Kneeling behind her, I parted her ass cheeks and licked the opening of her pussy. At the same time, I lightly rimmed her anus with my thumb, until it opened up enough for me to slide my thumb inside. I needed her to fucking know, to fucking feel, that any other man risked his goddamned life by even looking at her. The entirety of her belonged to me.
“You are my possession, Sara,” I said between gritted teeth. “You exist to fucking worship me. My cock. You called me your King and that is what I will be.” I let her dark back entrance close and then parted her pussy with my thumbs, opening her up so I could tongue-fuck her properly.
Between moans and whines, she said it over and over again, like the good little girl that she was: “I exist to worship your cock, Bors. I exist to fucking worship all of you…my King.”
Her juices were all over my face and hearing her call me that had my cock tearing at the cloth that covered it to get to her. I ate her and her release covered me and I drank her down but the more I had of her, the thirstier I got. When she fell silent, panting, twisting and mewling in the lamplight begging for me to stop, I left her cunt just long enough to tell her again: “Fucking say it.”
She ground out a long snarl with her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “I exist to worship...your cock.”
I hiked up her skirt over her ass and yanked my pants down. I was so hard for her, and for the thought of breeding her, that my cock ached. Not even getting it out of my pants helped. The only salve for my throbbing cock would be the child I was going to fuck into her ripe womb. “Except it’s not mine, baby. It’s yours. This thick, pulsing, cum-filled cock,” I said, feeding it to her cunt, “This cock is yours as much as you are mine.”
Her toes curled behind her and I smacked her ass hard with the palm of my hand, making her buck against me. Fuck yes. “That’s for what happened earlier.”
She arched her head back, making her hips rise and letting me in even further. “I swear they didn’t touch me there,” she panted. “I promise.”
“I said I believed you. Don’t make me say it again.” I sounded angrier than I intended; she wasn’t the object of my rage.
Not directly.
But she was going to feel my wrath, my protection, my need, because of what had happened. And young though she may be, she was strong. I knew she was woman enough to take all of me. I ground my hips against hers, hitting her special place with the shaft. “They fucking thought about raping you and no man, ever, will think about you like that again. I will keep you pregnant until you can bear me no more children,” I said. “Every night and every day, I will claim you as mine.”
With one arm, I hooked her over her hips and pulled out slightly, making her think the roughest fucking was done. If only she knew. Without warning, I rammed her fully and deeply, listening to her grunt and seethe as the furthest wall of her pussy pushed back against my cock.
I wanted to ruin her, but ravaging her would have to suffice. She screamed into the cushions of the daybed in pleasure and surprise. She was soaking wet and ready for her mate. I took her nipples between my fingers as I drove into her from behind. My thigh muscles slapped hard against her ass with every drive. She made the naughtiest moans with every squelching pump. “From this moment,” I said as I pounded her, “no man has the right to think about you in that way. You’re mine. Is that understood?”
She moaned out an affirmative noise, but it wasn’t enough.
“Say it,” I roared, as I pummeled her with one hard drive after another.
“I understand,” she said into the pillow. “Please...”
She was young. She was going to require some teaching. “Say it,” I said again.
“I’m yours,” she snarled into the mattress.
“Fucking right, you are.”
I took her from every angle and in every direction. I fucked her on her knees, on her side, over the back of the chair. I used her body like the tool for my pleasure that it was.
My first orgasm was so intense that I nearly blacked the fuck out. All I could imagine was my baby in her womb, and sucking milk from her full, dripping breasts. Mine, fucking mine.
Over and over again I came into her, shooting so much seed into her pussy that my balls throbbed with each orgasm. But that didn’t stop me. I fucked her until she was exhausted and then I fucked her some more. I came so many times inside her that I lost count. The roughness and hardness of my life was no longer any barrier between us, because every battle had been fought in order to bring me to her and bring us to this moment. I fucked away all her pain and all of mine.
