The Swithin Chronicles 3: The Comet Cometh

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  “You’re wet, Tressa,” he told her, when he was certain. A cry of humiliation, not pain, left her lips, and when she tried to wriggle free of his lap, he let her. She surely felt the sting of his wrath, but he hadn’t hurt her. She was just infuriated.

  “You do not understand,” she told him. “You talk about insulting people, and now you offend me! I do not understand why this small slur matters so much to you, to a king.”

  “Because she’s a person! More than that, she’s one of my people. I protect them, from the lowliest working man to the highest royal, and that includes you. It includes that maid, her family, Ryanac, and his mother. If I can’t protect them, it means I avenge them. I do the best I can for everyone in my kingdom, living on my land. I might own the ground from the sea up into the mountains, down to the valley, but I cannot do what I want with it on a whim. I swore to protect the land and the people who reside on it, not abuse them!”

  “So, as king, if you had an eye for someone, and they refused, you would not feel slighted?”

  Markis jerked in surprise. He took a deep breath. “Is that what you thought the woman did? Insult you?”

  Tressa hesitated, and then nodded.

  “It’s no insult, and no; I would not feel that way if someone refused me. Position does not grant you such privileges. At least not on my lands. You know what it is for someone to have control over you when it’s unwanted. Would you honestly want to make someone else feel that way? The way men of your race make women feel?”

  He finally got through to her. He could see that by the widening of her eyes. For the first time today, she looked truly remorseful.

  “No. You could have just said that, of course. Not…” She swallowed, clearly not wishing to refer to the spanking she’d just received. “I rather feel that you used this as an excuse just to…to…” Clearly, she still couldn’t voice the fact that he’d spanked her.

  “The true question is, do you want him to continue?” Ryanac’s sardonic voice filled the room as though it were treacle.

  Tressa whirled on the other man. Even only able to see her face from one side, Markis could see her eyes blazed.

  “Of course, Markis only just warmed you up. I’ve got bigger hands.” The guard even looked at them as though offering her proof. “I could really heat things up for you.” Ryanac winked.

  Tressa, clutching her skirts, glared from Ryanac to Markis, and then back again. She let out a sound that came close to a growl. “You are insufferable!” she snapped at Ryanac, to which the big man only laughed. Tressa ran from the room, ducking beneath Ryanac’s gaze as she passed him. She left Markis sitting there with her arousal drying on his fingers.

  Markis leaned back against the bed on his elbows. His legs, bent at the knees, hung over the edge, feet pressed to the floor. He had worn an official jacket over his casual garments to go talk to the women, but he had unbuttoned it as they made their way back. Still, right now, Ryanac looked more relaxed and the more casual of the two men.

  Kicking the door shut after Tressa’s hasty departure, Ryanac sauntered over to the bed and looked down at Markis, raising an eyebrow in question. Markis shook his head.

  “Don’t ask. Just another of Tressa’s errors.” They were growing used to them. “I shall have to apologise. She didn’t know any better.”

  “How many times are you going to say that? How many times will you make excuses for her?” The big man stood between Markis’s knees, arms folded across his chest, his gaze lazy but intent.

  “I seem to recall you telling me to be patient.”

  “I did, but she could test the patience of” ‑‑ Ryanac smirked ‑‑ “the comet. I don’t believe she’s always as innocent as she seems. I don’t believe she makes so many mistakes.”

  Markis raised his eyes in question.

  “I believe she is testing her limits. Testing you.”

  The concept was interesting. Markis noted Ryanac’s gaze flickering over him. “Stand up,” the guard suddenly instructed, stepping back a little to give him room to do so. Frowning lightly, Markis sat up, and then finally rose to his feet.

  “Take off the jacket.”

  He hesitated, but then did as Ryanac asked.

  “And the tunic.”

  This time, he took a longer pause before drawing it over his head.

  “Now the trousers.”

