For Crown and Kingdom: A Duo of Fantasy Romances

by Grace Draven

  He started at the hollow of her throat, tracing the memory of the key scar that had once spread from her neck to shoulder, much as his did now. Her delicate collarbones shifted beneath skin as smooth as silk. Her breasts swelled to the curve of his palm, nipples—still damp from his mouth—hardening even more at the light flick of his fingers against their tips. Imogen moaned and squirmed in her captivity.

  "Be still, Imogen."

  "I can't help it." She clamped her thighs on his hips and squeezed.

  "You can, my beauty," he crooned.

  His hand drifted over her flat belly, tracing the curve of a rib, the bend of her waist, before settling between her legs to briefly cup her. "Release me, Imogen, and spread your legs."

  She obeyed him instantly, her eyes glassy, her breathing shallow. Cededa groaned low in his throat as the musky scent of aroused woman filled his nostrils. How long had it been since such a perfume sent his senses reeling? His mouth watered in anticipation of tasting her.

  Imogen gasped, her hips jerking when he traced the inside of her thigh before doing the same to the other. Her gasp became a moan when his fingers delicately spread her and began to rub, stroking swiftly until her hips thrust and pushed, and she alternately begged for him to stop and continue. She almost broke free of his grip when he slid one finger inside her, going deep and easily, aided by the slick wetness of her arousal. Her hips bucked against his hand.

  Cededa watched her lovely face, the roll of her eyes as she surrendered to his touch, the parting of her lips as she breathed in short pants. His fingers were slippery as he stroked her, teasing, parting, penetrating.

  Gods, but this would be the greatest test of his endurance. The desire to pull her legs over his shoulders and plunge his cock into Imogen’s welcoming body nearly overwhelmed him. He hadn’t lied when he told her he didn’t have a use for virgins. They required the patience he admitted he didn’t possess. Even if he did, the girl in his arms was doing a fine job of destroying it in a matter of moments.

  Her soft whimpers and the rapid rise and fall of her hips warned him she neared her climax. He stopped, withdrawing his finger slowly, shuddering as her inner muscles tightened in protest.

  “What are you doing? Why did you stop?” Imogen’s hips rocked forward and back as her fingernails dug half-moon designs into his arms.

  “Shh, Imogen.” He loomed over her and released her wrists. She instantly draped her arms over his shoulders, burying her hands in his hair. He stared into her eyes as he brought his slick fingers to his mouth, sucking each one slowly to savor her taste. She inhaled sharply, her pupils expanding even more at the sight.

  She tasted better than the costliest wine. He ached; ached to slip his tongue inside her, to lick and suck her until she screamed his name to the heavens. He rested an elbow on either side of her head and bent low. Her lips quivered beneath his as she struggled to recapture his mouth in a kiss. He held back, teasing her with just the glide of his tongue across her lower lip.

  “Shh, Imogen,” he whispered. “This is just the beginning.” He pressed light kisses to her temple, her nose, each eyelid, the tip of her chin, the side of her jaw.

  She sighed, turning her head so his mouth caressed her neck. He worshipped her as devoutly as any believer before the altar of a forgotten god. Muscle rippled and flexed where his tongue traveled. Cededa returned to her breasts, drawing ever tightening concentric circles with his tongue until he reached her nipples and sucked them into his mouth. Imogen groaned his name and urged him on with her hands cupping his head.

  He loved her leisurely, savoring the varying textures of her skin, the flat expanse of her belly and gentle angle of her hipbones. Her thighs splayed wide, beckoning him as he backed toward the foot of the bed. The taste of her on his fingers only swelled his hunger for more. He slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her to his mouth.

  Imogen nearly came off the bed at the first flick of his tongue. Only Cededa’s grip on her hips held her there. She chanted his name between moans as he made love to her with his mouth. Her pelvis butted his chin as she pushed against him. His shoulders flexed under the weight of her legs as she dug her heels into his back and bucked in the throes of climax.

  Imogen went from rigid to boneless, her legs falling away from his back. Cededa laved the wetness coating her entrance, making her jump. He was a breath away from coming on the sheets. His arms shook as he rose above her. She’d never be more ready for him than now, and he had neither the will nor the control to prolong the moment.

