Queen Sized

by Kane, Jessa

  What I’m asking her to do goes against all of that, doesn’t it?

  I lift the heavy gold crown off my head so I can rake agitated fingers through my hair.

  And I force myself to remember the pain a marriage can bring.

  How I sat in the dark night after night, unfed and on the verge of freezing to death, vowing I would never allow someone the weapon of matrimony to use against me. I can’t be changing my mind after only one day of knowing this woman. I can’t. I’ve lived with this vow my entire life. To relinquish a promise to oneself to easily is without honor, isn’t it?

  Gwen reaches the top of the hill, although she has fallen to last place in order to help her friend, and soldiers rush forward to remove the buckets from her shoulders, along with those of the other woman, who immediately throws her arms around Gwen’s neck and holds tight. I feel a kinship with Gwen that cannot be described with mere words when she hesitantly pats the woman on the back, uncomfortable with the display of emotion.

  I begin to approach Gwen when I notice something that causes alarm to pulse in my chest. The king of Lavere is watching Gwen closely. Far too closely.

  Thoughtfully, as well.

  Jealousy rips through me like a juggernaut, turning every soft emotion that has been plaguing me during the competition and flipping them upside down. A roar pulls at my vocal cords, demanding to be let free, but I swallow it when Gwen sails right past the other king without so much as a curtsy, not even noticing his attempt to engage her with a smile. That alone saves this entire valley from being ripped to shreds by my bare hands, but I’m still overcome by possessiveness. The need to have her to myself, away from all these eyes, underneath me, is fierce and won’t be ignored.

  Gwen’s step slows a little when she sees her two sisters in front of me, but she continues to approach, hand in hand with the fair-haired woman. That’s when the children all start talking at once in a chorus of high-pitched voices.

  “Gwen, can we go to their tent and play?”

  “Yes, please, Gwen? Can we?”

  “Now, we’re not going to impose—”

  “Oh it wouldn’t be imposing,” the fair-haired woman rushes to say. “No, it would be the least I could do to entertain them for a while after everything you’ve done for me and my family. And goodness knows you deserve a rest.”

  Gwen’s gaze drifts to mine and I let her know, without words, that she’s not going to get any sort of rest. I also let her know that she’s coming with me, come hell or high water, and her pink cheeks and glassy eyes tell me the message has been received, loud and clear.

  “Just for a little while, then,” she says breathily.

  7

  Gwen

  Corbet glowers at a group of soldiers as they pass, stepping closer to me as if claiming his property. “Do you have to walk right beside me the whole way to the tent?” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth, earning me the same grumpy glower. “Everyone is going to think there’s something going on between us.”

  “There is something going on between us,” he growls.

  “I’ve agreed to a conversation.” I regard him warily. “Unless that’s some kind of code for…relations.”

  “Just hearing you talk that way makes me stiff.” He doesn’t seem at all bothered by my scandalized gasp. “There will be a conversation, yes. An important one. But you know damn well what else is going to happen in my tent, woman. I’ve told you in plain detail. And still you follow me there. We’ve been honest with each other all along. Let’s not start lying now.”

  The king has me there. His words echoed stubbornly in the back of my mind all throughout the water carrying competition.

  This sugary little cunt belongs to the fucking king and the king means to have it.

  I can still feel his mouth moving over mine in that starving barbarian manner and there is no sense in pretending to myself that I don’t love what Corbet stirs in me physically. I’ve never paid a lot of attention to my sexual urges, mainly because the farm work tires me out to the point that I collapse with exhaustion at the end of every day. But they’ve been awoken quite dramatically since last night. Since the king used his tongue between my thighs and conquered my mouth so boldly.

  Perhaps I am lying when I pretend as if a conversation is all that will take place in the king’s tent. Perhaps I ache to be the recipient of his hunger again.

  When the dust settles at the auction tonight, the final event of the Joining, I might end up betrothed to someone who doesn’t attract me like Corbet does.

