King’s Chosen

by I. T. Lucas

  “Do you ache?” she asked when he finally let go of her mouth so she could take a breath.

  “Terribly.”

  When she put her hand on his chest, something wild and unfamiliar stirred inside her. Without further thought, she caressed the bulging muscles, following their contours down to the hard length she was so curious about.

  As Annabel palmed him over the fabric, Thorsten sucked in a breath and covered her hand with his, pressing it harder against his manhood.

  "I want to touch you without a barrier between us," Annabel heard herself say and almost fainted from embarrassment a split second later.

  Was she possessed by the spirit of a lusty wench?

  "I knew it. Fiery passion burns beneath that cool façade of yours." Thorsten lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed.

  "What are you going to do to me?" The old Annabel found her voice.

  "Pleasure you into oblivion and then ask you to marry me again." He pulled her robe off, then went for the straps holding her nightgown up.

  "Wait. I'm not ready for this.”

  "Not ready for me to see your beauty?" He smoothed his hand over the bodice of her nightgown. "This thing is so sheer I can see your magnificent body as if you were naked already.” His other hand trailed over her exposed calf. “But taking it off will allow me to touch your skin. No barriers."

  It was only momentary cowardice.

  She'd already made up her mind to let Thorsten do whatever he pleased to her, but there was a big difference between making a decision and acting on it. Evidently, Annabel wasn’t as courageous as she thought she was.

  Chewing on her lower lip, she gave him a slight nod.

  "That's my girl."

  Without taking his eyes off her, he pulled the straps down, going slow and exposing her inch by inch even though he was right about the sheerness of her gown. She was already as good as naked to his eyes, but he was giving her time, removing that last barrier as slowly as he could.

  There was nothing brutish about the way he was treating her. Maybe a gentleman would have waited for them to be married first, but she doubted anyone would have handled her with such tender care.

  Every touch felt like a caress, and every look was smoldering with lust but also with deep affection.

  Or was it love?

  Could Thorsten have loved her for all those years, waiting for her to grow up and turn into a woman?

  Pushing a hand under her, he lifted her a little, and with a final tug tossed the nightgown on the floor. Looking at her, he whispered, "Absolute perfection."

  As Annabel fought the instinctive urge to cover her breasts with one hand and her embarrassingly moist center with another, she forced herself to look into Thorsten's eyes.

  His pupils were so dilated that they were more black than blue, with only a thin blue ring surrounding the big black disks. She liked the way he was looking at her, as if she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  It gave her the courage to ask for what she wanted. “It is your turn to disrobe, my prince. I wish to gaze upon the perfection of your physique.”

  "All in good time, my princess. Your pleasure comes first." He sat on the bed beside her.

  His warm hand on her tummy, he leaned to take her lips in a soft kiss, and as he licked into her mouth, his hand moved upward, stopping at the underside of her breast.

  With her already stiff and achy nipples reacting to his touch, getting even tighter, the need to feel his hands on them became so overwhelming that she whimpered into his mouth and arched her back in a silent plea.

  "Are you hurting, my love? Do you need me to relieve the ache?" he breathed an inch away from her mouth.

  "Yes."

  "All you ever have to do is ask." His hand closed over one breast, and a moment later his other hand joined in, massaging and kneading its twin. "Is that what you need?"

  Annabel shook her head. He'd relieved some of the ache, but she needed something more.

  As his hands moved downward, cupping the undersides of her breasts, she wanted to protest, but then he started strumming her turgid peaks with his thumbs, teasing her with a promise of something, but she wasn't sure what.

  "Is that it?" he whispered again, his eyes blazing with such intense passion it was frightening to behold.

  Annabel squeezed her eyes shut.

  "I guess it's not." She felt him lean closer, and a moment later his warm tongue swept over one achy nipple.

  "More," she demanded.

  "Of course, my love." His lips closed over the stiff nub, and he sucked it in.

