The King's Virgin Bride

by Natalie Knight

  “Maaaybe.” As I stroke her face, she starts kissing the tips of my fingers. “It was hard to ignore.”

  I stick the tip of my finger in her mouth as she smoothly sucks on it, nibbling on it like a naughty, little kitty cat.

  “Come on, you can bite down harder than that.”

  Taking me up on the challenge, Gwen chomps down on my index finger, morphing from a kitten into a Pit Bull.

  “Goddammit!” I snap my fingers back. “I didn’t think you were actually gonna do it!”

  Gwen shrugs with a wry, little smirk on her face as she sits down on the bench closer to all the garden flowers. The place really is fairly romantic, like something out of A Midsummer Night's Dream.

  Too bad the place isn’t completely private—otherwise I would come out here, strip naked, and have dirty garden sex in full view of the angel-shaped fountains and vine-covered gazebos.

  I sit down next to Gwen and kiss her on the hand.

  “My queen,” I tell her. “Once we’re married, I’ll seal off the courtyard so that no other soul other than us will ever come inside.”

  “Are you sure what we’ve just done is a good idea?” Gwen looks at me with her pure, innocent eyes again. “I mean, we’re both engaged to other people! I feel like this is so much worse than a normal tabloid scandal.”

  I don’t say anything and instead continue kissing her hands, working my way up the supple skin of her wrists and into the velvety softness of her inner arm.

  “Oh, my god, we’ll burn so many bridges,” Gwen continues going on, ignoring my kisses. She’s so stubborn. That alcohol must really be wearing off.

  “Our families will hate us—my family especially. This is just…such a shitty situation, Edward. Why couldn’t we have met each other earlier?”

  I take a break from devouring her arm and look straight at her.

  “Because you weren’t old enough.”

  “Ohhhhh, right.” Gwen cringes at the realization. “But still, that doesn’t change anything. The predicament we’re in now is just not fair!”

  I grab both her hands. God, she’s so tense. I want her to relax again, like how she was in the throne room—all open, wild, and willing for anything. That’s the kind of woman I want to marry.

  “Listen, don’t worry about those losers out there.” I gesture toward the commotion happening outside the courtyard. “All that matters is us. Let them be mad. Let them tear us apart. Who cares? We don’t need them. We’re fucking rich, and we’re going to rule this kingdom!”

  Gwen pulls her arms away and starts pouting, giving me little pretend-mad faces that make me want to take her again like I did in the throne room.

  “But what about your fiancée? Ignora whatsherface?”

  Hearing my former fiancée’s name makes me laugh out loud. I can’t believe that was a thing a few moments ago.

  “Ew, don’t worry about her. She’s a spoiled social climber who only wants the title, not me. Oh, and she’s a sleep farter! Just the loudest, most unbearable farts.”

  Gwen throws her head back and starts cackling.

  “Stop!” she squeals. “I’m starting to cry!”

  “Plus, she has that disgusting black spot on her face, right on her forehead.”

  “What?” Gwen asks between choking laughter. “I thought that was a mole!”

  “I did, too, we all did! But when I asked her about it, she told me, ‘What mole?’ I think it’s a fucking blackhead! Can you imagine? The soon-to-be queen marching around with the Guinness Book of World Records in blackheads?”

  Gwen is crying so hard, she’s not even making sounds. Her head is tilted back, her eyes tightly shut, her face all clinched. It looks like she’s having an orgasm, and it’s getting me all turned on.

  I grab her by the face and tilt her head back down to me.

  “Stop making me laugh!” she cries. “You’re making my makeup run.”

  “Ignora is boring and repulsive to me,” I tell her, finishing my point. “You have nothing to worry about, Princess. You belong with me.”

  “Really?” Her smile lights up the whole friggin garden.

  “Of course.” I pull her closer to me, feeling the warmth of her body, making myself hot. “I can do whatever I want. Whatever I say goes. If people have a problem with that, who cares?”

  Gwen starts to calm down as she nods her head. “Hmm, you might be right about this.”