  His frown increased and so did the length of time that he dithered. Markis searched Ryanac’s gaze, his expression tightening in question yet smiling a little along with the frown. Ryanac gave him no clue as to his thoughts. Kicking off the indoor slippers that the Swithin wore, Markis let the pants drop and stepped out of them. He wore no undergarments. He expected Ryanac to start stripping but, instead, the other man walked around him. Pausing at his side, Ryanac turned his head towards him, and Markis copied the action. He was suddenly very aware of the other man, of his bulk. They were near enough the same height as to make measuring superfluous. Ryanac had enough muscle to make him wider. He had a broad chest, large hands, and a cock to match. Markis swallowed, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Ryanac took hold of him, and Markis was suddenly falling. The sensation confused both him and the comet. He was Markis Shavar Sardian, the designation of Shavar referring to the power at his control. Stories said that once, a comet fell upon the world and only one man walked from the destruction. That man was the first Swithin king, and Markis was his descendant. The comet often behaved as if it was a thing alive, part of him, yet separate. Now, it roiled but didn’t know how to react. Those large arms caught him as Ryanac took Markis’s vacated spot at the end of the bed, and the guard unceremoniously dumped him over his lap. Shocked into silence, Markis had time to consider how his and Tressa’s positions had changed. He moved to push back and rise up, but a hand gripped the back of his neck, forcing his head down, taking the strength out of his resistance. Blood ran to Markis’s head, making his temples throb, and then the grip eased up, and he lifted his head. A little dizzy, Markis blinked a few times and gave a slight shake of his head to clear it. A hand caressed his backside so that even as his head cleared and the rush of blood receded, he became aware of how vulnerable his posterior felt in this position.

  “Ryanac, you don’t mean to…” Markis barely got those words out when the hand descended. The sound reached his ears before the stinging sensation crawled over his skin. Ryanac barely let him breathe again before he landed two more well-timed and perfectly placed slaps, landing all three in the same spot. What initially stung now begun to radiate as heat and some pain. Ryanac had large hands, and he could hit incredibly hard. Aware that the slaps were just that, and that his friend kept his strength in check, did little to ease Markis’s concern. If the guard kept this up, he wouldn’t be sitting down to dinner tonight. Already the skin felt sore.

  He opened his mouth to say something, anything, that might end this. Maybe he meant to say that was enough now, and that Ryanac had had his fun. The hand, though, laid little light slaps across the whole of his buttocks, and even his lower back and upper thighs. Markis began to wriggle, not in pleasure, but with escape in mind. Ryanac chuckled.

  “You said Tressa was wet, but now you’re so hard. I have to wonder if you’re leaking as much as she did.”

  The words stilled his efforts. Ryanac was right. His cock jutted, poking into his friend’s lap. Even as he inwardly argued that he was Shavar Sardian, the Swithin king, another part of Markis considered how he looked draped over Ryanac’s lap, and he could stifle the groan no longer. One more slap ‑‑ the hardest yet ‑‑ struck home, and then Ryanac pushed him to his feet. Markis felt relief, then disappointment, then embarrassment, and irritation over the disappointment.

  The big man sat on the end of the bed. His gaze drifted from Markis’s face down over his heaving chest to his cock, and back up again. His smirk looked too knowing, too full of promise.

  “Go see your queen,” Ryanac told him. “Take that to her.” His head gave a slight nod, gestur
ing towards Markis’s erection. The guard spun him around. “Not too pink,” he muttered. “I don’t think she’ll notice your guard spanked you.” He said the last into his ear, having stood. The hot breath that carried the words made Markis close his eyes and shiver. Once more, Ryanac chuckled, then walked around him and slinked out of the room.

  * * * * *

  Tressa wept into her pillow. Markis reached out a hand to touch her, and she pulled back. He had never seen her cry. He would have thought someone close to her had died if he didn’t know better. He didn’t think Tressa would cry like this, particularly over getting her bottom slapped, even knowing that someone else had witnessed it.

  “Tressa?” He said her name softly, making it a question. Settling onto the bed beside her, he braced his weight on his hand. Unfortunately, he had inadvertently sat on the side that bore most of Ryanac’s enthusiasm. He winced, grateful that Tressa couldn’t see it, her face currently buried in her arms as she lay face down. She sniffed and then looked up at him through a cascade of black hair.