With each orgasm I had, I purified myself. With each pulse of cum, I baptized her in my seed.
Sara
I came for him so many times that the only word I knew was his name, the only thing I knew was his dick inside me.
His hardness was the balance to my softness. His years the wisdom my youth craved. His scars the wounds of his life I would heal.
His power and intensity took my breath away. The way he ravaged me was different from the way we’d made love before. Every action was wilder, as if my being in danger had unleashed his primal needs.
With each of the many new positions he taught me, he showed me new kinds of pleasure and new ways to inhabit my body and my womanhood. I absorbed his intensity, taking it deep within my womb and my soul. He made me feel powerful and cherished in myself and as myself, raw and uninhibited. With him, I had to make no apologies. With him, I felt powerful and visible.
With expert hands, he manipulated my body as he needed it to be. I had always thought sex was a simple thing, a hurried act of mounting and rutting, but it was so very much more than that. It was musky sweat and semen, lips and muscles, sweet kisses and hungry licks.
It was slow, it was fast. It was hard and it was soft. It was yes to the very edge of no. It was everything I never knew I craved before.
Beyond my own pleasure, I discovered new things about his needs as well. I discovered I had the power to take him to new heights—to make him shiver, beg, and groan. When Bors had me on my back, holding me close, I dragged my fingernails down his massive back, hard enough to make him hiss into my ear. And as I got to the dip where his solid and beautiful buttocks met his back, his rhythm changed, his thrusts slowed and deepened, and he came hard inside me once again. Those deep and slow orgasms didn’t earn me the bobcat’s roar that his others did; these were softer, quieter, and more vulnerable. I adored every noise he made, every way he was.
“I love you,” he said, as he took me again, this time with me slightly on my side and one knee pressed towards my chest. “I was so worried when I couldn’t find you.”
Reaching up to his sun-beaten face, I ran my fingertips over his rough cheek. “I love you. I never meant to worry you.”
He swallowed hard. “If anything ever happens to you, Sara, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”
In the flickering light of the oil lamp, I watched his expression change. His eyes closed and his jaw tightened. He wrapped one massive arm around my folded knee and plunged into me so deeply that my eyes rolled back in my head.
With two fingers, he made me come for him yet again, and this orgasm was even more powerful than all the rest—a universe-shaking tidal wave of pleasure that made me disappear into myself. Against the walls of my sex, his cock pulsed, and I felt him spill his cum into me one more time.
Once we were well and truly spent, both of us sweating with lusty exertion, he covered me with a blanket on the daybed and then prepared an area for us before the fire. His movements mesmerized me. Each gesture was so confident and powerful. So magnetic and sexy. He arranged a pile of cushions and blankets before the fire, which he fueled with one log after another.
“Angelica won’t like that we’ve used half her wood,” I said, admiring the way the firelight illuminated the valleys of his rock-hard abs.
He scoffed with a deep chuckle. “You think I give a shit about firewood when it comes to my woman? I’d burn down this whole godda
mned village for you.” He twisted and added yet another log to the blazing fire lighting up the dim room as through it was mid-day.
Another log he added, and this one was pine, and its pockets of resin made the flames sputter and spark.
A roaring fire was a little thing, but it felt enormous. To me, it represented so much. And in that instant, I had a real sense of what life would be like with him—I would be warm, safe, and cared for. It was more than I could possibly allow myself to hope for.
He scooped me off the daybed, still wrapped in blankets, and lay me down before the fire where he joined me. The light from the blaze showing me the hard angles of his face. The depth of his scars and the devotion in his eyes.
I gazed up at him, so dreamy and lovestruck that it made me dizzy. But I focused on the deep brown chasms of his eyes and found my center again. “So, tell me everything. They gave us permission? We can marry?”
He nodded, knitting his big hand into my little one, so that each of his fingers slid between the gaps in mine.
