by Brill Harper
Violet
Tara left me nearly twenty minutes ago after talking my ear off while I soaked in the tub made for some kind of giant. At first, I felt so modest in front of her. I’ve never been naked in front of anyone, but she was flitting around the room and babbling so much that I just quickly got under the bubbles and forgot my embarrassment soon after.
Well, until she told me about the honeymoon. Thankfully, she thought to do so with a few glasses of champagne, which made the whole thing easier to take and yet even more surreal.
Now, I wait for my groom I guess.
He has his own wing of the palace, a lovely apartment suite filled with a mixture of modern, masculine style and antiquities I’m itching to research. He was right that I would be interested. The friendly boy in the museum was my favorite memory of childhood after my parents’ death. Ever since, I’ve been drawn to old things. Preserving them. Being around them.
If you’d told me I’d be in that boy’s apartment twenty years later wearing his silky black robe and drinking champagne, I’d have never believed you.
I finally get brave and open the door I’ve been avoiding.
His bedroom.
Oh wow. His sinful, decadent bedroom.
His lair.
The masterpiece is the enormous hand-carved bed gracing the center of the room and covered in silks and velvets of black and deep red.
His bed is draped in beaded, lush velvet panels with gold tasseled rope ties as if we’re still in medieval times. I imagine it must be like a dark cave of debauchery when they are closed.
This champagne is going to my head. I’ve only had a few experimental glasses of wine since I’ve been out on my own. I’m a bit light-headed now, whether from the drink, the hot bath, the travel, the extreme change in circumstance, or just being surrounded by such tangible sensuality, I don’t know. But I can guess.
Part of me wants to drink more. Get drunk. Maybe when I wake up, my coma will be gone.
No. I set my glass down on a coaster. I don’t want to be drunk. I want to experience everything.
I think. I find the chest in the corner, the one Tara told me was brought in specifically for my honeymoon. I lift the lid slowly, carefully like I’m afraid the contents might bite. They won’t. But some may pinch. Some vibrate. Some tickle.
I peer into the wooden box full of items designed to enhance my pleasure. There are lotions in ornate glass bottles, and ornate glass items that are not bottles, but phallic shaped. A feathered stick. Scarves. Restraints. An item that looks suspiciously close to Sister Elena’s massager for her muscle stiffness. I close the lid. I don’t know how to use anything in it. But Markellan does. Apparently, all men in Kentigen are trained in the use of the honeymoon chest. Most women in the country have their own treasure trove until they get this one, so probably nothing in it is confusing to them. Sexual pleasure is encouraged here.
What can he want with me? I don’t even know how to pleasure myself very well. I’ve managed to get the job done, but I didn’t know they made the things in that box to assist. He’s going to regret bringing me here.
I close the lid and continue exploring. His scent lingers in the room, an intoxicating mixture of man and unnamed spice and virility
Approaching the ornate mirror on the wall, I trace the intricate work and stare at the woman looking back at me. What does he see in her? She’s so plain. Mousy.
“I was afraid you’d have already made arrangements with Con to get the hell out of here after spending time with my sister. Instead, you’re in my bedroom wearing my robe. I am very, very pleased.” His voice breaks through my pity party.
I meet Markellan’s eyes in the mirror and feel the pulse in my neck scrabbling like it’s trying to race away.
He’s so beautiful. Like a fantasy come to life. A fallen angel in the flesh more like. But beautiful all the same. I don’t think he belongs here on earth. He’s standing still as a statue, waiting for me to say something.
Anything, Violet.
“You have a lovely home.”
Well, that was something. Not a very good something, but something.
He laughs and removes his jacket. “Thank you. How are you feeling?”
“I’m well, thank you.” I bite my lip as he unrolls the sleeves of his shirt. “Why are we being so polite?”
“I have no idea.”
“Your sister filled me in about some of your country’s more unique customs.”
We’re still holding each other’s gazes in the mirror. It seems safer this way.