  “I keep getting things wrong. I keep making mistakes.”

  He wanted to calm her, but maybe it would be best if he let her rant a little. “We all make errors.”

  “I am a queen. I should know better.” The childish, self-pitying tone left her voice. She sounded angry and possibly irritated with her own actions. That explained her tears well enough to Markis. He gave a small laugh.

  “Since when is it written that makes us less human? Kings and queens can make the biggest mistakes of all, because what they do is doubly important.” She turned, rolling first to her side, and then sitting up. His mouth twisted to the side when Markis saw she could sit with little problem. He was finding it difficult.

  “That is the trouble.” She looked up at him, with what he believed were genuine tears on her face, judging by her expression. “I spent years doing what I could to change things, but I could do little. The rules and regulations set by my father dictated my behaviour. I am a king’s daughter, and I have always been proud of trying to do better. Today I behaved just like my father. I took my frustrations out on some poor woman rather than face the problem, rather than talking to you about it. They taught me this is not something you discuss with men, not even your husband. You do not talk about the needs of your body, whether they stem from some physical problem or desire, and you never talk about your emotions.”

  She took a deep breath and looked at him. “I did that girl wrong, and I wronged you as well as myself. I am just afraid that I will continue to make such mistakes. That I cannot be the queen you need or the woman I desire to be.”

  Reaching out, he smoothed her hair to one side. “You are already becoming that woman.”

  A small smile touched her lips in what might have been gratitude, and then she lowered her head. “I find it awkward to talk to you. I know I can be…brazen.” The use of such a word amused him. “I know I spoke in such a manner when first we met…”

  “You were out to impress me,” he said lightly. Her head lifted. Her eyes were wide. He had surprised her. “You succeeded,” he reassured her. “It might have been a show for my benefit, but that was still the true Tressa. The one who makes mistakes and hides things from me is your father’s daughter.” He took her hand and placed it over his erection through the robe he had slipped over his body. “I have neglected you largely due to a busy schedule, but things will calm down now. That is not the only reason, however. I wasn’t even aware of it until today, but the Tressa I know I would gladly bed in an instant. The woman who lets the teachings she wishes to escape haunt her is what keeps me from your bed on occasion.”

  He raised a hand, forestalling her protest. “I’m not saying this to punish you. My intent is not to be mean. I’m only telling you how I feel, and from now on, I want you to do the same.”

  She nodded after a moment.

  “Are you still wet?” His question made her eyes flash in something he could not describe. Surprise, certainly, though he could sense underlying emotions, perhaps anguish, perhaps embarrassment. “I’m talking to my queen, remember.” The small rebuke did the trick. Again, she nodded, swallowing. He took her hand and pressed it against his desire. Her hand moved slowly up his length.

  A noise he expected would sound rather like a growl lodged in his throat. Despite her eagerness, he still had to take it easy with Tressa, and that included holding in some of the grunts that usually slipped so readily from him. Coming to his knees, he gathered her up in his arms and linked his fingers through her hair. Tressa nearly always wore it loose, though she sometimes dressed it up into some complicated coil on top of her head, and the colour was so black he often itched to touch it. He loved the sight of Uly and Tressa close together. They looked like sunshine and night. When he lowered his head to kiss her, he spread his fingers deep into the cascade of her hair. Rather than plunge his tongue directly into her mouth, he licked her lips until he drew out a sound. He might still hold back now and then, but he wanted Tressa to let go completely. The day she screamed as she raked his back would be the day he growled.

  The dress parted under his grasp; the sound of the fabric ripping shattered the silence of the room. Markis winced inwardly even as he did it. He had forgotten his oath to stop ruining clothes. When he had set out to take Tressa for his bride, he had imagined someone so different despite her reputation for being a sexy little thing, but she never tried to hide or cover herself when the two of them were alone and the situation turned to sex. Tressa showed her lack of sexual knowledge in other ways. She knew she was beautiful, but one did not have to be the most attractive person in the world to exude confidence. On the other hand, a person could be stunning and be terribly inept. Tressa showed her lack of knowledge in her eagerness. He had ignored it until now, willing to let the fire inside die down. Now he had time to teach her. He stroked her gently, moving his hands away from hers when she tried to hurry him. He kissed over her face before moving to her lips again. He flicked his tongue against hers, refusing to let her draw it into her mouth. He worked his fingers across her ribs then down, counting them. Clearly, she wanted his hands to work up to her nipples. He would have grinned at her frustration if he were not so busy teasing her mouth with his tongue.

