Wicked Queen

by Geneva Lee

  “Feeling guilty, Poppet?” I asked, relishing the palm she placed on my chest. Another woman might have wrapped it around my neck or touched my arm, but she kept it near my heart as if protecting it.

  “Nervous,” she said.

  I dipped her slightly, swiftly and discreetly running my mouth up her neck before turning us. “Why would that be?”

  “I was dancing with your brother.”

  I chuckled at her wise choice of words. She was becoming quite the politician. “And everyone saw.”

  “Yes,” she said, sounding even more alarmed.

  “Wasn’t that the point?” I asked.

  She cocked her head, revealing more of her creamy shoulder and I resisted the urge to bite it. “What are you getting at, X?”

  “Simply, that you were meant to be seen dancing. I suppose he told you that,” I said before spinning her away and drawing her back to my body.

  She melted against me. “He did. Were you in on this?”

  “I was informed by Norris.” My mouth twisted at her disgruntled expression. Only Clara could get mad over me behaving myself. “He seemed concerned that I might start a fight.”

  “I wonder what gave him that idea,” she said, refusing to give in to the smile dancing in her eyes.

  “I thought you wanted us to get along,” I whispered.

  “I didn’t expect such a sudden change of heart,” she said.

  “Let me put your mind at ease.” I kept my voice low. “I didn’t like seeing his hands on you. I wanted to take you away, and so I did. He had the good sense to relinquish what belongs to me, so there was no problem.”

  “Is that so?” She shook her head like I was being ridiculous.

  “That you belong to me?” I asked. “I thought we established that fact, but perhaps you need a refresher.” The hand I had on her back slipped down to grip her ass. Only for a moment, but it was all it took.

  Clara bit her lip, squirming a bit in my arms. “What are you saying?”

  “You seem guilty and a bit confused, and I can’t help thinking that punishment might help you sort that out,” I murmured, noticing how her nipples hardened at the mere suggestion of my words.

  “Punishment?” she repeated. “I thought you would never touch me while you’re angry.”

  I winked at her. “Do I seem angry?”

  “But punishment?” she said, her voice peaking on the final word.

  “I’m frustrated, Poppet,” I told her truthfully.

  “With me? Why?”

  It was artless and naive, and it only made me want to take her more.

  “Because you’re breathtaking in that white silk that shows every inch of your body. Your nipples are hard and every man around us is eye-fucking my wife while she’s in my arms.” I moved my mouth to her ear, eager to catch every soft noise she made as I spoke. “They’re wondering what it’s like to touch a queen and they know that they’ll never experience a woman like you. But that’s not why I want to punish you.”

  “Why?” she murmured, and I knew she was as turned on by my words as I was by her body in that dress.

  “Why do I want to punish you? Because you’re being a gorgeous little cocktease. Because you’re making me so hard that I have to keep my jacket buttoned so people don’t see how hard you make me. Because other men are looking at what is mine.” I paused and breathed the most important reason, “Because I can.”

  I didn’t ask her if it was okay. I took her hand and led her from the party—from our friends and family and guests. There was no way I would make it through this evening without touching her, tasting her, claiming her. I nodded to one of my men who stopped his conversation mid-sentence and walked away from the guest to clear a path for us. A few more followed, blending in with the crowd until we reached another gallery. Clara didn’t notice until we were suddenly alone.

  She eyed the men as we passed them without a word.

  “Subtle,” she teased.

  There were more on the other side. They’d all been briefed that I needed a moment with my wife privately. When we came into the sculpture gallery, Clara looked around in surprise.

  “We’re alone,” she said.

  “Yes.” I ran a finger from her chin to her breastbone, enjoying how her nipples beaded even harder as my touch grew closer.

  “You planned this,” she accused.

  “You did tell me where the party was,” I said, feeling not the least bit apologetic. The moment she’d said the V&A, I’d thought of the sculpture gallery and fantasized about this moment. I couldn’t have planned for how she would look, although I should have thought of it, or how the men would react to seeing her like this.