“The rest of the world finds us a bit of a curiosity, I’ll admit. But we seem to do all right.”
My skin is heating, but not from a blush for a change. It’s remembering his hands on me in the car. The way his tongue felt in my mouth. Goodness, the air in this country must be laced with some kind of decadent pheromone.
He walks toward me, but I don’t turn around. Just watch his approach in the mirror.
“So in addition to passing property along the mother’s lines here, it seems you revere women more than most of the world.”
“Revere is a soft word for it, lamb. The men of my kingdom worship women.” He’s right behind me now. I can feel his hot breath on my neck. “We admire and adore and glorify the female mind, spirit…body.” He reaches for my hand and brings the inside of my wrist to his mouth for a soft, wet kiss. “When a boy turns eighteen, he is instructed in the arts of lovemaking so that his future bride will not suffer the sexual advances of a selfish lover, but rather one so attuned to her body that she will blossom under his hands, his mouth, his love.” I shiver. “The highest penalized crime in our country is for that of inflicting pain or damage to a woman or child. We take oaths to protect our women with our lives. We’re taught to do so from childhood. You’re safer here than anywhere else on the planet.”
He raises his eyes from my wrist and looks at me, deliberately letting all that he is thinking about doing to me show on his face. I don’t think safe is the word I would choose when I see the way he’s eyeing me in the mirror. I feel like a snack for a hungry lion. Yet, his country’s politics intrigue me.
“It’s very different here. You and the guards seem so…I don’t know…masculine. Alpha. Is it difficult to worship or revere women, even though we are weaker than you?”
He cocks his head and regards me carefully. “A real man is at his strongest, most virile, when he knows he has pleasured his woman, protected her well, and cared for her every desire. A happy woman, one who is cherished and regarded for her strengths is, in return, a woman who makes her man even stronger. Don’t be fooled by the matriarchy; I can assure you the worshiping goes both ways. One sex is not better than the other, my country is just better at promoting a better relationship between the two. You will see. If you stay, of course.”
“I’m used to men thinking…I don’t know…that they are better, stronger.”
“A real man is fearless, courageous. and loyal. He is a protector and does no harm unless it is to protect. I know my power, lamb, but I do not misuse it.”
I nod. This really is a dream. I know that now. It’s like I handpicked him. Made him up. Hand-wrote the politics of his kingdom in my teenage diary.
“My mother taught me to believe in myself, to know I will succeed if my intentions are clear and my actions align.” He fingers the silk robe on my shoulder. “She also taught me to seek a woman who offers tenderness, wisdom, patience, and nurturing. One who is also courageous and loyal. An empowered woman is not fragile. She is strong and righteous and will stand by her lover. Men and women make each other better. There is no need for oppression of either sex.”
I swallow hard on the champagne trying to fizz back up my throat. “And the …lovemaking?”
His nostrils flare and he inhales sharply. “Yes, lamb? What do you want to know about the lovemaking?”
“It seems like it’s pretty important here.”
“Sex is sacred, Violet. Touching, kissing, int
imacy…perfect bliss between lovers is the ideal we strive for.”
“What if I’m not good at it? Maybe you won’t want me to stay.”
“Is that your fear? Look in the mirror,” he directs me.
As I do, he wraps an arm around my waist and hugs me to the erection grinding into my backside. My head falls back, exposing my neck and he uses his other hand to trace a delicate path down to my collar bone, then very gently, beneath the panel of the robe. I shiver, melting into the hard wall of man behind me.
He bites my earlobe while I watch as if we are two different people. That can’t be me. I’ve never looked like that before. Ripe and ready. Sexual.
He starts planting kisses up my neck, nibbling as he goes back to my ear, licking it and sucking on the lobe. His eyes are on the mirror as his fingers toy my breast. He pinches a nipple gently, the pert bud getting harder in his hand, while he watches my face in the mirror. My eyes slide closed.
Who am I?
I want to feel his hand and lips on me everywhere, want him inside me.
