6

I relax my body a little and twirl a lock of hair around my finger. I’ve never seduced anyone before, but I’ve read about it, and I’ve watched other people flirt and fawn over each other.

“Do you read books like that often?” I ask.

“Sometimes,” he replies. “When I lack companionship.”

“I would think that a king could have companionship anytime he desires it.”

“I could have companions,” he says, never taking his eyes from mine. “But I happen to be rather particular about that sort of company.”

“Are you?” I’m blushing hot at my own boldness, feeling wicked and brave and frightened all at the same time. “What kind of person meets the standards of the King?”

Slowly he closes the book. Lays it down. Rises to his full height. He’s taller than his son—taller than me. He isn’t smiling now, and there’s a wolfish gleam in those silver eyes.

“It’s not something I can define,” he says. “I know it when I see it. ”

“Do you?” I squeak. Damn my voice for breaking, and damn my stupid nerves. I want to be sultry and winsome, not girlishly terrified. I’m twenty-six, for Fate’s sake. I should have had this experience by now. I should be married, with my own family, far beyond my stepmother’s grip.

But she will never let me live a normal life. She will never let me go. All I can do is seize moments of freedom when I’m given the chance. And a moment like this may never come again. I can scarcely believe this is happening—that the King is standing before me with hunger in his eyes. The tension is thickening between us, thrumming with sensuous promise until I can hardly breathe.

The King is a good man, from what I’ve heard. A decent ruler who tries to be honest and fair to his people. There are struggles in our kingdom, as with any nation, but he has always been generous with the poor. The worst thing I’ve heard about him is that ever since his wife died, many years ago, he overindulges his fondness for beautiful women and hasn’t seen fit to marry any of them. That lecherous nature of his could play in my favor tonight.

“Have you seen our winter roses?” asks the King, his voice deeper than ever. “They are something of a specialty here at the palace. A point of pride with our gardeners.”

“I saw some,” I reply. “By the windows, when I came in. They were… drenched in moonlight.”

Fuck, that sounded stupid.

“Drenched?” he repeats, and my body trembles. Forget the roses— I’m drenched, soaking through the delicate panties my Faerie godfather conjured for me.

“Come with me,” says the King. “You can take a closer look at the roses.”

I’d rather take a closer look at him , but I follow obediently. We pause in front of the windows, both of us staring at the lush bouquets in the two matching urns .

“They’re beautiful,” I say, and he echoes, “Yes, indeed. Quite beautiful.” But his voice is closer, and his face is turned toward me, not the flowers.

He wants me, and he’s waiting for me to indicate whether I want him or not. But I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what to do or say.

He said he respects honesty. Perhaps I should tell him, plainly and clearly, what I want.

I move toward him and reach out, laying my fingers lightly along his waist. He smells rich—I don’t know how else to express it. His fragrance speaks of luxury, of wealth, of power.

Tipping my face up to his, I voice my request in the softest of whispers. “Will you fuck me?”

His eyes widen, moonlight filling their gray depths. “Aren’t you here for the ball? For the Prince?”

“I came here for your son, yes,” I murmur. “But now I’d like to come for you… Your Majesty.”

It’s yet another daring declaration, far too risky, far too bold, and yet he seems to like it. A sound reverberates in his chest, a low rumble of satisfaction. His warm hand spreads across the small of my back, then slides all the way up my spine until he’s cupping my neck. Instinctively I sway into him, my body seeking the support of his.

With his free hand he plucks out the jeweled comb that was holding my hair halfway up. He flings the comb aside, and my hair tumbles free.

His hand flexes at my nape, and I relax into the grip, letting my head fall back and exposing my throat to him. I think I might die if he doesn’t kiss me right there, right over my pulse point, with that perfect mouth.

He’s breathing hard. I can feel the intensity of his stare, the urgency of his body, the bulge of his cock pressing against my stomach. He wants me desperately. And yet he hesitates .

“Are you doing this because you want to fuck a king?” he asks.

“No!” I lift my head, facing him. We’re so close my lips graze his when I speak, and the contact sends a trembling rush through my veins. “No,” I say, more softly, my breath ghosting over his mouth. “I don’t care who you are. This is simply a moment in time between strangers. I’ve been wretchedly miserable and this whole night is a dream, a beautiful one. It has given me hope when I thought all was hopeless. And your touch—the pleasure and freedom we could enjoy together—it’s something I need. Something I would beg you for, if my pride would allow it.”

“You don’t care who I am,” he repeats, as if to confirm it. “A different face, a different body would do just as well for you?”