  Torchlight flickered over her body, and her chest rose and fell with her staccato pants. The sweep of her hand over his chest and stomach made his aching cock throb even harder. “That was my favorite of the frescoes in your bedchamber,” she said with a lazy smile.

  Caught between laughter and a groan, he pressed down on her, widening her legs even more to accept his hips and prepare for his possession. She was untried if no longer so innocent. He had eased her tight passage open with his fingers, aided by the natural wetness of her desire, but some discomfort was unavoidable, no matter how much care he took.

  Fearless Imogen brushed aside his hesitation by wrapping her legs around his hips, anchoring him to her. “Teach me,” she said and punctuated the command by rubbing against his shaft where it nestled between her thighs.

  She was neither mage nor witch, but those two words beguiled him, snapping the thin cord of his restraint. Cededa cupped her face in his hands. “Look at me, Imogen.”

  He stared into her eyes and pushed, the head of his cock stretching muscles swollen by her climax. They closed around his shaft, squeezing. He gasped, the sound echoed by Imogen who stiffened in his arms but didn’t look away. Her knees dug into his ribs, her heels into his lower back as he slid slowly inside her.

  She clasped him like a well-made glove. Cededa shuddered in her arms, overwhelmed by the urge to thrust hard, feel those internal muscles flex around his cock. A trickle of sweat meandered down Imogen’s temple and disappeared in her hair. Cededa kissed the spot, tasting salt. She lay rigid in his arms, her shallow breaths tickling his shoulder. He kissed the curve of her ear, leaving it to feather his lips across her hot cheek to her eyelid.

  He rested halfway inside her, nearly mad with the urge to thrust deeper. Instead, he plied more kisses to her face, learning the landscape of her features; no longer banal to him but beautiful. Her body slowly relaxed against his, and Cededa swallowed back a triumphant cry when Imogen’s hips tentatively rocked forward, sheathing him a little more.

  Her lips were soft under his, her tongue warm as it glided languidly over his bottom lip. He deepened the kiss, filling her mouth with his tongue in the same way his cock filled her body. He pulled away to gaze into her eyes once more. “A little more, Imogen, just a little more. I promise.”

  He thrust, sliding deep until his bollocks pressed against the curves of her buttocks. Imogen grunted, her eyes wide. She curled upward, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. Cededa groaned low and long, caught between the ecstasy of possession and the sting of her bite blossoming across his shoulder. He tugged on her hair, pulling her head back so he could look at her.

  Pain, challenge and desire swirled in her gaze. “Well met, my beauty,” he rasped. “Well met.”

  He kissed her hard, opening her mouth to accept his tongue as he’d opened her body to accept his cock. Imogen’s hands tangled into his hair, trapping him, and soon the ravager became the ravaged.

  His plans to go slowly, to initiate her gently, went up in flames at the urging of her hips against his. He slid partway out of her only to surge inside once more, hard enough to push her across the bed. He loved her; he fucked her and ultimately possessed her. All while the deadly force of her bane washed through his veins.

  He buried his face in Imogen’s neck and breathed the perfume of flowers from her hair. Her scent, her taste, the feel of her around him sent him spiraling out of control. He plunged into her, over and over, gripping her hips hard
enough to leave marks. On the edge of orgasm, he sucked on the soft skin of her neck and moaned her name in her ear. Sensation drowned him in a tide. Heavy groans spilled from his lips as Imogen rocked against him, milking his cock until his bollocks were empty, and he collapsed on her, utterly spent.

  Her “oomph” made him roll away. He took her with him, a hand on her buttocks to maintain their connection.

  They remained that way for several moments, embracing but silent. Cededa threaded his fingers through Imogen’s hair, relishing the feel of her body against his, the slippery clasp of her inner muscles on his softening cock, as if her body sought to keep him inside her a little longer. Her position and the fall of her hair hid her face from him. Her hand rested lightly on his hip, the other tucked under his hair to rest warmly against his nape. Her breath drafted across his neck, making the Tineroth key vibrate gently under his skin. He wanted to see her expression as she lay in his arms in the aftermath of their lovemaking, but he waited, content to lie beside her and stroke her back.

