Seduced in the Dungeon (Dark Kingdom Book 1)

by Claire Conrad

  “I can’t.”

  His words were harsh and filled with regret and for a moment I froze, unsure what he meant. Did he want me to leave? Was he going to play with my body, but never give me his cock? “I don’t understand.”

  “Shhh.” He kissed me, hard, and positioned his cock at my entrance. “Just open for me. Let me in.”

  I did better than that, I lifted my ankles and wrapped them around his hips. I spread my legs wide as he thrust forward, filling me at last. His cock was thick, stretching me open. I arched my back as he eased into my body, taking his sweet time. I writhed beneath him.

  Buried deep, his balls resting on my ass, he lifted his hands to mine and entwined our fingers. My heart lurched as he held my hands, his touch communicating a deeper connection, reverence. Tears gathered on my lashes as I let my heart have its way. I had no way of knowing what Dorian’s thoughts might be, but his touch was tender. Personal. And suddenly, this felt like love, and not just fucking.

  I shook my head at my idiotic thoughts. He worked in the palace, as one of the highest ranking and wealthiest servants in the kingdom, and soon I would be gone, long gone. This intensity, this heat between us, would be nothing more than a hot memory to warm me on a frozen winter’s night.

  His mouth rested next to my ear as he held me pinned beneath his weight. He shifted his hips, just enough to withdraw and plunge forward, his hard abdomen bumping my clit with each thrust of his hips.

  My orgasm built as my body spiraled out of my control. He nipped at my ear and thrust harder, faster. “Come for me, love. Come all over my cock.”

  He claimed my lips, his tongue thrusting deep as I shattered into tiny little pieces beneath him. He groaned as my pussy went into spasm, the muscles contracted and squeezed his cock deep inside me.

  I thought he might stop but he kept fucking me, he kissed me until my body obeyed his command. The second release rushed through me like a storm, taking me out my mind. Left to only my basest instinct, I clung to him and fought for breath as I floated in bliss.

  I tore my lips from his and cried out his name as he followed me over the edge. The jerking motion of his swollen cock grew, he filled me with his seed, triggering another orgasm, this one smaller, shorter, but sweeter for the surprise.

  He held me through the night, waking me twice to make love. And I stayed, because this was my last night with him, my last chance.

  Until it wasn’t.

  “Meet me again. In two days, at the waterfall two miles north of the castle. Do you know the place?”

  “Yes, but…” I shook my head, but he stopped me with a finger over my lips.

  “You can wear your mask, love. Just promise me you’ll be there at sunset.”

  Did I dare?

  I thought of my stepmother and the work waiting for me at home. My mind swirled with thoughts of a toothless, seaward fiancé who had purchased my life and my body, and to the long journey ahead of me.

  “Yes.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good.” He pulled me into his arms, wrapping me up in his body as exhaustion made my limbs heavy and my eyes ache. “Sleep now. Sleep. I’ve got you.”

  Utterly safe and protected, I allowed my eyelids to drift. With the dawn, I would awake as I had for years. Although daylight loomed only a few hours away, I refused to deny myself the comfort of his embrace. At least, not yet.

  And three hours later, as the birds broke into sweet song in the pre-dawn light, I slipped from his arms and sneaked from his room. The palace guards pretended not to see me as I made my way home. When my stepmother woke, hours later, I had already fed the animals, made breakfast, and finalized my plans.

  Before the next masquerade, before summer solstice, I planned to take Henry and ride for the coast. My late mother’s uncle lived there, a merchant I hoped might give me shelter. We’d never met, I had only learned of his existence through my father’s old correspondence, but I had to take the risk.

  I couldn’t stay. My sweet Dorian, a simple servant, promised me nothing. His station and responsibilities made it impossible for him to help me, nor would I ask him to take such a risk. The royal family had no love for my father. Even if Dorian petitioned his prince for aid, nothing would be forthcoming, not for the daughter of a man they deemed a traitor.