  The moan that escaped her throat was deep and guttural and very unladylike, but Annabel didn’t care, especially since it seemed to please Thorsten.

  Letting out a hum of approval, he murmured around her nipple, "That's more like it."

  As his fingers closed around the other one and tugged in sync with the sucking, Annabel felt as if there was a coil inside her that was getting wound tighter and tighter the longer Thorsten played with her nipples. The sensation was an unfamiliar one, and she wondered what would happen when that coil sprung loose.

  Would she explode?

  A moment later she found out.

  As he closed his teeth on one nipple and bit down gently, pinching the other at the same time, a scream erupted from some primal part of her, and if not for Thorsten surging up and covering her mouth with his, the entire palace would've known exactly what they'd been doing.

  As he caressed her, mumbling incoherent endearments, Annabel allowed herself a few moments of floating on a cloud of bliss before coming back into her body.

  Wow.

  She opened her eyes and smiled. "Are you going to ask me to marry you now?"

  If he did, she was going to say yes. Pleasuring her into oblivion had been a very persuasive tactic. As long as he promised to do that on a regular basis, she was willing to tolerate living in court with him.

  "Not yet. I've just begun. "

  "There is more?"

  "Oh, sweetheart." He pushed a sweaty strand of hair away from her forehead. "There is so much more that it will take me a lifetime to show you everything."

  "I'm not in a hurry."

  11

  If his manhood weren't in such agony, Thorsten would have danced a victory dance.

  Annabel was his.

  God, he was so glad he'd followed his instincts and done everything he hadn't been supposed to. His gut must've known that an exceptional woman like Annabel required an extraordinary approach.

  True, she wasn't so agreeable because she loved him, but because she craved what he could do to her. Still, it was infinitely preferable to her wanting him for his crown like all the others.

  Love would come later. He would make sure of that.

  The catch was that he needed to keep stringing her along and making her hunger for more. Which meant that he wouldn't be sinking his achy shaft into her soft wetness this time around.

  Besides, he wanted Annabel to be a virgin on their wedding night.

  Thorsten wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it.

  He had a willing woman, and he was the one who was going to play hard to get so she would agree to marry him.

  Absolutely, fucking, delightful.

  He'd never expected a woman to marry him for his sexual prowess and not his crown. Hopefully, Annabel also liked him outside of the bedroom, at least a little. Good sex would make their marriage thrive, but more was needed to give it a solid foundation that would last for many years to come.

  Which was another reason to take it slow. He needed to prove to her that he wasn’t the brutish, heartless ruler the malicious rumors were painting him as.

  "Are you going to take your clothes off now?" Annabel purred like a satisfied kitten.

  "Not yet."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm not done convincing you to marry me. I want to make sure that you are never going to change your mind. And if I take my pants off, this will be over befor
e it has begun."

  "How about your shirt?" She eyed his chest hungrily.

  "I can do that." He pulled the shirttails out of his pants, unbuttoned a few of the top buttons, and pulled the shirt over his head.

  With Annabel's eyes following every move, he couldn't help but show off with some pectoral flexing.

  "You're magnificent." Her gaze was appreciative and lustful. "You are very muscular. For a prince. "

  "Just for a prince?" he teased.

  "Well, I saw the blacksmith working shirtless once, and his were bigger."

  Thorsten growled. "I'll have to challenge the bastard to a duel."

  She laughed. "No, you won't. When you see him, you'll understand.”

  “Is he deformed?”

  “No, but he is missing several teeth and has a face that scares children. He’s a sweetheart, though.”

  Thorsten still wasn’t happy. “Give me a straight answer, woman. Do you fancy the blacksmith or not?”

  “I fancy only you.” She smiled seductively. “Now come here and let me put my hands on you."

  “That’s the right answer.”

  Kicking off his boots, he pounced on top of her, the bed groaning and dipping from the added weight.

  As Annabel spread her legs to cradle him between them, he had the dim impression that something wasn't right with that scenario. For a woman who'd never been with a man, she was far too comfortable with him in her bed.