  “This dress is terribly inappropriate,” I told her. “I nearly died when I saw you in it.”

  “You could have told me to change.” She frowned, shifting to peer down at herself.

  “I like inappropriate. I like how the other men watch you—how strong and confidant you are”—I kissed her shoulder, sliding the thin strap off it —“because I know that the only man you’d bow before is me.”

  “You are my King,” she whispered, her breath catching as my teeth sank into her shoulder.

  I didn’t bite hard, given her attire it would be impossible to return to the party without everyone whispering. My cock twitched at the thought. I wanted them to know. Part of me wanted to take her perfect body and show them all what only I could do to it, but I would never share her in that way. It drove me wild enough to see her walking around in this excuse for a dress.

  But I couldn’t allow her to leave without laying my claim.

  “There’s something I need to do.” I slipped the other strap down, hooking it so that the entire dress hung from a single finger.

  She was breathing hard, her eyes glued to my face but flickering occasionally to the cameras in the corner.

  “Does it bother you?” I asked, testing her. “Knowing someone might be watching?”

  Her jaw tensed and then she shook her head. “No.”

  “That’s a good girl,” I praised her, “because I make those decisions, don’t I?”

  She nodded, starting to catch on to the unfolding scene.

  “The cameras are off. I would never expose you—never share you. You are my treasure.” I angled my face so that our lips nearly touched. “But tell me, does it excite you—the thought of others watching me claim you? Showing them all that you belong to me. You may speak.”

  “Yes,” she said weakly, sounding torn.

  “Don’t be ashamed. It feels good to be owned. It makes you proud, my pretty Poppet, and you should feel that way when you’re possessed.” I savoured the way her throat slid as she swallowed this, wondering how it felt burning inside her. “But I won’t allow it, even if I would love to show you off.”

  Clara whimpered, and for a split second I thought she might collapse.

  “I think you’re overheating,” I said. “Let’s take care of that.” I dropped my hold on the strap and her dress fluttered to her waist, exposing her breasts.

  “Perfect,” I said, leaning down I caught the peak in my mouth, but I didn’t suck. Instead I bit. Clara gasped, her hands gripping my hair. She didn’t try to pull away. Instead she writhed against the bite until she was panting. I released it, admiring the teeth marks. “And the other?”

  Another slide of the throat and a nod, her eyes bright. I wouldn’t stop until the light faded and I knew she’d entered another place that only I could take her.

  I caught the other one, biting down and then sucking it hard until she cried out. When I stopped she was was shaking. I paused, looking her over, until I discerned it was pleasure.

  Straightening, I pushed her dress to the floor. It puddled at her feet and I helped her step from it. Taking her hand, I led her to the wall.

  “Do you know that I planned to take you here for days? That I pictured you standing naked amongst what others consider priceless? These are masterpieces, and you outshine them all
.” I turned her to face the wall, running my eyes along her backside to where my last marks had faded. Lifting her hands, I placed them on the wall, before I knelt behind her. Gripping her hips, I kissed her tailbone, trailing my tongue down until I came to the curve of her ass.

  “My marks have faded,” I told her, kissing the spot. “Would you like more?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Please what?” I wanted to hear her say it. I needed to hear it spill from her mouth as wantonly as her pleasure. The permission and the desire were intoxicating. Knowing she not only gave herself to me fully, but that she wanted it as much as I did, was the sexiest thing in the world.

  “Please mark me. Please own me,” she whispered. It wasn’t timid but rather reverent.

  “I will not stop until I’m satisfied and until you’re marked properly, Poppet. I will stop only if you use your safe word. I will not stop if you scream, although”—I laughed at the thought—“the sound will carry. The guards won’t let anyone in but you may consider placing your arm near your mouth.”

