I’m far more naïve than I realized, because I think he means to drive me to a climax with his mouth on my breasts. It takes the cool night air kissing me between the thighs to realize there is more. Oh, so much more.
With my skirts wrapped around one fist, Corbet pulls down my underthings with the other and makes a hoarse sound, pressing his face to my naked womanhood. His broad shoulders pin me to the stone side of the mountain, my hands scrabbling on either side of my hips for some kind of anchor. Or support. But there is nothing, so when his tongue delves between my folds, there is nothing to grasp but my own hair. Nothing to do but sob at the incredible fuss of awakening nerves, the coiling of hunger in my belly.
“Corbet,” I push through my teeth. “You mustn’t…”
What?
Mustn’t perform this act I didn’t even know existed?
Mustn’t stop?
Yes, the second option. Definitely the second option, I decide definitively, when his tongue meets a very sensitive spot at the apex of my valley, his breath hot, his throat making rough, hungry sounds as he worries it, lapping at it, pressing firmly and batting it. He presses my bunched skirts to my chest and I take them without a word, my neck losing power when he uses his newly freed hands to palm my bare buttocks, yanking me forward toward his mouth and licking, licking, licking until I’m sure my legs are going to collapse.
But no, I hold myself up because there’s a surge of satisfaction approaching.
It’s almost terrifying, this rapid gathering of pressure in my loins, but I bite down on my lower lip and prepare to be battered. And I’m driven toward it faster by Corbet’s groans, by the hands roughly massaging my backside, the fingers that dare to slip between my cheeks and tease that forbidden place, ownership in every masterful rub of his finger.
The storm breaks and I’m thrown up against the rocks, bliss barreling into me from all sides, my flesh clenching, back arching violently, my cries echoing off the yonder loch. I’m shaking and I can’t stop, can’t stop the incessant pulsations holding my sex hostage. Nor can I do anything about the moisture that coats my folds and turns the insides of my legs slippery.
When I can finally catch a decent breath, I look down to find Corbet riveted by the sight of what he’s done, his mouth damp from my pleasure. Eyes heavy with lust.
“I will have this perfect little cunt for my own,” he says thickly, climbing to his feet and laying a firm hand on my shoulder, pushing me down to my knees. And I go. Willingly. Aching to give him the same relief he’s given me. “I’ll respect your wishes and not rut you tonight. But it’s coming, Gwen. I’ll put you on your back and steal the virginity from between your legs.”
Stealing. That’s what it would be, right?
Stealing something he doesn’t mean to properly keep?
None of my reservations are sticking, though. I’m too lost to his spell.
Too sated and eager to give.
“And with your thighs glistening with come, you will no longer question my skill, woman.” He fists my hair. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I breathe, my eyes level with his tented breeches.
This obedience is not typical in me, but it feels so right in this moment. I spend my days worrying and working and saving with no one to take the reins. Allowing him to do so is…effortless. In a way it wouldn’t be with anyone else. It requires trust, but somehow he’s earned it in a short amount of time. And now I’m watching in almost a trance as my fingers work to free his arousal from behind the muslin, his breath turning shallow above me.
When his heavy flesh springs from the opening, I suck in a breath because it’s so glorious. Maybe I ought to be afraid of the large appendage, for it’s my first encounter with one and it’s much, much larger than I could have imagined. But I can only marvel at the intersection of veins, the smooth stretch of skin layered over steel, the subtle upward curve. I can only lean in and brush the ruddy tip with my parted lips and revel in Corbet’s ragged inhale.
“Don’t tease me,” he says unevenly, propping his free hand on the cave wall, far above my head. “I need a good, rough suck from that defiant mouth.”
I yearn to give the king what he wants, but I hardly know where to begin. His testicles are fat and engorged at the base of his erection, his thighs flexed and hairy. There is so much masculinity staring me in the face, it’s hard not to be intimidated. But I notice the tremor in his fingers and realize he’s vulnerable. At my mercy. And that emboldens me enough to wrap my lips around his staff and suckle the broad head of his sex.
It encourages me to bathe his shaft with my tongue, creating a slippery path for my lips to follow, and I start to bob my head up and down, bringing him as deep as possible, pulling roughly of his flesh on the way back up, the manner in which one might suck a sweet candy, trying to pull all the flavor from it with one concerted effort.
Corbet moans, winding my hair around his fist, hips pumping. “Don’t stop, woman. Goddamn.” He huffs several hard breaths, each more urgent than the last. “I will have monuments built in honor of this mouth. I will worship before them on my knees.”
He is close to the precipice.
His manhood grows thicker in my mouth, giving subtle jerks whenever it hits the resistance of my throat, but when his mighty thighs begin to tremble, I venture lower and choke down another inch, my hand reaching up to gently squeeze the ripe fruit of his testicles, and Corbet roars, seed firing hot and salty from the head of his arousal. “Gwen!”
My head is held fast in his big hands while he erupts, my tongue and throat bathed in spurt after spurt of salty release, his hoarse cries filling me with a sort of pride I never expected. Satisfying him fulfills me as much as my own pleasure did. My heart…
Yes, my heart, it riots wildly, bouncing off my ribcage.
Everything feels decadent, even my knees on the hard ground. His fist in my hair, the pressure in my throat. It’s all so wonderful and it feels so right that I start to think maybe…maybe Corbet is the man I seek at the Joining. Of course, he is resistant to the idea of a wife, but there is something that feels almost fateful between us. I’ve never encountered another human being that inspired such huge emotions, and surely that must mean something.
Even as hope begins to rise in my chest, I remind myself of one very important fact.
He is a king.
I am a commoner.
Letting these fanciful notions take root could prove disastrous, but…
Corbet pulls me to my feet and wraps me in his arms, holding me like a long-lost love and swaying us side to side, exhaling roughly into my hair. With my skirts floating back down to my ankles, I am breathless in his embrace. Warm and safe and more cared for than I’ve ever been in my life. It is not against the law for a king to take a commoner as his wife. Maybe it’s not so far-fetched after all—
“So we have an understanding, then?” Corbet asks, kissing my temple.
A pit forms in my stomach. “An understanding?”
“Yes. You will return to Fallstrom after the Joining.” He strokes my hair, his gaze running laps around my face. “You are henceforth mine. Mine, Gwen. You will be my lover forevermore. My mistress.” He nods firmly. “I’ve spoken on the matter.”
My heart plunges into my stomach and I shove away from him. Stupid, humiliating hope. How could I have let myself feel it for even a second? Did I think taking him in my mouth would change things? If anything, I’ve made myself appear even more suitable as a paramour.