“I told you they would, and they did.” Now he raised his eyes to look at me. His look was serious and intense. “There’s fuck all your father can do to stop us. You have my word.”
Bors got up slightly on one elbow and grabbed his britches, keeping one hand always clasped in mind. From the pocket he took a folded piece of parchment and placed it beside me. I opened it up, intimidated by the words and sentences on the page. Much of it unreadable to me as there were legal words and phrases that were far beyond my level of learning. But I understood the most important part: in the middle of the page were our names, written out in careful, round hand. Our right to marry was ensured by the wax seal of the clan leader.
I was overjoyed but still, deep down, a bit unsure. Though Bors seemed certain, I knew that my father couldn’t be trusted. From the way he had behaved when he came to look for me and Angelica hid me away, I worried that a simple piece of parchment would do nothing to stop him from taking me back. And yet, along with that parchment, I had Bors and all his power. That, at least, I knew my father could not contest.
And I truly had no idea why. His treatment of me over the years told me he should be over joyed that someone would take me off his hands, yet he seemed desperate to keep me and my confusion tightened around my throat.
“I’ll give you a good life, Sara. I’ve saved nearly every penny I’ve earned. We will have plenty. Together, we can build the livery and have something strong enough to support us as we grow old. We will not be royalty, but I will treat you like my queen.” He brushed a lock of my hair aside and wound the end gently around his finger once and again. He pulled me to him and nestled his nose into the hair at the top of my head, inhaling deeply and slowly as he placed a protective kiss on my forehead. “I will provide for you. And,” he said, moving one hand down to my belly, “for our children.”
I felt so happy and so joyful that I didn’t even know what to say. Somehow, I managed a whisper, “Thank you.” As I nestled into his arms, I let myself get lost in his strength, the warmth of the fire, and my hopes and dreams of the future.
I envisioned our home, our garden, our animals and the joy and anticipation of carrying his children. That anticipation, I knew, might be far shorter than I’d expected. Though I may not know a great deal about the mysteries of the flesh, I knew well enough that I might already be with his child.
A boy, I was certain.
He’d have Bors’ smile, and my eyes. I could already imagine the pattern I would follow to embroider his swaddling clothes.
Bors shifted, rising up on his knees, and I saw the hunger on his face, knowing with a clutch in my belly that he meant to take me again. Though I was sore, and my sex still thrummed with the orgasms he had given me, I opened my legs willingly and without hesitation.
I was and would always be his, to do with as he pleased.
He ran his tongue over his lips as he looked down at me. As he rolled my nipple between two of his fingers, he bit his lip as if to share in the pinch. “Every time I’ve had you it’s been so dark,” he said. “Not this time, though.” He glanced at the roaring fire that illuminated the room. “This time, I won’t miss a fucking thing.”
He positioned me on my back, with a cushion beneath my hips so that my breasts spilled back, high onto my chest. For a long moment, his eyes stayed locked on mine. Our gaze unbroken and smoldering, his cock grew thick and hard against my thigh.
“Let me look at you,” he said, breaking away from my gaze. I watched him study my neck, my shoulders, my breasts. “I want to memorize every last…”
Bors stopped cold. All at once, everything about his demeanor and behavior changed. He drew back and yanked his hands away from me, just as the man had done in the pub had done when he’d torn my blouse from my body.
My heart plummeted and an instantaneous, instinctive sob got caught in my throat. He looked at me with the same shock and horror that the men who intended to rape me had. The true sight of me made men recoil. It was one thing when it happened with complete strangers, but now, in the arms of the man I had fallen for so deeply, I felt unspeakably horrified and ashamed of my body.
Of myself.
Embarrassed and ashamed, as well as confused, I drew my hands to my chest to shield his gaze. “Please don’t look at me that way. You said you loved me, but now, the way you look at me, I feel like a spectacle.”
