King Sized

by Jessa Kane

How selfish I’ve been.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, horrified. “I’m putting you in danger. I-I didn’t think—”

  “Shhh, love.” Rex shakes his head. “I won’t have you feeling guilty over giving me the best moments of my life.”

  “They were?” I breathe, smiling dazedly. “The best?”

  “Yes, love. The best.” He stares down at me, conflict and misery waging war on his face. “Christ, but you’re sweet,” he rasps. “Britta, I could…”

  “What?”

  “God help me, I can’t just…stop. Not with you so flushed. Those nipples like little pikes.” That hand of his, still resting just above my mound, begins to gather the damp material of my slip. “I could pleasure you without taking your virginity. Would you like that?”

  “Yes,” I say on an exhale, relieved we don’t have to be done. Still, I stop him from pulling my slip up too high, my hand grasping his wrist. “But I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

  He pushes my hand aside and levels me with a dark, sensual look. “No screaming, then.”

  My slip is yanked up roughly and a dull rush starts in my ears, my pulse clamoring with excitement. Nerves. This man, this big, beautiful man is looking at my private flesh with such awe, such disbelief, I almost wonder if something is wrong with me.

  But then he scrapes a calloused palm over the rise of my sex and shudders, eyelids falling to half mast. “My queen.” He falls onto his generous stomach and presses his mouth to my cleft, groaning. “Making you come will be my life’s greatest honor.”

  I furiously try to memorize the sight of Rex between my legs, my knees draped over his mountainous shoulders, my slip bunched indecently around my hips. His mouth rubbing against my folds in such a cherishing way, I almost can’t stand it. Can’t stand the perfection of his tongue parting me down the center, licking me in a most illicit way, visibly relishing every taste. As if I’m doing him the service, not the other way around.

  He thrusts his hips against the earth, his broad buttocks flexing and straining inside his wet pants, his hands turning rougher on my thighs, holding them open, kneading them. And he grunts with every crude pump, laving his tongue against my opening, dragging higher, higher and—

  I slap a hand over my mouth to trap the scream.

  “There, there, there.”

  Rex’s palms ride up my thighs to my hips, then up to my breasts, massaging them with possessive hands, the tip of his tongue now focused on that magnificent spot at the apex of my sex, licking it gently, then rough. Gently, then rough.

  “Rex,” I gasp. “Don’t stop.”

  Something is culminating inside of me. I’m not sure what. But if he leaves me off here, before I get there, I will scream the sky down. I’m sure of it. I barely know myself, this girl who twists her fingers in Rex’s black hair and drops her knees wide, bucking and writhing on the grass, sun beating down on her body. Is that whining sound coming from me?

  His lower body slaps against the ground now, hot, punctuated breaths from his nostrils warming my wet flesh as his tongue works, works, works. I allow myself to imagine him on top of me, those big hips flexing and pumping frantically, and that image is what takes me away. My whole body seems to seize, my thighs trapped in a shaking fit, my throat raw from trying to hold in the screams. Oh, oh, it’s heaven and hell. This release coursing through me, gripping my muscles in a state of shock and delight, warmth coursing down toward Rex’s mouth, his tongue lapping at it, like he was after that singular taste all along.

  And then he’s back above me, his face transformed. Strained and dotted with sweat. His hand is jerking back and forth inside his damp pants, his jaw unhinged.

  “Just need to pretend…” He drops that stroking fist right on top of my sex, pressing down, and continues to buck into it. “Just need to pretend it’s that beautiful pussy I’m fucking.” His voice drops an octave, like he’s telling me a secret. “Order me to come, Britta.”

  Is he telling me a secret?

  Does Rex like being my servant in more ways than one?

  That possibility is a rush of blood to my head. My fingers flex with power in his hair, twisting it roughly, making him groan, abuse his fist faster and harder. He’s a giant. He could take anything he wants from me. I’m no match for his physical strength. Nobody in the kingdom is. Yet he grits his teeth and shudders waiting for my permission to relieve himself.

  It’s exhilarating.

  I lean up slightly and lick a path up his neck, dragging my teeth back down the way I came. “The queen orders you to come, Rexington.”

  He heaves himself into a climax, choking curses into the air above me, his fist giving a few final violent tugs within his pants. “Britta. Britta. Britta. Christ.”