The hand on my breast stills. I feel him smile next to my ear, and my eyes open. The smile that teases his lips is almost devilish. His hand moves from my breast to my ribs underneath, rubbing firmly. He skims the skin as his magic fingers go lower and then lower still, causing me to shudder.
I feel him behind me. Hard. So hard. And big. I should worry about that, but his hand goes lower yet, delving into the place I’ve only just begun to know myself since leaving the convent. I ache for him there. I may only have vague ideas about how the mechanics of sex go, but my body seems to be catching on.
“So wet,” he whispers in my ear, and I convulse when his finger glides through my folds.
I can feel him pushing his fingers, strumming on the pearl he finds there. The robe falls open and I see his hand cupping me, his fingers moving, my breasts heaving. It’s too much. Shudders rack my body and I start to slip, would fall to the ground if Markellan wasn’t holding me to him.
I look down at my feet. "Don't... don't look at me, please," I beg quivering. I am engulfed by the sensations he is causing.
"Why not?" he asks.
"I don't ... I don't know. It's indecent." I whisper, still not able to look at him.
"You are beautiful. Why do you want to hide it?" he asks with concern in his voice.
He thinks I'm beautiful.
"It's just so..." I stammer unable to complete my thoughts. This is all so new.
"Naughty?"
"Yes," I admit.
"That's the whole point, lamb. I want you to be naughty. I want you to be naughty for me," he says.
“Oh, God.”
"Good girl," he says hoarsely, pressing harder on my swollen clit, making my moans turn to cries. "Look into the mirror," he commands again.
I look up. My hair is disheveled, my eyes glassy, my lips plump.
“I want you to stay,” he says simply, bringing me back to the conversation we were having before he touched me.
He wants me to stay. Here. In Kentigen.
I begin to feel a bit of that empowerment he spoke of earlier. I may be the one who had an orgasm, but he looks just as on edge.
He gently ties the robe together again. “I’m going to take a shower. Shall I send for a tray for you or did you have enough refreshments downstairs?”
“I’m fine.” I couldn’t eat right now if I tried. My stomach is too jittery. My legs to shaky. My mind too busy. My body too needy.
“Usually, a honeymooning couple will retire to an isolated location for their week of intimacy. I had an idea that you might feel more comfortable here where you know civilization is not too far away. The staff has stocked the kitchen well but have been instructed to leave us unless we ask for them. There are intercoms in every room, and as you are aware, Con is your personal attendant. When he is off duty, you will still be protected. At any time you wish, they are available to you by pushing an intercom. Otherwise, we are alone.”
I suck in a breath. He’s making sure I feel safe. That I don’t feel trapped. I’m sure that must come at some cost to him, yet he puts my needs ahead of his own.
And he leaves me standing in his bedroom. Knowing he’s naked under the spray of the shower. Knowing soon he’ll be naked in front of me.
Chapter Six
Markellan
When I come out of the shower, my bride is drunk.
I wasn’t gone that long, I swear.
Damn it.
She’s sitting in the middle of my bed, wearing my robe, and drinking champagne straight from the bottle.
“Look at you,” she says unsteadily. “It’s like someone poured velvet over steel to sculpt your body. You have no flaws. And we’re going to make a baby. But seriously, you’re absolutely rippling with muscle. Like I can see them rippling right now. Maybe you should stand still.”
“I am standing still, love.”
She hiccups. “Did you know that your shoulders are like huge? And they taper down so nicely into your waist. Like this—” She makes some vague hand movement to show me how my body tapers. “Also your hair.”
“My hair?”
“Yeah. Not on your head. On your navel. I didn’t even know you had hair there, but look at it. It’s like a dark silky trail that disappears beneath your towel. You’re naked under that towel, aren’t you?”
I am not a strong enough man for this. She’s a lush fantasy come to life in my bed, and I can’t take her. Not tonight. Not while she’s drunk.
Fuck.