  Clara shifted her arm, dropping her to cheek to it. I loved how she responded to each suggestion like a command, her submission as natural to her now as I’d dreamed it could be. She moaned when my teeth clamped onto the soft flesh and pulled slightly. The first bite was gentle, and I wondered if the simple act would be enough to satisfy me. My palms itched at the thought of smacking her ass, defiling her amongst the art that couldn’t touch her. But that sound would carry as well, and these sessions needed to remain private—a blasphemous communion more pure than any other.

  When I released her, I massaged the spot before turning to the parallel cheek. This time, I bit down harder, paying attention to the skin’s resistance until I knew I’d brought it as close as I could. Clara shifted in her heels and when I pulled away, her mouth was pressed to her arm, imprisoning her cries. I rubbed the spot and whispered praise, “Perfect and strong. Your skin loves it as much as I do.”

  I continued, aware of every flinch of her body and every whimpered cry. But there were no safe words, and with each assault, her scent bloomed in my nostrils. When bite marks covered her tender flesh, I ran my hands over them, feeling the indentations along my fingertips. Clara’s head fell to the side, her breathing heavy and laboured. My cock ached from drinking in the redness that covered both sets of cheeks.

  “Mine.” I kissed each mark before spreading her open and dipping my mouth to run along her slick heat.

  “Oh,” she gasped as my tongue plunged inside her. She tasted like heaven—or as close as a man like me would ever come. I continued to devour her but this time all I cared about was her pleasure. There was no pain except the lingering sting of her submission.

  “X,” she called as her body continued to tremble, “I need you to fuck me. Please, I need your cock.”

  It was hard to refuse, even if I wasn’t through with my plans for her, but I’d never been able to deny her that. I pushed to my feet and whipped my belt loose, opening my fly to free my cock. It fell heavily into my hand.

  “Thank God for high heels,” I said as I moved behind her. She giggled, the sound settling like a melody over my heart. Leaning against her, I drew her hands over her and pinned them together in one of mine. “A little wider.”

  She stepped to the side, allowing me better access, and I positioned my cock at her entrance, slipping the tip inside her.

  “You asked nicely, but what did you do wrong, Poppet?” I had her at my mercy, which was the best opportunity for education.

  “I spoke.” She sounded crestfallen by her mistake.

  “When I told you not to.” I kissed her shoulder to give her some comfort. “You always have a voice with me, but when you submit to me, you only have one word.”

  She nodded.

  “Good girl,” I soothed her. “Now you have your voice back. What do you need to ask me?”

  “To fuck me,” she said, the edge of desperation there. I could already feel her channel tightening against my tip. She wouldn’t last through one thrust. “Please will you fuck me?”

  “Yes, Poppet.” I wanted to slam into her. Instead, I slid in inch-by-inch knowing it would dull her orgasm into a lingering ache that primed her for another.

  She cried out as I tortured her with deliberation, enjoying each pulse squeezing my cock and drawing me toward my own release. Her breath turned to pants, shallow and near panic as the climax failed to diminish.

  “Now you’re ready,” I whispered before thrusting into her. We moved together in a rhythm that belonged only to us— a symphony of pain and bliss we wrote together.

  She went limp with a strangled cry, and I caught her quickly, keeping her on her feet. Her body sagged against me, her face turning up to give me her mouth. The last bit of her to claim. I captured it with my own and erased the rest of her world and replaced it with me.

  * * *

  We lingered in the gallery on a bench, her in my lap while I kissed her shoulders and waited for her to find her way back to the present. When she returned, I helped her into her dress, allowing her time to marvel at the lingering marks on her breasts. I would ask her later what she preferred, but I noted her pleasure at our newest discovery.

  “Am I presentable?” she asked, coming out from the loo. I’d waited by the door, guarding her myself, unable to allow anyone else the responsibility for the moment.

  “You’re not just presentable,” I said leaning to kiss her. “You’re fuckable.”

