The Rebel Queen

by Jeana E. Mann

  “No.”

  “Tell me I didn’t hear a refusal. When I give you an order, I expect you to comply.” A muscle twitches beneath his left eye. “You learned that in last night’s lesson. Do we need to review? I thought you were a quick learner.” The warning in his voice sends a thrill of anticipation through me.

  “I wasn’t myself last night.”

  Into two steps, he’s back in front of me. He winds my hair around his wrist and grips the back of my head hard enough to make me gasp. “I think you like being told what to do. And judging by the way you scratched your nails down my back, you loved every minute of it. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.” The admission slips from my lips in a whisper. He’s strong, male, domineering, and I love it.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The grip in my hair relaxes. The slickness between my thighs is unbearable. “Much better.” He moves his hands over my shoulder then flicks open the clasp on my bra. Cool air wafts over my bare breasts. He bends, catches a nipple in his mouth, and tugs on it until I groan. “Now, on the bed. Legs apart.” I hesitate. He sees my reluctance, and his expression hardens. “I said on the bed, Everly. The next time I have to ask twice for you to do something, you’ll be punished.”

  Last night, when I refused his commands, he’d taken me over his knee, drawn my panties down to my thighs, and spanked me with his belt until my ass glowed red. The memory robs the moisture from my mouth. Meanwhile, my pussy throbs with arousal.

  “Tell me you want this, or I’ll send you back to your room.”

  I should deny how much I want him, but I can’t. I can’t do anything but gawk at him.

  “You really enjoy pushing my buttons, don’t you?” A heavy sigh gusts from his lips. “Last chance.”

  “I want this.” And I do. I want him to strip away the confusion and hurt and emptiness threatening to crack my ribs. On shaking legs, I cross the room and lie down on the massive bed. I can’t take my eyes off him. The firelight dances in his dark eyes.

  His face remains expressionless. “Excellent. Now open your legs. I want to see what’s mine.”

  Swallowing through the knot in my throat, I raise my knees, spreading them, feeling equal parts of shame and excitement. Overhead, the canopy shields the ceiling in velvet brocade. How many women have been on this bed before me? How many women has he given orders to? I push aside the unpleasant thoughts and listen to his voice, so deep and sensual.

  “You’re doing great, Everly. That’s exactly what I want.” His voice moves closer. I sense him standing at the end of the bed, staring down at me. Despite my protests, I love this game. It’s new, exciting, and filthy. “Pull your panties aside.” His voice is low, gravelly, and hits me in the pit of my stomach. The wetness of the cotton panel feels hot to my fingers. I draw it aside, surprised by the whimpers of need coming out of my mouth. “So, so beautiful,” he whispers. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come.”

  I do it. I do it because I like being ordered around by him. Because I’m weak and naughty and perverted. But mostly I do it because I’m desperate to obliterate my desire for him. Maybe one more night in his bed will cure me of this addiction. I drag the tip of my tongue over the cracked skin of my upper lip. “Like this?”

  “Yes. Like that. Don’t stop.” The roughness in his voice betrays his stoic expression. He desires me. The knowledge is more intoxicating than any drug I’ve ever taken. I drag my finger through my slippery folds. When my knuckle brushes my swollen nub, he groans. “Perfect. I want to devour every inch of you.”

  I hear the growl of his zipper and risk a glance in his direction. He frees his cock from his trousers and wraps his fingers around the base. He drags his fist from root to tip and groans. The sound is primal and raw, heating my blood in a way I’ve never known before.

  “Put your fingers inside. Do whatever it takes to get you there.”

  I dip a finger inside my wetness, first one then another. My walls clench and tighten. It won’t take much to get me off, not with him standing there, looking regal and sexy with this cock in his fist. His hand pumps quicker. My fingers match his pace. The veins on his biceps bulge. Our gazes lock. Heat flashes through my body followed by intense waves of pleasure. I gasp for breath, shocked by the ferocity of my orgasm. Henry steps forward. His masculine growls join my whimpers. He pumps into his clenched fist two more times before dotting my stomach and breasts with his semen.