  But just as soon as that thought flitted through his mind, another one chased it off. Annabel was not like any other woman he'd ever known. He shouldn't expect anything about her to be conventional.

  "I'm yours, sweetheart. Touch all you want." Propping himself on his forearms, his chest hovering only a few inches above hers, Thorsten waited for Annabel to start exploring.

  With wonder in her eyes, she put her soft palms on his pectorals, then smoothed them over to his shoulders, his arms, his back. She seemed to be learning his body, memorizing every ridge and valley.

  Her touch was more explorative than erotic, but it was the closest he'd ever felt to being loved by a woman. For lack of a better description, her touch was loving. Then she lifted her head and kissed him, her little tongue so polite as it licked the seam between his lips, asking permission to enter.

  A sweet, lover's kiss.

  At this rate, by the time he left Annabel's bedroom, Thorsten would be head over heels in love with her. He couldn't have asked for a better outcome—provided he was reading her right.

  Taking over, his hand holding on to her slender nape, he deepened the kiss and ravished her mouth.

  What he got in return was her total and complete surrender. Annabel seemed drunk with passion, her eyes hooded with desire, her body loose and pliable under his.

  It was so tempting to push his pants down and enter her, especially since he was sure of his welcome.

  But he was the Crown Prince of Algenia, and succumbing to a momentary weakness was not in his nature. Resolve and adherence to goals was an integral part of who he was.

  Kissing his way down her body, he nipped at her ribs, licked at her navel, and then when he got to where he wanted to be, he kissed the top of her mound.

  Annabel didn't protest. With a sigh, she spread her legs a little wider, giving him complete access.

  Again, he had that flitting thought that things weren't right. An untouched virgin should've felt scandalized by what he was about to do, not welcomed him without a word of protest. And again as soon as it occurred to him, the thought was pushed out by another. Annabel was unlike any other woman. She was unique in every possible way.

  Her neatly trimmed curls glistened with the evidence of her desire, and as he pressed a gentle kiss to those pink, puffy petals, her softest skin felt hot on his lips.

  Ending the kiss, he parted her with his thumbs and blew air on the heated flesh, cooling it down a little before extending his tongue and lapping at her juices.

  Delicious. All woman. All his.

  "Oh, God, Thorsten… " She lifted up, impaling herself on his tongue.

  His princess was greedy in the best possible way. Thorsten speared into her, penetrating her with his tongue, then replaced it with a finger and flicked his tongue over the center of her desire.

  Her moan was one of pleasure mixed with agony. Not pain, his finger had slid effortlessly into her tight, wet heat, but of pleasure too intense to bear.

  "Come for me, sweetheart," he rasped.

  "I can't. It's too much." Clenching her buttocks, she lifted up and to the side in an effort to escape his tongue.

  Trained by the best of courtesans, he knew that some women’s center of desire was overly sensitive, and that too much stimulation could feel uncomfortable instead of pleasurable. Thorsten eased up a little, licking at the sides and avoiding direct contact.

  It worked just as he’d expected.

  Letting out a sigh, Annabel submitted to his ministrations, trusting him to take care of her.

  “That's my girl.” He pressed a soft kiss to her rosy petals.

  12

  As Thorsten lifted her legs over his shoulders, spreading her wide, Annabel wondered how something so wicked could feel so good. If Thorsten promised to pleasure her like that every night for the rest of their lives, she would not only marry him but follow him to the ends of the earth.

  In the recesses of her mind, she was bothered by how good he was at this. Obviously, he'd had a lot of practice. With whom, though? Had he loved any of the women he'd bedded? Who were they?

  His court was probably filled with beautiful women vying for his attention, and it would only get worse when he became king. Could she tolerate being married to him while knowing that at any moment temptation could lure him into the willing arms of another?