  “Of course, I’m right. I’m the fucking king.” I grab her thigh and pull it over mine, grabbing her flesh and moving my hand slowly up. “I think you underestimate how much power I have. No one can tell me what to do. And with you as queen, you’ll be all mine for me to do as I please.”

  Gwen’s body stiffens as my hand cups her tit through the gauzy material.

  “To do…anything?” she breathes.

  “Anything you want,” I tell her as I lean in to caress her face. “After all, you’ll be queen. You’ll be powerful, too. We’ll rule together in public, but in the bedroom, I’ll rule you.”

  Gwen’s body starts convulsing, as if she’s going to come just sitting here. She then looks away, trying to contain herself.

  “Look at me,” I command her.

  She laughs. “I can’t!”

  “Why not?

  She doesn’t answer and instead halfheartedly brushes my hand away.

  “Is it because you’re falling under my spell?” I answer for her.

  She continues ignoring me, but I’ve had enough. I grab her by the shoulders, turn her around, and pull her close to me.

  “Together, we’re going to rule this country.” I slip my hand back into its rightful place on her tit, her nipple hard through her dress. “With me, you’ll never be bored, never be unhappy, and never be unsatisfied.”

  I rub my thumb back and forth across her nipple, her breathing turning into panting. My other hand joins in on the fun as I begin to see her entire chest moving up and down with pleasure, her heart rate accelerating with each caress from my hungry hands. She squirms in my hands as she tries to push them away—even though she’s clearly enjoying it.

  “Stop!” she whispers to me. She then throws her head back and laughs again.

  God, I love that laugh. And that neck. I lean forward and bury my face in it, wanting to kiss every inch of her skin.

  She screeches some more. I shush her as I look wildly about to see if anyone’s around.

  The coast is clear.

  Gwen looks back at me with her wicked gaze. She’s so hot, I can’t stand it.

  “If I’m your queen, will I be able to…sit on the throne?”

  I smirk at her. My naughty princess. “You can sit on the throne as long as you’d like. All day, all night.”

  She falls into me and curls herself into the curve of my body. She takes a huge whiff of me and smiles to herself.

  “When you’re not serving your people,” she starts as she flashes her eyes at me, “how will you serve me?”

  I bite my tongue in anticipation of what I’m going to say. Because reality might scare.

  Oh, the things I’d do to this woman. If the tabloids ever found out, it would be all anyone would talk about until the day we died.

  After all, I’m a king. I should abide by the etiquette that upholds the royal family’s name. I should be polite, chaste, and most importantly, a gentleman.

  But you know what? Fuck chivalry.

  I turn to Gwen and look at her up and down, drinking up every last inch of her hot body.

  “I’ll serve you so fucking hard, you’ll be begging for me every night.”

  Gwen bites her lip and takes a deep breath as she grips the bench.

  “I think I’ll like being your queen.”

  Chapter 8

  Gwen

  Could I marry Edward?

  I certainly want to.

  He’s the king, and he’s my brother’s best friend, and he’s so hot.

  I’ve always thought of it. Ever since I was younger, I’ve h
ad a crush on him, but I used to just assume that it was because he was my brother’s friend.

  But I don’t just like him for his body or his title or his relationship with my family. Edward is kind, and he’s clever, and he’s funny. He knows what he wants, and he’s not afraid to go after it.

  And right now, it seems he wants me.

  And I think…I think I want him, too.

  “You’ll like being my queen,” Edward parrots as he places his hand on my thigh. “Does that mean you want to continue the proposal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  His eyes light up and sparkle like the stars overhead. He looks hopeful, happier than I’ve seen him whenever he’s been beside his other fiancée—

  His other fiancée.

  I sigh.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Edward lifts my chin with his finger to look into his eyes.

  His fingers stroke at my cheek and pull my face closer to his. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, and I lean in a little further.

  He kisses me and draws his other hand up to my face, holding my cheeks as his lips press against mine. Edward is so gentle and yet so passionate, slowly exploring my lips with his tongue until he can’t help himself and he deepens the kiss.