  To leave my childhood home seemed like a betrayal. The possibility of relegating Dorian to a memory broke my heart. But the idea of Netterton kissing me, touching me, filling me with his cock, repulsed me to the core.

  Freedom.

  Nothing else mattered.

  Netterton would never touch me.

  I’d rather be dead.

  CHAPTER 7

  DORIAN

  T wo hours before sunset, I approached the falls, petrified by the thought of my mysterious lady appearing and departing before I arrived.

  I trusted her to keep her word but I did not trust fate, or dare hope she might linger in my absence.

  I spread out a large blanket and set out the picnic Markus had requested from the kitchens. The cook teased him, asked him who the special lady might be. But Markus, always charming, evaded the question and brought me the food, and his clothing.

  Even now, my poor friend sat locked in my rooms, pretending to be me should anyone knock on the door. The ruse would hold unless my father appeared. In which case I had instructed Markus to tell the king I’d gone to the stables to befriend a new stallion.

  My father hated the stench of horse manure and hay even more than getting his hands dirty. He’d sneeze for hours and strike out at anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path.

  The sound of horse hooves pounded the ground and drew my attention. As I rose to my feet, my heart raced with anticipation, and she entered the clearing on a fine chestnut stallion. I hurried to her side to help her from the saddle like a young lad attending to his first love instead of a world weary royal, ever in defense against hundreds of women lusting after a crown. I pressed her to me, lowered her from the saddle, and forgot the horse.

  She wore dark green today, the color reminded me of the stalwart pine. As expected, a golden mask covered the top of her face, but her lips were pink. Ripe.

  Mine.

  I lowered my head, a kiss my chosen greeting. She opened for me and I took advantage. I pressed my tongue into her mouth to make certain sure she understood how much I missed her.

  When last I saw her, I woke to an empty bed, her scent on Markus’s pillows. So I took them, forced a trade, against stern objection, and spent two days with my nose buried in the soft fabric. I ached for her. Her scent, her passion, her soft body and submissive nature soothed as a balm to my senses.

  Other women pretended to submit, bowing and scraping to my royal blood. But this woman? She subjugated herself, offered herself without reservation, trusted me to care for her, to see to her pleasure. And she had no knowledge of my true identity, her surrender sincere, and I burned to experience it again and again. To reward her with both pleasure and pain, with sensation and safety.

  I feasted on her mouth, flavored with the essence of strawberries, and sucked on her lips before exploring her once more. With a soft cry that made my cock harden in greeting, she lifted her arms and buried her fingers in my hair. She pulled me closer, trapping me in place, her touch and sound and softness revealing her surrender, under any terms, any way I wanted her.

  My cock wanted her on the ground, her skirt over her head, her wet pussy open and ready for a good hard fucking.

  But I more than lusted for her. I discovered my heart wanted her arms around me, her lips on mine, the soft sound of her sweet sigh in my ear, the urgent demand of her fingers buried in my hair. I wanted her desire, her trust, her acceptance of my dominant touch.

  Her horse stepped sideways and bumped into her shoulder, separating us with a soft, impatient whinny. He nudged her back with his head and we stumbled for a moment, the kiss broken.

  I wanted to smack the horse on his
rump and send him on his way when she laughed.

  “Henry! Bad horse.”

  I didn’t expected remorse from a horse, and Henry did not disappoint. He nibbled on her hair and nudged her forward with his head. I got the impression he didn’t like me at all. I represented the interloper, here to steal his mistress’s attention.

  And Henry was right. I wanted her all to myself.

  She grinned and looked up at me. “Sorry. He does not like to be ignored. And I didn’t have time to run him today.”

  The black mare I’d ridden stood tied to a tree limb not far from Henry. “Do you want to rope him off?”

  She shook her head, a wealth of love and trust in her voice. “No. Henry won’t leave me. We’ve been together a long time.”

  And just that fast, I was jealous of a damn horse.

  Unable to think of an intelligent response, I took her hand and pulled her toward the picnic. Henry’s large brown eyes focused on me. He watched me as I imagined a suspicious father might, with complete distrust and disapproval. “Henry is watching me like I’m about to pounce on you and he intends to stop me,” I said.