  We contemplate each other. Henry’s chest rises and falls in an echo of my struggle for breath. His lips twitch with a smug grin, but his eyes—those damn, intense eyes bore into my soul until I feel him inside me. I blink, breaking his hold on me, unable to endure the idea of revealing myself to him.

  “Stay there. I’ll be right back.” He disappears into the adjoining bathroom and comes back with a damp washcloth. Like I could go anywhere. My knees have turned to jelly. I lift on my elbows and watch as he cleans off my belly with gentle strokes. His tender care adds to my confusion. I don’t know who he is or what to expect next. He disappears into the bathroom again. There’s a sound of running water from the tap and then he’s back.

  His eyes rest on mine, cool and blazing. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

  “No.” The confession shakes me to my core. I can’t deny my attraction to him or the way I love his commands. My orgasm has barely receded, and I already want more. I need more.

  He sits down on the edge the bed, tilting his head to look at me. I’m still breathing hard. He draws a fingertip down my sternum and rests his palm on my lower belly. “I want to break you, Everly. I want to make you mine in every way possible.”

  “You’ll never break me.” Although his words are bold, I’m not afraid. His touch is gentle and reverent. I can’t let him see how he affects me.

  “I will. Just like I broke you last night.”

  I press my lips together and look away. “Why?”

  “Because it pleases me.” He stands and walks naked to a silver tray in the adjoining sitting room. When he lifts the domed lid, the aroma of roast beef wafts across the room. My stomach growls. He sits in the chair next to the table, places a napkin across his bare lap, and calls to me. “Are you hungry?”

  Saliva pools in my mouth. I lick my lips. “Not really.”

  “You’ve hardly eaten over the past two days.” He lifts the sandwich into the air. It’s a turkey club sandwich, something I never expected to see in Androvia. “It’s your favorite, right?”

  “Yes. How did you know?” I lean forward as he takes a bite. “Mmm. Delicious. Would you like some?” When I shake my head, he chuckles. “Don’t play difficult. I know you’re hungry. I can hear your stomach all the way over here.”

  I’ll be the first to admit that self-discipline has never been one of my strengths. When my friends got up early every morning to hit the gym before work, I slept in, enjoying the comfort of my bed. I eat too many sweets, not enough vegetables, and love pasta. Thank goodness, I’m tall enough to carry a few extra pounds.

  Henry extends the sandwich in my direction with his eyebrows lifted. “I won’t have you neglecting your health. Join me.” He pats his thigh. “Have a seat.”

  I reach for his shirt, but he shakes his head. “You don’t need that.” Taking in a deep breath, I walk over to him, sit on his thigh, my breasts swinging free. He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Good. You’re doing great.” The sandwich hovers in front of my mouth. I inhale the delicious aromas. His attention dips to my lips. “Now, open.”

  I close my eyes, humming over the flavors on my tongue. When I glance at him, Henry has a lopsided smirk. With a snap, he unfolds a second linen napkin then dabs the corners of my mouth. The gesture is sweet and intimate and almost fools me into believing he cares. He holds the sandwich in front of me again. I open my mouth, an obedient baby bird. His interest locks onto my lips as they close around the bread. He’s enjoying this.

  I hold up a hand to reject the n
ext bite. “No more. I’m full.”

  “Are you sure?” When I shake my head, he shrugs and takes the bite for himself.

  Despite the intimacy of sitting on his naked lap, having him feed me, an air of awkwardness still exists between us. “It was delicious. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He shifts my weight on his thighs, maneuvering my legs so I’m angled toward him. “See? We can get along if you try.” The position puts me at his mercy, but I don’t want to run. I enjoy the warmth of his hand on the small of my back, the strength of his legs beneath me.

  “How did you know that was my favorite sandwich?”

  “What kind of husband doesn’t know his wife’s favorite food?” One of his eyebrows quirks, startling the butterflies in my stomach into flight.

  “That’s not fair. I don’t know anything about you.”