He’s asking if I would fuck him if he wasn’t a king, if I would fuck anyone right now, just to find the release I crave. Again, I choose honesty. “Yes. Maybe that’s wrong…”

“No,” he says quickly, vehemently. “No, it’s right. Let this be a dream between us.”

His fingers slide over my breast, pulling down the edge of the bodice. I suck in a breath as cool air caresses my exposed skin. As my nipple tightens with the chill, he puts out his tongue and licks it.

The sensation sends me into a heady spiral, a gasp breaking from my lips. At the sound, he reacts with violent urgency, dragging down the bodice of the gown until both my breasts are exposed. I stand on quivering legs, clasping his shoulders while he mouths each breast in turn.

No man has ever touched me like this. I’ve never experienced anything so wonderful.

The King releases my nipple from his beautiful mouth, then picks me up, gown and all, and carries me over to a long couch in a shadowed corner. After draping my body on it, he undoes the rest of the buttons on his shirt, baring his muscular upper body. His chest is lightly cloaked with curling silver hair, and when he climbs onto the couch with me, I run greedy fingers over the expanse of him, drinking in every new texture.

This is how a man’s skin feels. Hot and smooth, soft in places, yet with hard muscle rippling under the skin. He lets me explore him for a moment while his body hovers over mine on the couch. Then he’s shoving my dress up, out of his way. He grasps my panties and pulls them off… but before tossing them aside, he bunches them under his nose and inhales the scent, his eyes closing blissfully.

I have no idea if that’s normal male behavior, but I love the raw, primal urgency of it, just like I love the way he throws my legs apart and plunges his face between them. He does it so quickly that I have no time to be self-conscious before I’m feeling him there, with the scruff of his beard grazing my inner thighs, tantalizing every sensitive bit of me.

I want to scream. It’s too much, yet it’s not enough—and his tongue—fuck, his tongue . Sharp little breaths shatter from my lips, until I’m so sensitive that I must scream or I will die. I bite the back of my wrist while the King drives his tongue through my folds, over and over, ending each stroke with a delicate little swirl over my clit.

Then his tongue is dancing, dancing, pattering against my clit and I’m sobbing, biting deeper into my wrist as I try not to scream. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

I’m flying, streaking high into the sky like a star with a tail of fire. I’m coming, coming in hard spasms against his mouth, and my lips are open but I can’t make a sound. He presses the flat of his tongue over my sex while I writhe in mute ecstasy.

I manage to breathe at last. Huge shuddering gasps of pleasure burst from my lungs.

The King smiles and wipes his mouth with his hand. He’s withdrawing from me, as if we’re done .

Fuck no. I’m so far from being done with him. When I have the chance to pleasure myself, I can usually come three times, and I’m greedy enough to want another climax. This will be the night that I lose my virginity on my own terms. It’s one way I can claim ownership of my body and steal something from my stepmother that was never hers to begin with.

I reach for the King, violence in my voice. “This isn’t finished.”

“Thank Fate,” he groans with a hoarse laugh. He opens his pants and pushes them down just enough to reveal a very fine ass and a long, erect cock.

I’m suddenly conscious of how wide my legs are spread, even as the library door stands partly open. We’re in a dark corner, but someone could still enter and observe us. What would the Prince think of me fucking his father after we danced together for so long?

The idea of hurting the Prince unsettles me a bit. But this isn’t about some man I barely know. It’s about me. My choice. My power over my own body.

The King grips my thigh, pushes my leg up. With his other hand he strokes the tip of his cock through my pussy, slathering himself in my wetness. “Drenched,” he murmurs with a sly grin.

I don’t return the smile. I’m tense, gripping the back of the sofa and the cushions, waiting for his invasion.

It’s just sex, a cock in a hole. Simple enough. And I want this. So why am I suddenly fearful?

He’s poised at my entrance. I can feel the head of his cock there, blunt and warm, nosing in a little. But he pulls back, silver eyes keen with perception. “You’re afraid.”

I shake my head.

“Don’t deny it. I can smell your fear.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him, and he chuckles. “Just an expression. I’ve been in this role for a long time, and I know when someone is afraid. As much as I want to plunge into that sweet, soaked little cunt and lose myself inside you, I will stop if you say the word. I won’t touch you again.”

His words are gratifying, and somehow they’re just what I needed to hear. “I’m not afraid of you . Just of this , a little.”

“Of this… because you haven’t done this before?” he asks.