  “Are you?”

  “Absolutely. But I’m not going to let him stop me.”

  Her laughter rang out like music dancing in the breeze. “I don’t know. He’s a very smart horse.”

  As if he understood every word, Henry pawed at the ground and neighed and whinnied for several long seconds, his gaze darting from me to his mistress. She pulled free of my hand and walked back to the horse.

  “It’s all right, boy. I’ll be fine.” She walked him over to my mare and settled him next to his new companion, where they would both have fresh water and plenty of grass. Upon her return, I held my arms open, and she walked into my embrace.

  “I missed you, Dorian.”

  My heart raced at her words and I held her close, her cheek pressed to my chest. I breathed her in, her hair an intoxicating aroma of sunshine and lemons. “It’s only been two days.”

  I had missed her as well, obsessed over her, truth be told, though I remained unprepared to declare it.

  “I know.” She didn’t offer more explanation, and I, elated by her confession, declined to push for more details. I feared she’d say something to spoil the mood, rescind her words. No woman missed me. Hell, nobody missed me, except maybe Markus, and that was only because, without me around, he wandered with little else to occupy his attention.

  I held her for long minutes, the ceaseless thunder of the waterfall surrounding and embracing us in a constant, quiet roar. Birds sang and squirrels chased one another through the trees, no doubt battling over mates or territory, or the latest stores of food. The sound of the forest settled into me as we held each other and I recognized my first real sense of peace. Contentment. Quiet serenity.

  She eased back, and I allowed her enough space to look up at me.

  “Why did you want to meet me here?” she asked.

  I had no good answer, no pretty words or promises. “I wanted to see you.”

  She sighed and pushed at my chest. I let her go, but followed as she walked to the picnic blanket and took a seat near the basket. “I shouldn’t have come. Really. This will never work. Tomorrow—”

  “Is not today.” I sat beside her and lifted her hand to my lips. “Today, we are here, together. Today, sweet lady, you are mine.”

  She bit her lip but nodded. “All right. We won’t think about tomorrow.”

  I lifted two glasses from the basket and uncorked a bottle of our finest wine. I poured and handed a glass to her. The other, I raised in salute. “To today.”

  “Today.” We clinked glasses and sipped our wine. I fed her ripe grapes, shipped in the day before from the southern vineyards. We supped on fresh bread and aged cheese and did not talk of the future. And with every passing moment, my hatred of her mask—and mine—grew.

  After lunch, we walked to my favorite tree, a giant, hundred-year-old oak that stood like a sentry looking over the falls. I settled my back against the trunk and sat her sideways across my lap. “What is your name?”

  “You were doing so well.”

  “A nickname, then. I can’t keep thinking of you as golden lady, or just her.”

  That earned me a smile, and I saw doubt cloud her eyes before she answered. “Ella. My friends call me Ella.”

  I lifted a hand to trace her lower lip with my thumb. “You are exquisite, Ella.”

  She blushed and stared up at me with complete trust. “I wish things were different. That we might stay here forever.”

  Oh, but that was truly a dream. “So do I.”

  She rose and repositioned herself so she sat straddling my lap. She faced me, our breath mingling in the fraction of space between our lips. “I want you, Dorian. One last time.” Her hand drifted between us, lower, to settle over my cock, and she pulled at the strings of my breeches until my hard length sprang free into her waiting palm.

  “Ella.”

  “Say yes, Dorian. Please.”

  Our gazes locked as she shifted her body, positioning my cock at the hot, wet entrance of her core. Naked beneath her gown, nothing stood between me and ecstasy but a shift of her hips.

  I lifted my hands to cup her face and held her still. “Ride me, Ella. I’m yours.”

  She sank onto my cock, impaling herself on the rigid length as I claimed her mouth with my own.

  Her tight, wet heat surrounded me and I fought to hold still, to give her this moment. I fought the instinct rising inside me, demanding I take control, fuck her, claim her, dominate her and make her beg.

