwen. You will be my lover forevermore. My mistress.” He nods firmly. “I’ve spoken on the matter.”

My heart plunges into my stomach and I shove away from him. Stupid, humiliating hope. How could I have let myself feel it for even a second? Did I think taking him in my mouth would change things? If anything, I’ve made myself appear even more suitable as a paramour.

How can it hurt this badly when we’ve only just met?

“No, if you’ll recall, Your Majesty, I’ve spoken on the matter. I’m not interested in being your mistress.” There is a humiliating pressure behind my eyes—for the second time in one night—and I skirt past the king before he sees it, moving at a fast clip back in the direction of the gathering. “Goodbye, Corbet.”

“Good…bye?” he sputters, following on my heels. “Are you mad?”

“I’m quite clearheaded, thank you,” I toss over my shoulder.

“Get back here,” he growls. “You will sleep in my bed starting tonight.”

“Not a chance.” I stop short, turn and look him in the eye, needing to sever the connection between us completely, lest my foolish hope decide to rise again. “I’m entering the wife auction tomorrow.”

Now I see where he gets his nickname “the Fury.” His blue-gray eyes turn almost translucent with ire. “Like fucking hell you are!”

I poke him hard in the chest. “It must be wonderful to have choices. I want a wife, I don’t want a wife,” I say, mimicking his deep voice. “Well I have no choice but to find a husband or my sisters will have no home to speak of.”

He has the nerve to almost appear relieved. “If that is your worry, cast it aside. I will support them, as well as you.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t earn it on my back.”

Some of the color leaves his face. “What do you think a husband will expect from you?”

“Intimacy, yes. But also companionship. Respectability. Maybe even love.”

His jaw is on the verge of shattering. “You will give no other man your love!”

“You leave me no choice. And if you stand in my way tomorrow, you’ll put my family in the poorhouse. For I will never consent to being your mistress.”

“Goddammit, Gwen.” He reaches for me, but I’m already gone.

I go directly to my tent and remain awake for an hour, watching my sisters sleep and reminding myself what’s really critical. Duty. Honor. Family.

And I firmly ignore what I cannot solve—the pain in my chest.