I nod. “But I want to. I need it.” My pussy is quivering, sensitized, aching for fullness. “Please—take me. But gently, until I ask for more.”

“Like this?” He dips inside me a little, then withdraws. His hand splays on my lower stomach, his thumb tracing lazy circles over and around my clit.

“More,” I whisper.

He pokes his cock back through my entrance, then pulls out. Again and again he dips inside me, a little deeper each time, while his thumb massages my clit. The slippery sensation of his thick cock moving in and out, taunting me, is quickly becoming too much to bear.

“More,” I say in a sharp whisper, and he eases deeper with infuriating slowness.

Suddenly there’s a stretching sensation, and I tense. He pauses, pinching my clit lightly and then rubbing his hand across it with a rapid rhythm that sends me into an instant frenzy.

“Oh gods,” I whisper frantically. “Oh yes—more, please, more!”

He pushes in deeper, a wolfish grin on his face. But the moment he’s fully seated inside me, his expression changes from teasing mischief to reverent bliss. “You have such a perfect little cunt,” he breathes. “I’ve never felt one this good. Fuck…” He stares down at where we’re joined, color flushing his cheeks, his face awash with wonder.

I won’t lie—it’s deeply gratifying to have a King say you’re the best he’s ever had. Especially when he starts fucking you like he’s gone mad, like he’s possessed, like you’re all he has ever wanted and all he needs .

That’s how the King takes me. I feared it might hurt, but after that initial burst of pain, it doesn’t. He’s braced over me, his silver hair swaying, his handsome face taut with impending pleasure, his toned body flexing as he fucks me. Every thrust feels like a link broken in the chains that bind my soul, and every grunt of ecstasy from him is music. Every shift of my body beneath the force of his passion is my door to freedom being pushed open wider.

This is defiance. This is liberty. This is hope. And I come for the King again, with the thrill of freedom blazing through my limbs like a meteor shower.

“That’s a good fucking girl, coming for your King,” he says hoarsely. “Do you want me to come inside you?”

The wickedness of it thrills me—the idea that the ruler of this kingdom is going to spend himself deep in my body, that I’ll return to Eisling House with his cum inside my womb, and my stepmother will never know.

“There are herbs I can take later,” I tell him. “Yes, you can come inside me. Please come inside me.”

He comes with a heavy groan, thrusting deep, pumping every bit of his release into my pussy. I hold him while he finishes, the two of us wreathed together by pleasure and passion.

After a moment, his breathing slows and his eyes open. He doesn’t kiss me, but his gaze locks with mine, and we stare at each other, panting. A slow smile spreads over my face, and he grins back.

And then the library clock strikes the hour.

But which hour? Panic flares through my chest as I realize I haven’t been tracking time like I should.

“What time is it?” I gasp.

The King glances over his shoulder. “Midnight.”

“Oh shit.” I separate myself from him and tumble off the sofa. One of my slippers came off while we were fucking, but I find it and slip my foot inside. I have no idea where my panties are. They’re the least of my worries. “I have to go. Thank you for… Thank you.”

“Wait!” He’s tucking himself in, fastening his pants. “You haven’t told me your name, or where I can find you.”

Warmth spreads through my heart at the thought that he wants to see me again. I’m almost out the door of the library, but I call back, “I’ll try to meet you here tomorrow!”

Without waiting for his reply, I run.

I flee the palace, hoping that somehow I’ll be able to find my carriage among all the others on the lawn—but to my shock, it’s already waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. I race toward it, fling myself inside, and shut the door. With a shake of their snowy manes, the horses set off at a quick pace.

The glamour wears off my pocket watch on the way back, and I nervously track the time until we arrive at Eisling House with two minutes to spare. The carriage vanishes the moment I exit, transforming into a cloud of sugared snow and glittering blue dust. My slippers vanish as I run up the front steps, and I barely have time to descend into the cellar before my dress disappears. No doubt my panties vanished from the floor of the royal library as well.

Coughing from the exertion and the cold air, I pull on a threadbare nightgown and hurry back upstairs. No one else has returned yet, and I need to raid my stepmother’s stash of herbal pellets. Her sex life is infrequent, and as a woman in her early forties she is nearly past childbearing age, but she keeps the contraceptives on hand as a preventative measure, and I’m glad of it.

The last thing I need is to become pregnant with the bastard child of the King.

I take one of the herb pellets from the little case on her dressing table and return downstairs. As I enter the kitchen, a light voice drawls, “Well, well, well. Looks like someone had a little too much fun tonight.”