  In fact, finding a man who arouses me so insistently would be impossible. I’ve seen the offerings in the crowd at each competition and I’m more likely to loathe whoever I end up with, but at least my sisters will be cared for and we can keep the farm.

  My trepidation over a lifetime with someone who doesn’t excite my body might actually be the reason I’m allowing myself to be guided to Corbet’s tent.

  There, I admitted it.

  If I’m going to resign myself to a life of sharing a bed with someone far less dynamic than this warrior king, maybe I’ll be able to keep myself warm with a memory of one evening together. Every time I see this man, my heart gallops like an untamed stallion and I can’t find it in me to simply ignore that. I’m rarely selfish, but tonight I will be.

  To a point.

  I have to keep my virginity intact.

  A woman must be a widow or an untouched maiden to take part in the auction. The rules are what they are and I have to abide by them to gain a husband. To keep the farm.

  When we reach Corbet’s tent, I can’t help but marvel.

  It’s four times the size of the one I’m sharing with my sisters and outfitted with the finest rugs and furs. Lanterns flicker in the waning light, casting a wavering glow against the walls of the tent. A pallet bed, fit for a king, has been arranged in the corner of the tent and it looks more comfortable than my own bed at home, thick with linens and furs.

  It’s a seductive ambiance, intimate and dreamy, so I feel the need to remind myself of my ultimate goal at the Joining. Just so I keep my head and don’t lose myself to the romantic atmosphere surrounding us.

  “I, um…I saw that my sisters were sitting near you. Your ears must have been ringing after a while. They tend to chatter.”

  “I didn’t mind the chatter.” He pauses in the act of circling the tent, seeming puzzled by his own thoughts. “Actually, I kind of enjoyed listening to them. The older one is kind of a miniature mother to the little one. And that tiny thing, well she just swings wildly between emotions, doesn’t she? One minute, she’s about to cry and then she’s laughing like a loon.” He shakes his head. “Are all children like this?”

  “No. Viola and Sadie are special. But I suspect everyone thinks that about the children in their family.” A smile threatens the corners of my lips. “You were really paying attention.”

  He seems almost embarrassed to be caught giving a damn. “Well. They were a good distraction, anyway.”

  “From what?”

  “Wanting to beat the living shit out of whoever invented that competition.”

  I can’t contain a giggle. “I’m not too fond of it myself.”

  “Then consider it gone,” he says, looking me in the eye. “I’m ending it for good, starting at the next Joining.”

  Is there something caught in my throat? I can’t seem to swallow properly. And it’s not just his actions, it’s his passion and directness. This man…I really like him. He’s a king of conviction. A lion among sheep. When I first met him, I thought he was all roar, no bite, but that notion was quickly flattened, building my confidence in him right on top of it. “You would really just eliminate the auction events? They’re tradition.”

  “I’d like to eliminate the whole auction, but…” He rubs at the back of his neck, starting to pace again. “These women who are in trouble. I worry what they would do without the chance to strengthen their family through marriage.”

  “Women
like me.”

  He heaves a frustrated sigh that seems to come straight from his soul. “Let me take care of you, Gwen.” His blue-gray eyes burn into mine. “You and your sisters will never want for anything.”

  He’s wrong. We’ll want for respectability.

  A stable commitment, written in ink.

  But I’ve already expressed this to Corbet and I’m not going to do it again. It’s pointless.

  Besides…my heart is involved now. It’s starting to really hurt that this man will let me go instead of offering me marriage. If I open my mouth, I’m afraid my feelings will pour out and I’ll be exposed in a way I usually avoid at all costs.

  My silence draws Corbet forward and my pulse starts to rap steadily in my veins, anticipating his touch, but instead of pleasure when he places a hand on my shoulder, pain lances down my spine. “Oh. Ouch.”

  Corbet sucks in a breath, his panicked gaze darting over my person. “Gwen? What’s the matter?”