  He takes a final bite and finishes chewing before his reply. “My favorite food is a hot dog, the kind you get at the stadium, or trout from the river out back. My favorite color is blue, like your eyes. I hate the smell of gasoline. I love black-and-white movies, rock music, fast cars, and women with long legs.” The tips of his fingers slide along the inside of my thigh. “Like yours.”

  Goosebumps lift on my skin. I open my legs to let him continue his exploration. “Hot dogs and rock music? Those are hardly appropriate for a king.”

  “I’m not that kind of king.”

  “Was your father that way?” His hand stills for a split second then drifts to my knee. I press a hand to my mouth. “I’m so sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

  “Don’t be.” The coldness in his eyes reminds me that I’m naked. I try to squeeze my knees together, but he stops me.

  “I can count the number of times we’ve been in the same room on one hand.” He scrapes a hand along his jaw, a five-o’clock shadow beginning to show. “I was sent to boarding school when I was eight and remained there until university. Father was always too busy to be bothered by children.” An undertone of bitterness lingers in his voice. “I came home for Christmas and a few weeks each summer but spent most of my time at our home in England.”

  “It sounds lonely.” An image of a small, towheaded Henry squeezes my heart. It’s difficult to picture him as anything but tall, virile, and confident.

  He shrugs. “It was a blessing, actually. My nanny made sure I had the opportunity to experience a normal life—well, as normal as possible for a future king. If I’d grown up here, who knows what kind of fucked up mess I would’ve become.”

  An unexpected pang of sadness hits me squarely in the heart. Although my parents are horrible people, they provided me with a happy childhood, filled with love and affection. For that, I will always be grateful. The realization confuses me even more. How can I love two people who are so undeserving? My next thought chills me to the core. Maybe my memories are tainted by their manipulations. I search through years of weekends in the Hamptons, vacations in Europe, and holidays at our home in Maine. Tears burn my eyes. I blink them back, not wanting to reveal my inner turmoil to my new husband. He already thinks I’m a train wreck.

  “What are you thinking?” His stare pierces into my eyes.

  “It’s nothing.” I manage a smile and glance away to hide my thoughts.

  “I can see your pain. Tell me what’s wrong.” His fingers stroke soothingly along my hip.

  “I was just wondering how my parents could have been so loving to me as a child then turn on me as an adult.” My voice thickens with emotion. “One of my strongest memories of my father is when I was ten. We’d been riding together at our farm, and I wanted to jump my horse across this creek that ran through the pasture. It was a new gelding, and I wasn’t really acquainted with him yet. Father said no, to wait until I’d had more practice, but I insisted. Well, I tried to take a jump. The horse went one way, and I went the other. I landed on my face and broke a tooth. My dad freaked at the sight of so much blood. He picked me up and ran all the way back to the house with me in his arms. I’ll never forget the panic on his face.” The memory rekindles the prickle of tears. “Was that a lie?”

  Henry is silent for a long while, considering my question. When he replies, his voice is soft and kind. “People have many sides, Everly. Not everyone is one hundred percent good or evil. At best, we’re a mixture of both.” The intensity of his expression pulls me toward him. He’s completely focused on me. The attention makes me giddy, but I’m not sure why. “When I was in the military, I once saw a man shoot down two unarmed men without blinking an eyelash. Two weeks later, that same man risked his life to rescue a dog that had fallen into the river. He was one of the kindest and cruelest men I’ve ever known.”

  Henry’s story hits a tender spot. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn’t.”

  “My point is that people have many facets. You don’t get to pick and choose their traits.” He’s describing himself. From what I’ve seen, he’s never the same person twice. I can only hope the man I married develops a soft spot for his new wife.

  The next morning, I’m awakened by the rustle of drapes and bright streams of orange and pink sunlight through the windows. Two housemaids tie back the heavy curtains to reveal a clear morning sky. My face heats with embarrassment. I blink and sit up, clutching the sheet to hide my bare breasts. Sometime during the night, I ended up in my own bed. Henry must have carried me here. I rub my eyes, trying to piece together what happened.

  “Good morning, madam,” says one of the women. “It’s time to rise. Shall I run a bath for you?”

  “Um, what? Yes. I guess.” My brain struggles to catch up. It’s the middle of the night in Manhattan.