  That was another reason Annabel didn’t want to be queen. Every court had women looking to gain favor or influence or just boasting-rights for bedding the king. Even a decent man would eventually succumb to that much temptation.

  A sharp slap on her butt cheek cut through that depressing line of thought like lightning.

  She lifted her head and glared at Thorsten. "What was that for?"

  "You were a thousand miles away. Stay with me, Annabel."

  Letting her mind wander while he was selflessly pleasuring her must've hurt Thorsten's feelings. If the roles were reversed, she would've been offended too. Not to mention that those thoughts had cooled her fervor, which he must’ve noticed.

  "I'm sorry," she murmured.

  He kissed the stinging spot. "You're forgiven."

  Making sure her mind couldn’t drift again, he pushed a second thick finger into her tight, virgin sheath, stretching it almost painfully, and she wondered if he was still punishing her. But as he pulled those fingers out and then thrust them back in, again and again, the discomfort soon gave way to pleasure so intense that she could no longer think, just feel.

  Thorsten didn't let up. With each passing moment, he intensified the onslaught on her sensitive, quivering flesh, thrusting into her with his fingers while rimming the center of her desire with his tongue.

  With the coil inside her winding up tighter and tighter, Annabel's moans were getting throatier and louder. Seeking an anchor, she grabbed fistfuls of Thorsten's hair, and when his lips closed around her oversensitive nub, she pulled so hard it was a miracle the soft strands remained attached to his head.

  Ignoring the assault, Thorsten groaned in pleasure and gently sucked the little nub in.

  Her inner muscles convulsing around his fingers, and lightning exploding behind her closed lids, Annabel cried out.

  Thorsten groaned again, the vibrations prolonging her climax.

  When she could take it no more and pushed his head away, he let go, gently cupped her center with his hand, and came up to claim her mouth.

  Annabel expected to be repulsed by her own taste on Thorsten's tongue, but she wasn't. In fact, the wickedness of it sent a new bolt of desire down to her core, when she
should've been beyond spent.

  It occurred to her that none of it came as a shock or even a surprise. Had she read about those sort of things in one of her books? Cook had certainly never mentioned anything as delightfully deviant.

  Thorsten let go of her lips and looked down at her with a smug smile on his handsome face. Well, he deserved to be smug. What he'd done to her had been wonderful.

  "Are you going to ask me to marry you now?" Annabel teased.

  "If I do, what will be your answer?"

  "You have to ask first."

  His hand pressed harder against her wet center, and he pushed in with one finger. "You're mine."

  Maybe. But she wasn't going to let him wring it out of her without asking.

  "Ask, Thorsten."

  Another finger joined the first, and she gasped, her eyelids fluttering shut for a moment. But she needed to see his face when he asked.

  "Princess Annabel of Mondera.” His fingers retreated and surged back. “Will you marry me, Thorsten, Crown Prince of Algenia?"

  "Oh, oh, oh, yes I will."

  13

  When Thorsten left Annabel's bedchamber, it was after she'd passed out from the exhaustion of climaxing for the fourth time. He, on the other hand, could pound nails with the hard club pulsing painfully in his pants.

  Leaving had been an exercise in willpower, but he didn't want the maid to enter Annabel’s room in the morning and find him in her lady’s bed. Annabel would never forgive him for tarnishing her reputation.

  Back in his own room, Thorsten barely had the presence of mind to close the door behind him before digging the swollen member out from its confinement and squeezing it hard. Leaning against the door, he closed his eyes and pictured Annabel climaxing on his tongue. With a roar, he erupted on the third upward stroke.

  But that only took the edge off.

  It took two more full loads before his manhood was subdued into limpness.

  Slumped against the door, he grimaced at the mess he’d made ejecting three full loads one after the other.

  It wasn't something he could leave for his manservant or one of Annabel's maids to clean. Which meant that the feared and powerful Crown Prince of Algenia had to take a towel, dip it in water, and wipe the floor, then wash his own soiled pants to the best of his ability, which wasn't impressive in the least.