  “It’s nothing. I’m just a little sore from carrying all that weight.” I rub the spot where he touched, wincing slightly at the rippling ache. “Farm work rarely leaves me sore, it must have been the odd placement of the rod…”

  “Or the fact that you placed someone’s success above your own wellbeing. Goddammit, Gwen.” The king’s chest heaves once, twice, his fist mashing to his forehead. “Having you in pain makes me feel sick.”

  “It’ll be better in the morning.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I need it better now.”

  “But…” I don’t bother to hide my confusion. “It’s my pain, not yours.”

  He’s rubbing at the front of his throat. “It doesn’t seem to matter,” he says hoarsely, circling around behind me. “Lie down on my bed. I have some salve I can apply—”

  “Oh no. I’ve heard of this trick—” His thumb rakes up my spine and digs into the nape of my neck, massaging in a figure eight pattern, and bliss pours through my limbs in the form of tingles and contentment. “Oh my lord. Oh my lord, that feels so good.”

  He continues to perform this sorcery with his fingers as he walks me toward the bed—and I can do nothing but go, putting one foot in front of the other, well aware that I’m probably heading for my doom. The king’s bed is not a good place to remember my resolve to fix my family’s problem. Especially when he is working on a decade of knots with rakes of his knuckles and twists of his fists.

  “Lay down,” he breathes in my ear. “I’ll get the salve.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, as if in a trance.

  Oh God, the bed is so comfortable, too.

  I fall straight into it face-down and curl my hands beneath a pillow, sighing happily.

  I can’t even remember the last time I laid down anywhere without having to clean the house and corral two young girls first. “This is a seduction,” I complain, cracking an eyelid—

  And I find the king shirtless.

  Somewhere in my brain, there is a protest or an admonishment rattling around, but I can’t seem to make it come out of my mouth. Simply because…my tongue is in a knot.

  I don’t know where to look.

  His powerful chest appears harder than steel, all molded brawn and red scars. His pectorals are broad and dappled with black hair that grows thicker on its way down his stomach—and oh, what a stomach it is. Slabs of stone shifting beneath swarthy skin, veins intersecting and racing each other into his waistband. Toward the rigid jut of his arousal where it curves out, stretching breeches that are already having a hell of a time containing his monstrous thighs.

  “You, um…” I lick my dry lips. “You don’t seem all that upset about my pain anymore.”

  His eyes darken. “Ah woman, I am. If we were in battle and not a civil gathering, I would have ripped the throats of my opponents out for doing you harm.” Holding a small, clear bottle in one hand, he reaches down and adjusts his manhood with the other. “If you’re referring to this hard cock, my anger on your behalf only makes it swell, eager to distract you from your pain.”

  “No need for that,” I breathe shakily, my knees drawing together. “The salve will do.”

  Corbet hums, his stride confident and unhurried on the way to the bed. I close my eyes when the bedding sinks down with his weight, my heart pounding wildly. What is he going to do? I receive my answer when the king tugs my blouse free of my skirt, revealing the small of my back, groaning while sliding the garment up to my shoulders. On instinct, I try to roll onto my back to hide my bare flesh, but Corbet leans down and speaks beside my ear before I can move. “Stay still, woman, and let me touch.”

  “No man has seen beneath my clothes.”

  “Good,” he grits out, a single one of his fingertips trailing down my lower spine. “None of them were worthy of this perfection.”

  “And you are?”

  “No.” He continues to push up my blouse, higher and higher until I have no choice but to lift my head, allowing him to remove it completely. “But I’m willing to work until I am.”

  Corbet takes my hair in his fist and brings it to one side, leaving me untouched for a moment during which I hear the uncorking of the bottle, liquid meeting flesh and palms rubbing together. When those warm palms meet the tension of my shoulders, thumbs digging in gently, then harder, harder, I moan into the pillow, euphoria cascading from the crown of my head, all the way down to my toes.

  I’ve never been tended to like this. Or in any way.