  “That wasn’t what I was going for.” She pushed against me, “If we don’t go back now, we never will—and we might be missed.”

  We strolled through the main hall, not bothering to smother our smiles. Rounding the corner, we met up with Edward who gawked at us.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for an hour!”

  I examined my knuckles, remembering how I’d spent that hour. “Was it that long?”

  Clara giggled, and that combined with her flushed face made it obvious how we’d spent that time.

  “Obviously I need to separate you two in public places,” he said with a groan. “There’s a party and there’s a cake and a lot of people getting grumpy waiting to eat it.”

  “By a lot of people—you mean Belle?” Clara guessed.

  “Yes. Sarah wants the family to help her cut it.”

  “You two go.” She held up a hand when he started to protest. “I need to sit down.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I asked, keeping my voice casual enough that I hoped my brother didn’t pick up on the double meaning.

  “Yes, go! I’m fine. I’ll find Belle.”

  I refused to go ahead without her, finally parting with her only once we were back inside and in the sight of security.

  As we approached the cake, my grandmother scrambled toward me. “We’ve been looking for you.” Her eyes darted to Edward. “We couldn’t find you.”

  I took her gently by the shoulders worried by her disheveled appearance. I’d seen her when she and Henry had arrived, but now she looked ill. A thin sheen of sweat covered her brow and she clutched my arm.

  “Why don’t you watch?” I suggested. “We’ll get you a chair.”

  “Yes, a chair.” She pointed at Edward, handing off the task.

  I heard him muttering something about getting punished for not shagging inside the V&A under his breath as he left.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said. “It’s very important, I think.”

  “We will,” I promised her, slightly unnerved. Glancing around I looked for Henry. “Let’s find Henry to sit with you while we cut the cake.”

  “No! I need to speak with you now. I can feel it.”

  “Mother?” Henry studied her with concern. “Are you quite alright?”

  She released her hold on me, seeming to calm a little when she saw him. “Yes, I’m going to sit down.”

  “That’s good.” He patted her hand. “Then we’ll have cake.”

  She smil
ed, lifting one gloved hand to wipe her forehead. “Yes, cake.”

  Edward reappeared with the chair and we placed it near the cake table.

  “What was that about?” he muttered.

  “I think she’s confused. Henry told me she’s been having difficulty with her memory.” It was something to look into. I didn’t want to be the one to tell her she had to stay home from the parties in the future, but if they were overwhelming her…

  Sarah was waiting by the table cake server in hand and a sour expression on her face. “Can we do this? People are threatening to riot.”

  “You don’t want me to make a speech like Dad used to?” I asked innocently.

  She rolled her eyes, reminding me of all the birthdays we’d had before. “No, I—”

  But her words were cut off as all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 28

  Clara

  I sat down with Belle, taking my time, uncertain what to expect. But most of me was still numb—except my heart. It ached with fullness. My best friend regarded me with amusement, but kept her comments to herself in front of Smith.

  I was sure she wouldn’t afford me that courtesy later. I expected her to drag me off to the bathroom so she could pressure me for details. But what had happened with Alexander was ours alone. I’d never been one to kiss and tell. Once I’d met him, it had been unnecessary, since what he’d done to me was written all over my face.

  I felt it there now, warming my cheeks. I felt it other places, too.

  Across the room, he joined his brother and sister to cut the cake. It was difficult to process that this was my family—this was my life. He’d given it to me and he’d never allow anyone to take it away.

  They laughed, and I wondered at the private joke, thrilling to see them coming together. They were—

  A shout cut across the room and then another. I stood as a chair was knocked over.

  “Clara,” Belle called, but I was already heading to the cake table. The crowd had moved in front of me, blocking my view. When I reached it, forcing my way gracelessly through the people gathered around to help. I found Edward and Alexander on their knees. Alexander’s hands were on Mary’s chest, pumping life into her with so much force I heard a rib crack. Next to him, Edward was calling orders.