  Imogen finally lifted her head, gifting him with a smile that had him hardening inside her. “I think that takes care of two frescoes.” She winked. “You’ll teach me the rest, yes?”

  Delighted and relieved, Cededa chuckled and pulled her even closer against him. He kissed her softly, coaxing a moan from her to match his. “Aye,” he said after a few more drugging kisses. “As long as you’re a willing student, I’ll teach you everything I know.”

  Her expression sobered. She ran a finger across his forehead before tracing a line down his nose to the creases that bracketed either side of his mouth. “Thank you,” she said. “For a man who had sixty-three wives, what we did might be of small consequence to you, but it was...wondrous to me.”

  Cededa stared at her, words locked in his throat as emotions either long dead or never felt before threatened to choke him. “It was no less for me, Imogen,” he finally said and pressed his cheek to hers. Wondrous indeed. Devastating and bludgeoning. The horror of the shade didn’t reside in her hands but in the inevitability of her leaving him. His hand clenched into a fist behind her back before he gathered her even closer.

  “Will you teach more tonight, Cededa?” A soft yawn punctuated her question.

  He liked the sound of his name on her tongue. His answering chuckle sounded brittle to his ears. “I think you’ve had enough for one evening, Imogen.” Her invitation to make love to her again sent another wave of heat coursing through him. If she didn’t need time to recover, he’d swive her all night. As it was, he’d have to clamp down on his desires for now.

  “You’ll stay with me?” she asked and yawned a second time. “Even if you don’t sleep?”

  He might be immortal and half-mad; he wasn’t a fool. Imogen gave a sleepy gasp when Cededa slipped out of her. Her thighs were wet with his seed as were his. A bath tomorrow for them both. The frescoes in his room didn’t depict lovemaking in a bath, but he didn’t think Imogen would mind him teaching her that particular pleasure.

  The nearly forgotten feel of a soft, sleepy woman curled against his side washed over him, as sensual as any lovemaking. Imogen was already asleep, her slender arm draped across his torso. A faint, purring snore serenaded him, making him smile.

  He was more than content to lie here for the rest of the night, listening to his woman’s soft breathing and the last of the rain drumming on the roof. Eternity might not seem so long if he had this to look forward to each evening. Imogen muttered in her sleep, and Cededa stroked her hair until she quieted.

  He closed his eyes, imagining a life, finite and free of the Waters, where he was mortal once again. Such dreams held their own comfort.

  The silence in the chamber deepened, and the Undying King slept.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “It’s unnatural to be this beautiful.” Imogen paused in admiring Cededa’s naked body to give him an apologetic look. “I mean that in the best way of course.”

  Dressed only in morning light, the king reclined in the bed, leisurely stroking Imogen’s hip as she sat facing him. He smiled. “Of course. Considering I’m a few thousand years old, I’d say it’s unnatural to be this alive.”

  She ran a hand over his shoulder and down one muscled arm. “You know what I mean. ‘Cededa the Fair’ wasn’t an exaggeration.”

  “I was given that title before the Waters changed me, Imogen.”

  “It still applies.”

  She caressed his chest, sliding a finger down the line bisecting hard muscle. A myriad of scars, small and large, marked his pale skin.

  “How did you get this?” Her palm rested over a puckered round of flesh just below his collarbone.

  “Lucky shot from a Partik bowman.”

  Another scar, half-moon in shape, aligned with his bottom rib. “And this?”

  “One of my general’s war horses. He kicked me through a fence. I was lucky to walk away with only a few broken ribs.”

  Imogen winced. “Lucky indeed.” She continued her exploration, stopping at a series of slashes that stair stepped his right side. Cuts made by a blade. “These?”

  A sharp, indrawn breath made her look up. Cededa’s mouth had thinned to a tight line. An old grief flickered through his pale eyes. “My son.” He turned his gaze to the ceiling. “Some wounds never heal.”

  He told her he had sired armies of children. Still, it was difficult to reconcile this legendary, solitary figure with a man who’d been not only a husband but a father as well—one who’d lost his children in ways beyond mortality.