  But I’d done that. This time, her yearning and desire took control, the passion in her eyes impossible to resist. In a month, I would wed an unknown, insipid child, a spoiled princess from another kingdom. For now, I’d take whatever Ella offered.

  She lifted her hips and sank onto my cock, fucking me a little harder, a little faster with each rise and fall of her body. She tore her lips from mine and buried her face against my neck, took a small nip of my flesh.

  The pain made me hiss and my cock jump inside her. So fucking gorgeous. So wet. So perfect.

  Her hands on my shoulders, she leaned back, her face lifted to the sky as pleasure took her. I lifted my hands to her breasts, caressing the full mounds through her gown. I pinched her nipples and shifted my hips, enabling her to sink a little more.

  My cock hit her womb and she cried out, increasing her rhythm until an orgasm took her. Her pussy clenched, tight and hot, the spasms forcing my own rough release.

  We floated back down together and I held her close. I pressed her ear to my heart so she might hear the chaotic hammering inside my chest. For her. No other woman made me lose control as she did.

  Buried inside her, I stroked her hair and back, soothed her as I might caress a frightened kitten, for I sensed the tension building in her body as she prepared to flee.

  “Dorian.”

  “No. Don’t say it.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Not yet.”

  She leaned back to look me in the eye. “I’ll never forget you. Never.”

  A cold, dark chill raced down my spine. “Ella? What are you talking about? You sound like you are leaving.”

  She sighed and leaned forward until our foreheads met. “I am.”

  No! I wanted to scream to the heavens. How in this world did a man, a prince, exist without the power to save his own heart, his own soul? Dorian the servant had no power, and the Prince? Well, his father forbade him from marrying a servant girl. I understood my father too well, I didn’t doubt the king would place a price on her head should I insist on marrying her.

  King Demetrius was cold-blooded when it came to defending the royal bloodline, or his power. To claim Ella would be no better than putting a target on her back.

  Pain sliced through me but I held my voice to a whisper. “Where will you go?”

  “I will take Henry and ride for the west coast, for Termarine. I have an uncl
e who will take me in.”

  “Why must you leave?”

  She kissed me and stood, freeing my cock from her body when I did not want to be free of her. I thought she might answer, but she shook her head and walked toward the horses.

  I jumped to my feet, tucked my cock back inside my clothing and hurried to catch her. When I did, I grabbed her arm and turned her to face me. “Ella? What is going on? Why are you leaving?”

  I might not be permitted to marry her, but I damn sure had the wherewithal to make sure she lived a comfortable life. Nothing and no one would hurt her.

  Tears clouded her eyes, and I ached to rip the mask from her face and kiss them away. “I’m betrothed, Dorian. The bride price paid. The papers signed. I’m to marry at the summer solstice.”

  I stumbled back, shocked that her fate so closely resembled mine.

  No.

  The thought of her with another man unleashed a dark and ruthless twisting in my gut. But I was a royal, trained from birth to hide my reactions. I buried my burning hatred for her future husband deep and took her hand. “I’m sorry. I assume you do not wish the match?”

  She shook her head again. “No.” She stared up at me, her heart in her eyes. “You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted, Dorian. But we cannot be.”

  Powerless to argue with her logic, I did not try. A bride price, once paid, would be upheld in any court in the land. My father would never agree to hear an argument against a marriage once the price had been paid, the agreements signed. Still, a stubborn part of me refused to listen to reason. “Go to the king.”

  She laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. “Trust me, that would make matters worse. It’s too late.”

  I kissed her, over and over, while tears streamed from beneath her mask.

  Insanity, need, grief overwhelmed me. “Run away with me, then. Let’s just run away.”

  “No. You risk losing everything and I can’t let you do that. My fiancé would send out trackers or detectives to force my return. And you, my sweet Dorian,” she cupped the side of my face with her hand, “they will drag you before a judge and kill you. I won’t do that to you. I can’t.”