  “Touch me, Tressa.”

  She did and he almost flinched from her near violent effort. Uly had been in many ways as much, if not more, ignorant in sex, and even he knew not to grab a man’s cock so. Of course, he had one. Still, Uly battled with an odd reluctance to touch, although he had his moments when desire won. Markis frowned as he took Tressa’s hand in his, stopping her onslaught. Why had he never seen the disparity before? Uly tended to lie back and let others make love to him. Tressa practically threw herself at him. Between the two of them, he was beginning to feel far older than his years.

  “Not like that. This way.” He guided her hand, teaching her how to pleasure him. “There’s a time for fast, and a time for slow.” Certain she had the rhythm, he let the open robe fall off his shoulders onto the bed. Her head was level with his chest, so rather than alter position to claim one of her nipples, he placed her mouth over one of his. “No teeth,” he said, a little too quickly, but he had a genuine, sudden fear of what she might do. “Be gentle. A light swirl of the tongue.”

  Her mouth remained a pressing, yet unmoving, heat for a moment, and then a wet swipe made him draw in a breath. His head fell back, his mouth gaped, and he closed his eyes. As her mouth drew his nipple into a light suck, Markis closed his mouth and swallowed. He loved women as much as he loved men; he truly did. Sexual preference had no basis on who he loved most. The only trouble was, when someone sucked at him, he wanted to suck in return. He could fulfill that desire to some extent with Tressa, but she wasn’t ready for that today. Even a woman as easily aroused as Tressa needed her senses stimulated, built upon. He looped a hand behind her head and drew her face up to his kiss. He sucked at her mouth, her chin, moving around to her ear, seeking the ticklish spot
he knew existed there.

  She giggled and squirmed when he found it, gasping as the light-hearted play turned to something darker as he gathered her in against his body. The movement made her release his erection, which he immediately rubbed against her belly. She dug her nails into the sore areas of his backside as he did. No doubt she simply needed something to cling to, but unwittingly she brought him agony as well as ecstasy. He jerked, a low pulse throbbing through his groin.

  “Damn!”

  She looked up to his face. “What is it?”

  “I wanted to take this slow, show you how good it can feel when you take your time, but my body has other ideas.”

  “Nice to know I can affect you.”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her part of it was Ryanac’s doing, but that was his own fault. He should never have spanked her. Even considering what she had done, such an action was uncalled for. He was Swithin, and it was wrong to do something like that without the right intentions, without an agreeable partner. Worse, he should have known better than to continue it in front of Ryanac. The scene had set his flesh buzzing. Tressa’s arousal now perfumed the air, and set the rest of his senses ablaze. She was right, though; she did affect him.

  Laying her back on the bed, he struggled to keep his touch light as he explored her. Her hands roamed eagerly. Then a frown touched her face, and she slowed, trying to copy him. The fact that she did both amused and pleased him. He moved his fingers in light, lazy circles over her hips and thighs, gradually drawing in and then sweeping back, moving closer to her centre on the return journey. When he finally traced her nether lips with his fingers, he traced her mouth with his tongue. She opened her mouth to try to capture the snaking movement; at the same time, her hips lifted. Her legs fell open and moist heat warmed his fingers, trying to capture them. Deliberately moving his hand into a position where it was possible, he slipped his little finger inside her. The sensation had to be light, tickling, and far from the fulfillment she craved. He almost laughed when she growled out her frustration against his mouth. Despite the fact that his cock twitched and throbbed, strained against his personal need as though it could track the way to her entrance, he refused to give her anything bigger until she moaned. Even then, he offered her only another finger. When she went to grab his cock, he caught hold of her wrist and kept her questing fingers at bay.