  The exhaustion of my muscles is something I’ve learned to live with, but with every twist of the king’s fists, I know I’ll notice it forevermore. Because for these precious few moments, I’m without any worry or any tension. There is only pleasure, coming from this man’s spectacular touch, and I only want more. I want so much more, which is why I don’t protest when he unwinds the cloth that binds my breasts and tosses it to the ground, giving him access to more of my back, his fingers not hesitating to travel over those new regions, unburdening them of stress and aches.

  “Tell me you’re better,” he demands, laying a kiss in the center of my spine.

  “I’m so much better.”

  His exhale bathes my back. “Thank God.”

  The massage continues for another few moments, the air in the tent changing slowly, but drastically. His hands go from healing to exploring, his fingers delving into the back waistband of my skirt, dipping into the crease of my backside. Feeling more desirable than I ever have in my life, I can’t stem my eagerness for more. Can’t stop my whimper when Corbet settles his lap against the curve of my buttocks, that hard bulge separating my cheeks with a slow, insistent grind, every subsequent move of his hips succeeding in lifting my skirt a little higher, a little higher, until the hem is at my knees and he’s still pumping.

  “Sweet Gwen,” rasps the king, his thumb still digging the pain free of my neck, his mouth hot and gravelly in my hair. “This perfectly rounded ass of yours is my true throne. Feel what the gorgeous shape of it does to my cock. I’m thick and dripping, woman.”

  “It’s plump,” I gasp for no reason, because apparently my brain is addled by his words.

  “It’s ripe. And sweet. And generous.” His right hand scoops beneath my body to handle my breast, that mouth of his tracing down to the side of my neck and licking, biting, exhaling his pleasure all over me. “Just like these perfectly juicy tits. All of you, every single inch, drives me mad. My dick has never been this hard in my fucking life. And you came here to take it between your thighs, didn’t you?”

  His teeth nick my skin and I cry out. “N-no.”

  “No?”

  He reels my skirt higher, and though I put up a token struggle, the garment ends up at my waist and I find myself arching my back, hungry for his attention on my naked bottom and thighs. I’m breathless with the back-to-back thrills he’s delivering, his teeth razing my shoulder and neck, his magical massaging fingers, the delicious weight of him bearing down—and now his hips curving to my bare backside and rutting me through his br
eeches.

  “I’ve only to unlace my pants now, Gwen,” he groans in my ear. “One move and you’ll be full of me. You want it as badly as I do.”

  Of course he’s right. I’m pushing myself up to meet his thrusts, our combined efforts creating obscene friction of his clothed erection against that forbidden part of me. I’ve never once considered a man might want to put himself there, but there’s no question in my mind that Corbet would put himself anywhere he desired. Even there.

  Before I can guess his intention, Corbet yanks me up onto my knees and buries his face into the place he’s been humping me, dragging his grunting mouth over my rear entrance, laving it worshipfully with his tongue. “Virgin pussy and ass, mine for the taking,” he growls, his voice muffled. “I could take you as hard as I need and these beautiful thighs would remain good and steady, wouldn’t they, you fucking treasure?”

  I never thought I was the kind of woman who could be seduced. The kind of person who could put aside their common sense for the sake of a moment’s pleasure. But apparently it only takes the right person and all good intentions cease to exist. I’m being run over by the kind of lust that’s only whispered about, boldness taking hold of my tongue. “No,” I whimper when his tongue presses to my hole. “You wouldn’t have to be easy with me, Your Majesty.”

  Corbet stills. “I wouldn’t? Or I won’t?”

  “You wouldn’t. If we were to make love, which we’re not.”

  In a flash, the king is on top of me, flattening me to the bed. “Do you tease me, woman?” His mouth is on my cheek, his knee nudging my thighs open wide. So wide. Baring my womanhood to the air. And I can tell by the movements of his hand that he’s untying his breeches. There’s an undeniable clench of excitement inside of me, even as my mind issues a denial. Too far. We’re going too far. “Are you telling me you don’t want this?”

  He grinds his shaft up against my folds, sliding the thickness of it back and forth, journeying over my throbbing bundle of nerves and my greedy opening, which suddenly feels empty, so empty without him. “I…I…”