  Her heart ached for him. “I’m sorry, Sire.”

  The shadows in his gaze lightened. “No need, Imogen. It was a very long time ago.”

  She pushed a strand of flaxen hair away from his cheek. “That doesn’t make the hurt any less.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  Imogen shifted positions, bracing her hands on either side of his shoulders. She bent and kissed his scars, touching each ridge and line with the tip of her tongue, learning the taste of him. He’d carry these reminders all his days. She didn’t possess the power to erase them, but she could try and lessen the pain each carried for him.

  Cededa stretched beneath her, sinuous as a cat. Her tongue teased him, sent shivers dancing across his skin as she licked and nibbled her way from his ribs to his belly. Her fingers followed, dragging across the tips of his nipples, repeating the caress as he moaned and held her waist.

  Beguiled by his reactions, Imogen embraced her newfound skills, plying her mouth and tongue across his navel and over the line of blond hair that led to the apex of his thighs.

  His cock brushed her cheek as she knelt between his legs. Imogen paused. Last night, she had only glimpses of his nude body, too caught up in a dizzying whirl of sensation, fear and the anticipation of having him inside her to see or fully appreciate him. Now, with the morning upon them and slow time in a soft bed, she could indulge.

  He seemed huge in her eyes, though Niamh’s straightforward remarks about a man’s body had taught her he was likely endowed as other men. Still, the memory of him stretching her, filling her until the pressure in her belly made her squirm, argued he was more blessed than most.

  Her hand closed around his shaft. Cededa moaned. Delighted by his response, Imogen tightened her grip and dipped to nuzzle the inside of his thighs, the soft give of his bollocks. His scent filled her lungs, a faint musk mixed with the herbs from the soap he’d used to bathe earlier.

  Cededa buried one hand in her hair and reached down with the other to grasp her hand. “Like this,” he instructed and guided her into quick strokes. She followed his lead, setting a rapid stroke up and down on his cock that had his hips thrusting in time. His head was arched back into the pillow, lips parted to breathe shallow breaths. His eyes were half closed, the whites showing beneath his lashes.

  She grasped him even harder, savoring the feel of the stiff cock slipping back and forth against her palm. A milky bead of semen crested the tip. Imogen slid her
hand higher to smear the fluid with her fingers. Incoherent sounds fell from Cededa’s lips, guttural, encouraging. She carefully licked one finger, tasting a touch of salt.

  A vision of the fresco in the king’s chamber, of a woman kneeling before a man, his cock half in her mouth, filled her mind’s eye. Flushed and aroused by the feel of Cededa in her hand and the taste of him on her tongue, she bent to suck gently on the slippery head of his cock.

  “Ah gods,” he breathed.

  Hesitant at first and unsure of herself, Imogen soon set to her task, sucking him slowly and then with greater speed, lips curved around his shaft. His bollocks tightened in her hand, and his fingers tangled in her hair.

  “Imogen,” he gasped. “If you don’t stop, I’ll come in your mouth.”

  She paused in her torture of him, remembering the feel of him inside her, the hot stream of seed he pumped into her, the slippery sensation as it dripped down her thighs in thin streams. The memories built a molten pool in her lower belly, and she sucked him harder, deeper. Cededa gasped out her name and succumbed to the sensations overtaking him.

  Two hard pulses along the length of his shaft and he filled Imogen’s mouth with a thick, salty heat. She swallowed, savoring his taste.

  When she rose and slithered up his body, slippery with sweat and flushed a pale rose, he greeted her with a soft, satiated kiss.

  “I’m not so sure you need a teacher, Imogen.”

  Imogen twirled a silky strand of his hair around her finger and frowned. “Oh no you don’t, Sire. You promised.” She kissed his chin, the underside of his jaw. “Besides, a man who once had sixty-three wives and a few hundred concubines must have learned a few tricks between the sheets.”

  She squealed when he suddenly rolled, flipping her onto her back so that he was the one resting on her. His grin set her heart to fluttering in her chest. Gods, he was beautiful.

  “A few.”

  Her eyebrow rose. “A few what? Tricks or concubines?”

  His grin widened. “Both.”