  It’s a kiss that leaves me breathless.

  “Say yes, Gwen…be my queen.”

  “I want to, Edward. I do. But…”

  “But what?”

  “But we’re engaged to other people!”

  Edward takes my hand and begins kissing up my arm.

  “I’m the king,” he states matter-of-factly and kisses my arm some more. “Which means that I can do whatever I want.”

  “Within reason.”

  “And it is completely unreasonable if I don’t marry you.”

  “That’s all well and good for you,” I remind him and place my hand on his arm as he tries to slide his fingers up my thigh, pushing at the hem of my dress. I want this—I want him—but I can’t let myself give in…not yet.

  “Why can’t it be well and good for you?”

  “Because I’m not a queen—I’m a princess.”

  “But you could be a queen—you could be my queen…” he says, changing his voice to be smooth and tempting. He traces the structure of my cheek with his finger, staring into my eyes and soaking in the picture of my face.

  He’s imagining us together, I think, instantly loving the idea as well.

  “If you were my queen, you could do whatever you want—you’d be free. You could sit on a throne.” He smiles, referring to my excitement earlier. “And I’d serve you and my people—but always you.”

  Edward traces his fingertip across my collarbone and then down my chest. He moves to once again take one of my tits in his hand, squeezing it and toying with me through my dress. I gasp and arch my back toward his touch.

  “If you were my queen, I would support you,” he whispers into my ear as his hand strokes over my nipple through the fabric. I whimper softly at the friction, and his other hand moves to hold onto my thigh, squeezing at the flesh and pinning me to the bench in front of him.

  “If you were my queen,” Edward traces the curve of my ear with his tongue and then begins to kiss down my neck, “you could wear all the finest jewelry. And then, when we’re all alone, you’d only be wearing the finest jewelry.”

  I shiver at the image—me, naked, but dripping in jewels, with Edward wanting to do nothing but pleasure me.

  I feel the arousal start to build, and, from Edward’s teasing, my nipples begin to show through my dress. One hand grips at the stone bench, the feeling of the cold rock beneath my fingers keeping me grounded.

  The other hand slides up Edward’s leg, finding another rock-hard thing to take hold of. I feel the bulge beneath his trousers, and Edward groans as I work my hand over it.

  “If I was your queen, would there be a lot of work? Or would we still find time to play?”

  “If you were my queen, I’d make time to play with you.”

  He gently pinches my nipples through my dress, and I moan into his touch. I rub his cock through his trousers more eagerly.

  “When we’re married, we could do whatever we want, whenever we want.”

  The hand that isn’t teasing my tits slips beneath my skirt. Fingers brush against the soft fabric of my panties, which are already beginning to get wet from his touch.

  “Wherever we want.”

  He’s right. If we were married, we could do this as often as we like, with a whole palace of locations to pick from. We could start here, tonight in the rose gardens, and carry on until we’ve deflowered every room in the palace, so to speak.

  The idea of going back to the throne room and finishing what we started, coupled with Edward’s fingers as he rubs circles against my clit, sends a jolt of pleasure through me.

  My eyes flutter as I moan, but I catch myself and quickly silence it. Edward kisses me softly.

  “Why would you stop?” he whispers. “Let yourself enjoy this.”

  “What if someone catches us?” I ask, but I don’t move my hand away from his trousers. I continue to stroke him through the fabric, and I can see how much Edward is enjoying it.

  “Let them catch us,” Edward whispers, kissing my neck again. “No one would blame me for not being able to help myself. No one would blame the royal couple for wanting some alone time.”

  “But we’re not the royal couple,” I whisper, but Edward silences my protests by kissing me.

  He takes his hand from my breast and holds my cheek, but his fingers still work at teasing me under my dress.

  “We could be, Gwen. If you want to be, we could be the royal couple…you could be my wife…you could be the queen.”