Before I could get away from him to be alone with my shame, he seized my wrists firmly but not roughly. He prized my hands from my breasts and lifted my left breast, looking beneath it. “Sara, this mark…”
“What can be so awful about a birthmark?” I sobbed, trying desperately to cover myself with the blankets. “Please stop that, Bors. Please stop looking at me that way.”
Letting go of my wrists, he searched my face—for what, I did not know. “You’ve never seen it, have you?” He asked, withdrawing from me even further. “You don’t know what you are, do you?”
I couldn’t bear such shame. “I have seen it, when I was a child, before my body grew. It is a purple splotch. Is a mark so horrible? You speak of me like I’m a beast. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please,” I sniffled as the tears trickled down my cheeks. “Please just leave me alone.”
He didn’t. Instead he rose, naked before me. He placed his hand to his jaw and dragged his fingers down his stubble with a sandpapery hiss as he stared at me.
I closed my eyes tightly and rolled away from him, curling into a fetal position and sobbing into the pillow. My shame and heartbreak merged into the purest sort of pain. I felt like a blind leper, unable to know my own body’s horrors and deformities, repulsive to the man I had been fool enough to love.
Stupid girl.
Bors
In one second, she went from being my future wife to my future queen.
Beneath her left breast she bore the unmistakable mark of the stolen royal—a crescent moon with a star in its hollow. I had seen the image many times over the past eighteen years, on banners that hung from the castle battlements a hundred miles to the east, and on the royal crier’s ornamental shield that he carried into the many towns closer to the royal castle on every anniversary of her disappearance.
Hear ye, hear ye, one and all. Should any subject of this kingdom see this mark upon the body of a young woman, present the woman before King Rowan, for she is the lost daughter of the realm and the heir to the throne. Hear ye, hear ye…
I was fucking stunned. I could hardly believe it, and yet it wasn’t hard to believe at all. She’d been my princess from the beginning. This was just confirmation of what I’d known in my gut all along.
“Bors, please! Please stop looking at me that way,” she said when she turned from where she’d fallen into a ball on the daybed, now nearly hysterical with confusion. “Why do you look at me so? Why do I feel like I am untouchable?”
Untouchable is exactly what she was.
Royal, chosen, fucking blessed by God himself.
In her presence, I was less than nothing. All the instincts that had told me I wasn’t good enough for her were true.
More true than I could have imagined.
All of my dreams for the two of us, all my plans for the future, blew up when I laid eyes on that mark. She might as well have stabbed me through the heart. I had dirtied the missing royal child with my blind lust for her and ruined her future. I had no claim on her at all. It didn’t matter if I had a thousand goddamned decrees from the clan council, it wouldn’t change the truth.
Their authority would never take precedent over the authority of the king. I was Sara’s subject, not the other way around. My permission to marry her was worthless; such things made no difference to the king and the queen. Decrees were common documents for common men. I knew as I stood there, taking it all in, that I was going to lose her forever.
She held the bedclothes to her chest, still trying to shield herself from my gaze, while also reaching out for me to try to get me to come back to her. Clearly, her confusion was no act. Someone must have known her true identity, but Sara sure as hell hadn’t.
But as her subject, it was my duty to tell her the truth. It didn’t matter if my punishment was a broken heart or death. As if there was any fucking difference.
I dropped to one knee beside her, genuflecting in submission. Though I knew I was unworthy of even touching her skin, I also knew it was my duty to comfort her as best I could. The whole fucking thing made me feel like I’d been whiplashed. But it didn’t matter how I felt. Not at all. She was what mattered—now, always. And so, I swept her tears aside to try to calm her. “Please don’t cry, your highness.”
She searched my face, puzzled and embarrassed. Her smile broke through her sadness and confusion. “Stop that. I’m no such thing.”
Now I made sure she could tell I was serious, deadly serious. “You are though, Sara. Your mark....” I nodded toward where she held the fabric to her bosom. “I am not repulsed. I am in shock.”
The Stolen Princess (Fated Royals Book 1) Page 7