  His mouth seals over mine and I revel in the privilege of being connected to him while he pounds through the throes of pleasure, his body shuddering on top of me. Until finally he falls to his side in the grass to my right, rolling onto his back and sucking down oxygen.

  I adore the way he looks.

  So big and rugged and thick, his wet shirt plastered to the large swell of his belly, giving me a peek at the black hair underneath. He is the most attractive man on this earth to me. I’m sure, I’m positive in this moment, that no one else will ever compare.

  And I might have to marry someone else to save the kingdom.

  That reminder makes my heart sink, but Rex reaches over and cups my cheek and it buoys itself right back up. “You have honored me deeply, love.”

  There are shadows in his eyes, telling me he’s having the same troubling thoughts about my potential impending marriage, but all I want to do is ignore the future as long as possible. “No.” I curl up against his side, sighing when he pulls me into the crook of his arm and begins stroking my back. “You honor me.”

  4

  Rex

  Well, I’m good and screwed now, aren’t I?

  My heart is permanently stuck up in my throat. I can’t stop looking at the queen, probably with big, idiotic hearts in my eyes. She’s so fragile and beautiful, the sunset bathing her in a glow as we walk back toward the palace. I’m feeling so protective, I’m half hoping a dragon roars down out of the bloody sky, just so I can slay it for her.

  We had to wait until the guard rotation so I could sneak her in through the back entrance, so nobody would see her in wet clothes and wonder what the hell happened.

  What in God’s name did happen?

  Half the time at the inlet, I thought I might be dreaming. The queen, the most beautiful girl in all of creation, gave me her mouth so freely. Let me kiss it, put my tongue so deep inside of it, I could taste her pretty whimpers. I could have…she would have let me put my cock inside of her, had I not slowed things down. And I really need to pull my head out of my ass.

  You cannot fuck the queen of Downsriver.

  She is in a vulnerable place. That’s all this is. She needed comfort after the death of her parents and I was there to provide it. Tomorrow, a couple of well-groomed, normal-sized princes will come swaggering into the palace and she’ll forget all about the fat guard.

  My heart drops from my throat to the bottom of my stomach.

  Ah Jesus, I’m in love with her.

  I knew it already, didn’t I? But now I know she’s selfless and sweet, on top of being gorgeous. She also has a good sense of humor, a sense of adventure. And a pussy that could make a man cry at his luck. Seriously, I almost did shed a tear when I saw the soft, little petals shielding such a delicious shade of virginal pink.

  How am I going to keep from driving my sword through the heart of the man who puts a ring on her finger, thus earning the right to claim her?

  How will I fucking stand it?

  I need to remind myself of one thing.

  It’s not like I, Rexington Monroe, might have a chance with Queen Britta if she doesn’t marry a prince. The whole idea is laughable. I should have a sword driven clean through my chest for even thinking such a thing. Britta
deserves someone who was born to rule. Someone worthy of her status. Someone better looking, for godsakes.

  My legs feel like lead weights as I guide Britta up the back staircase. I’m going to leave her alone in her room and think about what I’ve done. I’m certainly not going to think about the fact that she ordered me to have an orgasm—and I loved it. That I craved being ordered about by the little queen. I’m not going to think about it for the next seventy years straight. Seriously.

  We reach the hallway where the queen’s bedchamber is located, both of us stopping short. Up ahead, there is a guard pacing, looking confused.

  “Oi,” he calls, deflating a little. “There you are, Monroe. I’m guarding the queen tonight or didn’t you remember?”

  The queen steps out from behind me and the guard stumbles back, slapping a hand over his heart and bowing. “My deepest apologies, Your Majesty, I didn’t see you there.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Britta says lightly, though there is a line forming between her brows. “What do you mean you’re guarding me tonight?”

  “Those were my orders, Your Majesty. Monroe has the night off.”

  She blinks up at me.

  For a moment, I’m confused as she is. And then I remember the date in a nauseating rush. “Damn. I forgot. It’s Priscilla, my youngest sister’s, sixteenth birthday. I asked for leave from duty for the night. Weeks ago.”

  This timing is easily the worst in history.

  One does not simply give the queen an orgasm and vanish for the night.

  Again, I live with five sisters and Britta’s shifting expressions are telling me everything I need to know. She knows it’s ridiculous to feel abandoned, but she feels it nonetheless. Her chin comes up bravely, but she’s looking past my shoulder. Trying not to let her emotions get the best of her. And lord, I’m so in love with her, it’s excruciating. “Of course. You have to go. Sixteen is a very important birthday for a girl.” She glances toward my replacement, back at me. “Have a lovely time, Mister Monroe, and please send my regards.”

