We make it to the drawbridge that leads out of the palace, into the kingdom of Downsriver. There are a couple of guards stationed there with unpleasant expressions.
“Free beer in the courtyard,” I call, jerking a thumb over my shoulder.
“Oi!” They brighten automatically. “You don’t say.”
Both guards trundle off toward the palace.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “The palace guards need to be put through some mandatory training, love. They’re not protecting you well enough.”
Britta is silent for so long, I worry I’ve offended her, until she says, “You could be in charge of the training, couldn’t you?”
“Me?” Surprised by the comment, I shake my head. “No, I’m not a…leader.”
“You’re the queen’s personal guard,” she points out, her arms tightening around me, her cheek pressing to my back. “Doesn’t that make you their leader in itself?”
Her confidence in me threatens to inflate my ego, but there’s no way I’ll let it. “Britta, I’m sneaking you out of the palace for a party. I’m fairly certain that makes the worst offender of them all. I’m only a member of the guard in the first place because…”
I stop talking before I reveal everything.
How I couldn’t think straight once I’d seen her in the procession.
How I hungered and worried and paced until I was stationed directly outside of her door where I belong. Serving her. Guarding her.
“I should prepare you for my sisters,” I say, deftly changing the subject. “They can get a little rambunctious. And loud.”
“I’m going to love them. I know it.” She pauses. “Have you brought many women home?”
“With my chiseled good looks, Britta? I’ve been beating the women off with sticks.”
She doesn’t laugh. “You keep hinting at the belief that you’re unattractive, Rex. What nonsense is that?” Her small hands trace up my chest, her fingertips ghosting over my nipples, dragging back down to tease the strained waistline of my pants. “Maybe you have so much goodness and strength and courage inside of you, it just needed more room to grow.”
My throat constricts. “Britta…”
Does she really believe what she says? No…it can’t be possible. I’m the big block of comfort and distraction when she needs it most. I’m honored to be those things for her. But I can’t let myself start to think nonsense. That she could really like me. Even if she did, nothing could come from it, so I need to quit being a fool. I need to try and be her friend and be happy for whatever amount of time I’m allotted before…
Before her comfort and happiness are someone else’s responsibility.
“So…” Britta’s pinky finger sneaks beneath my waistband, trailing side to side in my pubic hair, and my cock stiffens at a startling pace, my balls hardening excitedly. “You’ve brought no women home?”
“No,” I rasp. “None.”
“But you’ve…been with women before?”
I look back over my shoulder to gauge her expression, but her face is hidden by the shawl. It’s ridiculous to think she could be jealous, anyway. She’s the queen. I’m a guard. Surely I don’t have to worry about her feelings being hurt about things that happened in the past. “Ahhh. Sure, I’m thirty years old, Britta. Of course there have been…times.” I frown at the road ahead and let the honesty flow. “But truthfully, I can’t recall the details of a single one. Meanwhile…I can remember the number of buttons on your dress two weeks ago. And there’s been no one at all since…” Since I saw you for the first time. “For a good while, anyway.”
Britta nods against my back and I relax, feeling like I just walked through a minefield. Why? I have no idea. She could probably care less about the whole situation. She’s just making small talk.
She adds a second finger inside my waistband. A third and a forth.
They push lower, her fingertips brushing my cock.
“Now, Britta…” I swallow hard, looking down and marveling at the sight of her graceful hand lodged inside my pants, my bulge nearly bursting the seams. “We’re going to be there soon. I can’t arrive like this.”
Her fist curls around me, and I choke on a groan. And then I feel her lips kissing up my spine and flames engulf me. “I don’t like thinking of you with women,” she says quietly, still planting kisses in the middle of my back, her fist beginning to stroke me. “I hate it. Is that…terribly improper?”
“No,” I say raggedly. “But it’s unnecessary. I…”
“What?” she whispers.
Oh God, I can’t hold back. The truth is scaling the sides of my throat, desperate to be out in the open. “My cock has belonged to you, my queen, since the day I saw you.”
Her gasp mingles with the loud rapping of my heart. Waiting for her response to my—probably ill-advised—confession, my hands twist in the reins.
“Good,” she whispers, finally, squeezing me tightly in her grip.
That single word, combined with her possessive hold, nearly makes me come. I have to concentrate and bite my lip to stop the semen from spewing out. I’ve never experienced this part of myself. There was never even a hint that I might wish to be…obedient for a woman.
It’s all Britta.
She releases my cock only to trace the seam of my balls with a fingertip. Then she slowly scoops them up and tests them in her soft palm. “Are these mine, too?”
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
“Yes,” I say raggedly. “Yours.”
How is this really happening? This tiny slip of a girl has a giant by the balls. Literally. She could ask me for anything in the world and I would agree to it. I burn for the chance to please her. Her happiness is the only way to be fulfilled. It makes no sense that she is touching me, an ugly bastard, with her unsoiled hand, but I am too enthralled to stop her.
Too hot. Too grateful. Too desperate.
Her soft hand massages my heavy balls, shooting sparks down to my toes. My cock is engorged to the point of agony, sweat beginning to arrive in embarrassing places. Someone approaches from the opposite direction on the road and I hastily cover my lap with the flap of my unbuttoned uniform jacket. The man waves on his way past us and I nod back. No big deal. I’m just being jacked off by the queen on our way to a party. Happens every day.
She finishes exploring my sack and slips that sweet hand around my dick again, pumping it quickly now. So quickly the air bursts out of me. “I’m going to disgrace myself, Britta.”
“I would like to kiss you here. The way you did to me this afternoon.”
Lust rips into me at the very thought.
I’ve never had a female’s mouth there.
Let alone a mouth as sweet and pure as this girl’s. This girl I worship. It would be the very death of me. “No, love. No.” Using the cuff of my jacket, I swipe sweat from my upper lip, painfully aware that my thighs are beginning to shake, my loins seizing up. And oh Christ, her touch is the perfect torture. Soft and inexperienced, but determined. “You will not serve the servant.”
She leans up and whispers against my neck, her grip flying up and down my throbbing staff. “I can do whatever I want with this,” she murmurs innocently. “It’s mine.”