  “Your suitcase has been unpacked for you,” says the second woman. “I’ve taken the liberty of choosing your outfit. I hope you’ll find it suitable.” She points to one of the three dresses I brought, neatly pressed, hanging near the bathroom door.

  “Thank you.” How long have these people been in here? I pull the bedsheet higher to cover the red splotches Henry sucked into prominence on my cleavage.

  “Good morning.” Henry’s deep voice draws my interest to the threshold separating our rooms. Have you ever been fucked here, Everly? Do you think this tight little hole will hold my cock? The memory of his filthy words as he fingered my most private entrance makes me press my thighs together.

  “Good morning.” Fire scalds my cheeks at the smug smirk on his face. I squirm into a sitting position. Overused muscles scream from the workout he gave me last night.

  “Sleep well?” He’s fully dressed in charcoal slacks and a matching blazer. The valet sweeps a lint brush across Henry’s broad shoulders, making tweaks to the seams and lapels until he’s satisfied.

  “Okay.” For the first time in weeks, I feel rested. I stretch luxuriously, keeping the sheet pressed to my chest. The room smells like sex. My mortification escalates to an unprecedented high.

  “You have a full schedule today.” He disconnects his concentration from mine to tug on his cuffs. “I was hoping to take you on a tour of the castle this morning, but duty calls. Shasta will go over what’s expected from you. She’ll act as your assistant until you can appoint someone.” The coolness in his tone reminds me this relationship is strictly business.

  “Great.” I open my mouth to say more, but one of the palace secretaries knocks on Henry’s door.

  “Your Majesty, I have the items you requested.” With his back to the door, the man bows and offers a large, metal box to Henry.

  “Excellent. May we have a moment alone, please?” Henry takes the box, closing the door joining our rooms, and waits for the servants to exit. Everyone scurries into the hall.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Not at all.” He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, placing the box between us. “Aside from a few hiccups last night, you were very good, and I want to reward you.”

  He flips open the lid of the box. I gasp. Row upon row of priceless rings peer up at me fr
om a bed of black velvet. “Choose.”

  “Why?” Diamonds sparkle. Emeralds gleam. Rubies glow like they’re on fire. I hover a fingertip above an enormous cushion-cut sapphire surrounded by a double row of diamonds.

  “My consort can’t be seen wearing a plain gold wedding band. The Von Stratton’s have a reputation to uphold.” The hue of his eyes shines with brilliance equal to the gemstones. “Go ahead. Anything you like.”

  I reach for the sapphire ring.

  “Not that one.”

  I snatch my hand away, frowning in confusion. His laughter booms through the room. “I’m kidding, love.” With my left hand in his palm, he slides the ring over my third finger. “Beautiful. Just like you.”

  Although I want to deny it, my heart beats a little faster, both for his touch and the opulent jewelry. The gemstone covers a third of my finger. “It’s gorgeous, but a little much, don’t you think?”

  “I think it’s perfect. Like you.” He brushes his lips over my knuckle above the ring. “And befitting of my wife.” With a gentle twist, he turns my hand over and plants a second kiss on the center of my palm.

  “Thank you.” Heaven help me, I can’t deal with the growing ache between my legs.

  “You’re welcome.” The warmth leaves his eyes as he stands. “I’ll see you at dinner.” Without a backward glance, he’s out the door, and I’m left to start my day.

  9

  Everly

  The next eight hours are a mind-numbing blur. The castle is a flurry of activity as preparations are made for the funeral. During a quick tour of the castle, I’m introduced to aides, secretaries, assistants, and the one hundred twenty-eight members of the household staff, all wearing black in a show of respect for the late King Gustav. I eat lunch alone in the east drawing room. Two armed guards stand at my elbows.

  Afterward, a team of women school me on comportment, protocol, and etiquette. The rules are endless. Never cross your legs at the knee, only at the ankles. Gloves and hats will be worn for all official appearances outside the castle. Hemlines must not rise above the knee. Never shake hands with anyone below your status. No selfies. No autographs. And—my personal favorite—no public displays of affection.