  Edward begins to press up against me. He gently pushes me back until I’m lying with my back against the stone beneath me. His fingers push my dress up higher until it’s barely covering my thighs and panties.

  Edward lays himself just above me, holding himself over me so that I can feel his cock straining through his trousers. It brushes against my wet panties, and I whimper and arch my hips up to meet him.

  If being married to Edward is like this, then I want to say yes. Fuck Marquis de Roach—not literally, because I imagine sleeping with him would be the most boring sex ever—if Edward wants me, who I am to say no? Who am I to refuse a king?

  Laid out beneath him like this, Edward is free to do anything he wants to me. Yet it feels as though he’s savoring me. If he wanted to take me right here on this bench, I’d want him to.

  But instead, his hands travel up to my dress again, gently pinching at my erect nipples as they push through my dress, determined to be noticed.

  I gasp and writhe underneath him. Edward kisses down my neck, gently nibbling and biting with every other kiss.

  I push my chest up to meet him as he reaches the neckline of my dress. His hands grasp at my breasts, squeezing and kneading them beneath his hands.

  A wave of desire overcomes us both, and I moan again—louder this time—as Edward pulls down my dress so that my tits spill out over the top. The cool air hits my nipples and somehow makes them even harder.

  Edward’s mouth instantly descends upon them, licking and sucking at the soft flesh. My hand trails up the side of his face, and I weave my fingers through his hair as I pull him up towards me.

  I kiss him this time, our chests pressed together. The fabric of his shirt brushes against my nipples, causing me to shudder and whimper. I love the friction, and I’m starting to soak through my panties with how much I want him—how much I want to be with him.

  “My queen?” Edward asks innocently as his hand dips back between my legs to find my panties. He strokes my slit through the soaked fabric, and I push myself towards him desperately.

  “Yes?”

  I can barely get the words out as Edward’s constant teasing takes all the air out of my lungs.

  “Do you want this? Do you want me?” H
e kisses my ear, his tongue tracing the shape of my earlobe before he captures it between his teeth. “Do you want to be my queen?”

  “Fuck,” I whisper, my back beginning to arch.

  “Pardon?”

  “Edward…Fuck yes.”

  Chapter 9

  Edward

  “Do you want me? Do you desire me?” I ask Gwen, knowing damn well she does.

  It still makes me feel like the most powerful fucking king that’s ever lived when she says, “Fuck yes!”

  As if I couldn’t tell by the way she’s writhing on the grass beneath me, by the way her body responds to my every touch. I know she wants me.

  The thing is, I want her even more.

  And I intend to have her—tonight and every night for the rest of our lives—my previous engagement be damned.

  Gwen grabs the back of my head and brings me to her for a needy kiss, which I gladly, greedily comply.

  “I do,” she says. “I want you.”

  And, fuck, who am I to deny my future queen? The sound of guests in the ballroom just feet away only adds to the excitement. We could be discovered at any moment, and the garden’s greenery and blooms only partly shield us from both being seen and heard.

  By the time the night’s over, I plan to test the limits of the garden’s camouflage. For now, I intend to bring Gwen to orgasm right here on the soft green earth.

  I trace my hand along Gwen’s thigh as she nuzzles my neck. She’s completely open—fucking wanton, even—and her desire is palpable. Pulling up her dress even further, I inch my hand up to her cunt.

  In response, she opens her leg to me. I’ve never thought it possible, but my already rock-hard cock just gets harder. Showering Gwen with pleasure without demanding pleasure in return is going to take a near-Herculean level of willpower on my part.

  “What am I going to discover here…hmmm…Gwen?” I tease as I inch my fingers along the top of her thigh.

  “Why don’t you dive in and find out?” she purrs, melting most of my resolve. A willingness to indulge in dirty talk bodes extremely well for our future together.

  I can’t imagine Igora speaking to me that way or enjoying me saying words like cunt, cum, fuck, or cock to her. The thought of spending the rest of my life with that wretched woman nearly makes me shudder—were it not for the luscious goddess nestled in my arms right now.