by Kane, Jessa
“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.
5
Corbet
I am dangerously close to getting drunk before breakfast.
Not exactly king-like behavior. Normally I don’t give a damn about how I’m perceived. I’m confident in my ability to lead and make decisions for the greater good. I know there is no ruler more equipped to protect his people. But this morning, I am required to be present at some ridiculous joust. Instead of participating, I’m sitting on a dais beside the leader of our neighboring kingdom, nodding and giving the official signal for the competition to commence.
Someone kindly just put a sword between my ribs.
My attention does not just wander. Oh no. I am barely aware of my surroundings. There is only my constant search for Gwen in the crowd, my eyes hungry for the sight of her midnight hair and stubborn chin. She is my woman. Every fiber of my being knows it. And yet I do not have her. Is it not the cruelest irony that the woman who makes me burn is the exact kind of woman who balks at being a mistress? Was I insane to think this proud farmer would be content to make her life as my kept woman?
I’m sick to my stomach.
My eyes are gritty and red-rimmed from lack of sleep.
My skin itches with a terrible foreboding.
Gwen has her mind set on finding a husband today.
Stopping her would be an easy feat. I’ve only to turn to the king beside me and ask him to disqualify one of his subjects from the wife auction. He wouldn’t even ask me why, although he’d suspect I want to tup her myself. And God knows I do. I want to push her ankles up to her ears and ride her raw. Want to fuck her again and again until she can’t live without my cock. Want to…
Laugh with her.
Take her riding on the grounds of my kingdom.
Hold her hand during meals.
Fall into the sanctuary of her arms after a battle.
Down in the arena, a sword clashes with armor and I bolt upright, dragging myself out of my wayward thoughts—and lord were they ever wayward. For a moment there, I was imagining Gwen at my side performing activities only a wife would.
A mistress is meant strictly for relieving the ache in a man’s loins.
Not filling his castle with the warmth of her humor and personality.
But my sisters deserve to have someone who professes love for them, so I force myself to do it. Only for them. Even if it makes my face feel like it’s on fire.
Gwen’s husky confession from the night before drifts through my mind. What is that odd twisting feeling in my chest that happens when I replay those words? Surely I’m not imagining her saying the same thing about me one day. That I deserve to have her love for me professed out loud. Love isn’t something I value.
It is flimsy. Just words that people don’t mean.
People who are supposed to love someone can use them just as easily.
Cold snakes down my spine, the memory of a wolfhound’s jaw locked around my calf making me swallow uncomfortably. The memory of calling for help from someone who was supposed to keep me safe at all costs.
Yes. Love is flimsy. Now the steel of my sword? That is substantial.
Gwen really seemed to mean it about her sisters, though.
What if she has the capacity to love me where my parents did not?
“Corbet, you look ill,” Connor mutters in my ear. “Eat something.”
There is a trencher of meat and potatoes at my elbow, but my stomach turns at the idea of filling it. Where the hell is Gwen? Is she preparing for the fucking wife auction?
No. I can’t allow it. If she puts herself up for auction and someone else takes what’s mine, it will burn me alive. From dawn until dusk until the end of my days, I’ll think of her. I’ll hunger for her and wonder…I’ll wonder.
I am seconds from picking up my helping of food and throwing it as far as possible when I finally spy Gwen. She’s just walked into the arena. Two young girls are at her sides, one slightly older than the other, but both quite small, their eyes wide with excitement over their surroundings. But Gwen is watching them. Not the proceedings.
Her enjoyment seems to come from their reactions. Their laughter.
Her love for them is evident, her heart on full display and…
She is worth so much more than a half commitment.
I’m ashamed I even asked her.
“Corbet,” Connor says impatiently, leaning forward once again from his seat behind me. “The jousters are awaiting your signal to begin.”
“Oh, for the love of—” I lift a hand and drop it again. “When is this over?”
“It’s over when it’s over.” He pauses. “Then begins the wife auction events.”
“Events?”
“Yes. Do you know nothing of the Joining?”
I grunt, my eyes still glued to Gwen. Is she wearing flowers in her hair today?
The yellow blooms probably make her eyes sparkle.
Is she ever going to glance in my direction?
Do you hear yourself?
“First there is a pie-tasting competition,” Connor says.
At this, I turn in my throne. “A what?”
My advisor does not hide his impatience, but it’s the king of Lavere who answers. “Well, the men are looking for a wife, aren’t they?” He dabs at the sweat on his brow and drones on. “It makes sense to sample their baking first. You wouldn’t want to spend all that money if
the woman can’t even bake a decent pie.”
Pie?
Gwen is a farmer.
She doesn’t have enough fucking work to do without having to bake for a husband, too?
“And then, of course, there is the water carrying competition,” Connor continues, sounding kind of smug, though I can’t imagine why when my world is falling apart. “A man needs to know his newly purchased property is strong enough to carry water from the well.”
A vein ticks ominously behind my eye. “Newly purchased property?”
Connor sighs. “Sure, that’s what these women will be, at the end of the day.”
The king of Lavere nods in agreement and fire climbs up the back of my neck. “Gwen is not property. Do not refer to her that way.”
“I’m sorry, what was she going to be to you?” Connor asks quietly, studying his nails.
“She…I…” My fist comes down hard on the arm of the throne, drawing attention from the crowd, including Gwen. “It is not the same thing, Connor,” I manage, though having her eyes on me makes my throat constrict.
And maybe it’s the fact that we’re finally making eye contact. Because for the first time this morning, I’m managing to think clearly. “I just need to explain to her why I refuse to take a wife. I didn’t explain it to her last night. Of course she said no.”
“So…you’re going to discuss your past with her.”
Discomfort needles me. “Yes.”
“Wow. Fine. Thirty years of friendship and you won’t even talk about it to me. One night with this girl and it’s just, feelings, feelings everywhere—”
“Shut up, Connor.”
The nausea is slowly leaving my system, because I have a plan. Once Gwen understands my reasoning for not wanting to be married, she will back out of the auction. I know it. She’ll be mine. I can’t imagine the day ending without her in my arms, so this has to be the answer.
* * *
Gwen