“How about a pot of coffee?” I ask.
“No. But you know what? I have to pee!” She starts scrabbling, sliding on my slippery bed coverings and flashing me bits of lush, pale skin, and my entire body tightens.
Mine.
Instead of doing what I want, I help her down so she doesn’t break her neck. While she’s in the bathroom, I put on pajama bottoms, willing my cock to rest. When she comes back out, she throws the robe onto the floor. “All right. I’m ready.”
Fuck me.
How am I supposed to not fuck her? She’s naked, her luscious curves inviting me to take handfuls. Just take. I’m on the razor’s edge of raw need—my hunger has never felt so dark and…depraved. I want to drag her into it with me. And there she is. Willing and naked. Her inhibitions stifled by alcohol. No one would blame me if I took her now. She just asked me to.
But the first time I am inside her body, she will remember me, damn it. She will beg for me. She will need me.
It won’t be like this.
I try to help her onto the bed, ignoring all the supple skin and places inviting me to taste. She flops down onto her stomach in the middle of the bed facing sideways.
“Lamb, let’s get you under the covers.” Fierce possessiveness consumes me. What I want to do is stretch flat on top of her. Skin to skin, pinning her to the bed, letting her feel the full weight of my body. I’d nudge her thighs apart, tease her with my cock. Is she still wet from coming on my fingers in front of the mirror?
I want to turn all my years of training and mastery of lovemaking to taming her lush curves, nibbling the backs of her knees, the insides of her thighs. I want to bathe every inch of her body with my tongue. I’d stretch her hands above her head and drag my tongue down her spine. Slowly, so fucking slowly. I want to feel her shake and tremble beneath me, moan for me to enter her sweet pussy. I want…hell, she’s snoring.
Violet
One thing I can say about Kentigen that is not in its favor is that it’s very bright. Painfully bright. I think about pulling the blanket over my head, but it hurts too much to move. I am sure my head is going to fall right off.
“Lamb, drink this,” I hear a disembodied voice say. That’s when I remember how very un-disembodied he was last night. He was very, very embodied. That’s when I remember what I said to him. And oh my goodness. The mirror. And…
“You want this, I promise.”
I blink, close my eyes, and blink them again. I’m comp
letely naked under the blankets, and I don’t remember much after using the bathroom.
“I see all your questions flashing across your face and I will answer them all. Drink this; it’s my sister’s famous hangover cure and it tastes awful but works. Yes, you are naked. Yes, you are still a virgin. Yes, you did say some curious things about what was under my towel. And no, you didn’t dream coming on my hand. That happened before you drank too much.”
I sip the awful smelling potion in the glass. “I’m sorry.” Ugh, this stuff is awful.
“What are you sorry for?”
“Getting drunk. Acting foolish.” Ruining our first night.
“I enjoyed watching you be foolish. Let me take care of you this morning.”
And he does. He forces me to drink the vile cure, but it really does work. He runs me yet another bath. Feeds me a breakfast he cooks himself. And when I’m feeling more myself, his eyes nearly change color when he glowers at me suddenly and says, “I want to make you come on my tongue.”
I nearly spit out the water I just sipped. My skin blazes. My mind races. “Wh-what?”
Gone is the nearly civilized gentleman he’s been all morning. The one who turned his head while I got out of bed naked because I felt modest. The one who made a smiley face on my pancake with whipped cream. This man is an untamed barbarian. His whole body is coiled and ready to pounce on me like a panther.
He’s been wearing just his pajama bottoms all morning, and I thought I was accustomed to his bare chest, but when he stands, I find I’m once again drunk—just not on champagne this time.
Him. I’m drunk on him.
He’s huge, looming over me as he offers me his hand as if we were in a fancy restaurant and he didn’t just offer to use his tongue on me. I stare up at him, my eyes roving over his thick chest, those rippling abs, and that trail…that soft trail I follow with my eyes into his waistband where a very not soft erection pushes against his pants.