  Oh now I just want to follow her into that bedchamber and lick between her legs until she stops speaking to me so formally. She knows her prim goodbye is going to drive me crazy, too, doesn’t she? I’m supposed to serve her. I crave the privilege of serving her. So when she gives me a small smile and closes herself inside the room, I want to roar in frustration.

  “Are you off, then?” the guard asks, casually, no sense of the undercurrents between me and the queen, thankfully. “Anything I should know?”

  “Yeah. If you set foot inside that room, I’ll fucking kill you.”

  He scoffs. “I wouldn’t dare. Do you think I fancy a trip to the gallows?”

  No. Obviously not.

  Apparently I’m planning a trip there, however, because I’m definitely considering sneaking the queen out of the palace, so I can bring her to my sister’s birthday party.

  It is a terrible idea.

  Terrible.

  For one, I’d be putting her in danger. Sure, I would never let harm come to Britta. Not while I’m breathing. But I doubt the palace advisors or the people of Downsriver would see it that way, if we were caught. They would only see me bringing her outside the palace walls, to a place where she could be vulnerable to people who disagree with the decisions of her parents. Or citizens who are simply overzealous in their affection. Men who might try—

  Nope.

  Can’t even think about.

  I’m not doing this.

  What was I thinking? Bringing a queen to the modest, thatch-roofed home where I grew up? It smells of cow shit half the time. And my sisters… My God, they would drive her daft with questions about dresses and other nonsense.

  No. Not happening.

  Not sneaking the queen out to a party, like someone with a death wish.

  With that settled, I nod and descend the stone steps…but I pause halfway down.

  A party would go a long way toward brightening Britta’s spirits. Doesn’t she deserve that? And the possibility that she might be feeling abandoned is eating me alive. I’ve only been her personal guard for a matter of hours and now I’m skipping out on my duty?

  I shove a hand through my hair, let a breath seep out.

  Well, if I’m going to sneak her out, I’ll have to be crafty about it.

  I take a moment to think, then climb the stairs once more. When I reach the top, my replacement guard does a double-take. “Back so soon? Must have been a shite party.”

  “They’re giving out free beer in the courtyard.”

  “What?” He shoves off the wall. “Cover my post a tick. I’ll be right back.”

  Off he runs.

  Well that was easy.

  Making a mental note to make sure such an idiot is never put in place to guard Britta again, I knock lightly on the door.

  Britta opens it a few seconds later, her long, black hair loose around her shoulders, having been taken out of its bun. She’s so beautiful, her face kissed with candlelight, I have to clear my throat before I can speak. Was I really allowed to perform cunnilingus on this angel? “I, um…” I have to cough again. “Well, this is probably a horrible idea, but I got to wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming to the party with me. You can just say no—”

  “You’re inviting me to the party?” she breathes, eyes shooting wide.

  I rub at the back of my neck. “Yes.”

  “Oh, I would love to come. Yes, please.” She retreats into the room, turns in a circle. “I don’t have a gift.”

  “I reckon the queen showing up will be gift enough.”

  She nods, gracing me with a smile that very nearly kills me.

  For a moment, we just stare at each other. I could go on staring at her all night, but I hear footsteps jogging closer from the opposite end of the hall. “If we’re going to go, love, we have to move fast. Do you have something to cover your head?”

  “Yes.” Britta races back into the room a moment, then returns, a shawl over one arm.

  She puts her hand in mine trustingly, but I don’t take the time to let that blow my mind—I’m holding Britta’s hand—because we have to move. She presses her free hand over her mouth on our flight down the stairs to suppress her giggles, and I can’t help but chuckle, too. At the bottom of the stairs, I signal for her to remain inside the entrance while I check for witnesses, then I’m pulling her out into the night behind me.

  The stables aren’t far from the palace, and in no time, I have Britta behind me on my horse, her slim arms barely making it halfway around my waist to hold on. I try not to dwell on that as we ride through the palace grounds, Britta huddled against my back with the shawl draped over her head and hiding her face. Several perimeter guards eye the woman behind me, but say nothing, probably assuming she’s another member of the staff. It’s not unusual for guards to bring women home for a tumble, though I’ve never done so. Hopefully they’re not keeping track.

  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 f
or 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.”