Sold to the King

by Falcone, Carmen

  “Because you care.”

  She kissed him, and he responded with more passion than she’d intended. A small act of kindness transformed into a raging fire. Arousal flowed through her, sizzling her insides and putting her hormones to the test. She encircled her arms around him, loving how he explored her mouth, stroking her tongue with fierce passion, nipping her lower lip with a possessiveness that turned her on beyond measure.

  He lowered her onto the mattress, and when prompted, she stretched out her arms so he could remove her shirt. She touched his jeans, helping him pull them down along with the boxers. He dipped his head to kiss her again, but she stopped him and took off his shirt, wanting—needing—the skin-to-skin contact.

  “Isabela, you drive me crazy.” He groaned.

  She licked his neck, reveling in the salty taste of his flesh. He shivered slightly, probably as aroused as she.

  She removed her bra, and her breasts spilled into view. A wonderful hot tingle stirred behind her nipples, with the same urgency driving the rest of her. Nassor leaned down, eager to lap at her tits, cupping them together and kissing them, massaging them, making thrills of awareness drill through her. “So good.”

  When he focused on one breast, she sighed. He sucked it, alternating between little nips and licks at the tightening bud. Moaning, she touched his hair, caressing his scalp. “Nassor…”

  He caught her nipple between his teeth, grazing it, slowly teasing her. God, for how much longer would this go on? Heat liquefied in her cunt. Growling, he slid his hand down to her pussy, and she melted the moment he inserted three fingers inside. A long, drawn-out moan escaped her lips. “Your cunt is so wet, Izzy.”

  She arched toward him, desperate to give all of herself to him, to surrender in a way she’d never thought possible.

  “I’ll fuck you, but I need to eat your pussy first,” he said, lowering himself down on her until he positioned his head between her thighs.

  He gave her pussy an openmouthed kiss, and little tingles traveled upward, searing every cell all the way to her brain. She closed her eyes, but opened them with a start when he flipped her on her belly, then lifted her ass up in the air.

  She pressed the side of her face onto the pillow. Was he going to thrust into her already? He nudged her thighs open and kissed the back of her leg, tracing a sinful path with his tongue all the way to her butt.

  Hmm. He has other plans.

  He nipped her ass, and a shot of arousal bolted through her. She clasped the pillow.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m finally giving attention to your severely neglected ass,” he said, then palmed a good size of her flesh, massaging in a circular motion. Unable to stay still, she bucked up her hips, grinding them into his hands, needing more.

  He grazed his teeth on the curve of her ass, sliding into the area between her thighs. A flutter raced down her pulse. When he continued his exploration, aiming lower still, she hissed. “Relax, baby. I want to kiss every part of you.”

  She inhaled and exhaled, trusting him to show her another route to Pleasureville. He began licking, tracing the rim of her hole with the tip of his tongue. A jolt of excitement coursed through her and she almost jerked, but he pressed his hand on the small of her back, pinning her. He swept his other hand around and touched her pussy from the front.

  When he thrust his fingers into her pussy, she whimpered. Her womanly essence drenched her folds and dripped down her thighs. He let out a hmm while shamelessly eating her ass, telling her how much he enjoyed doing so.

  Little dots dimmed her vision, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. “Nassor…” she choked out. “God, this is so good.”

  “It’s about to get better, sweetheart.”

  He began thrusting his fingers in and out of her pussy, each time deeper, with less finesse. He devoured her ass, burying his head between her cheeks, and slipping his tongue inside her hole. At first, she didn’t know what make of it, but then she relaxed her shoulders, welcoming the shivers rolling down her spine. When he added one finger into her back entrance, her first instinct was to clench her legs and push him out, but he didn’t retreat. But soon, he withdrew his finger and slammed it inside again, sending dozens of tingles up her body.

  Maybe it was the friction. Maybe she needed to be fucked in any way. Soon, pleasure began to burn in the pit of her stomach, and he continued to tease her, increasing the intensity of his plunges into her cunt, all the way to the hilt, and simultaneously finger fucking her ass. Moans escaped from her lips and shifted into raw, pained, sexy sounds slicing the air.

  An orgasm thundered through her, sizzling her insides, and she quivered, her throat sore from her moans. Sweat covered her face, and it took her several seconds to come back to reality and glance around the room, still panting from the post-sex daze.

  “Turn around,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

  She flushed. “I don’t think I can move.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  He turned her around, shifting her to a sitting position. Her blood rushed as she moved, the intensity from what he’d just done still tingling through her.

  Primal desire gleamed in his eyes, and she caught her breath in her throat. He joined her on the bed, sitting, then placed her on top of him, legs crossed around his waist. Even in this position, he was still taller than her, and she had to slightly look up at him.

  He put the tip of his cock at the entrance of her cunt. “Look at us,” he demanded, and she glanced down. Seeing him tease her folds, rubbing his thick head against her wet heat instantly aroused her again. “I love fucking you, Izzy.”

  He groaned and pulled her to him in an airtight hug. An invisible blanket of warmth and intimacy surrounded them, as if they’d done this thousands of times before. Lust reignited with a vengeance, and she rode him, welcoming his thrusts. He placed his hand on her back, bringing her closer, and she clenched her legs tighter around him. Encircling his head with her hands, she used their molding to each other to learn more about her own pleasure.

  She clenched her inner walls, clinging to every inch of him, and in response, the veins around his cock vibrated against her flesh. She could feel the rush of blood pounding through them. God, yes.

  She swayed her hips, learning how a small change in angle led to a deeper penetration. Curious, she moved faster, then slowed down, each time studying his face. His features hardened a bit, like he was doing his best to control his own release. “Move with me,” she said. He’d given her the chance to control every aspect of this bit, but somehow, she needed him.

  He held her waist and plunged into her with quick, hard thrusts. With her heart pounding in her ears, she matched his pace, and together they continued the erotic dance, the bed creaking under them.

  He lowered his hand and flicked her clit, renewing the sizzling reaction, and it didn’t take much for her to let go and explode again. This time, pleasure rocketed through her fast, short-circuiting her insides and making her tremble.

  Growling, he retreated his cock and drove inside her one more time—filling her up with his cum. She rested her head on his shoulder, the plastering to his body making her feel the frenetic drum of his heartbeat against hers.

  “Is it always like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re lost and found at the same time.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I wouldn’t know. That’s the first time I felt like that too.”

  Chapter Nine

  One week later…

  “Your Majesty,” the head of security said, after Guban closed the door behind him.

  Nassor stood, gesturing for John Williams to sit across his desk. The man was a British national who’d worked for his uncle for two decades, and one of the few advisers Nassor had chosen to keep as his own.

  He’d let many of them go, in
cluding Rasheed, and had begun the process of interviewing and hiring. His approval ratings had increased, which showed the people wanted change. “Thank you for getting back to me.”

  A week prior, he’d asked John to look into the man who could have persuaded Mary Roberts to visit Gwokon.

  “Thank you for trusting me, sir.” John sat in front of him, holding a manila folder. “Don’t worry, I did as you asked—searched everything myself and didn’t involve anyone in this assignment.”

  “Excellent. Any news?”

  “Yes. Obasi Akenzua is fifty-seven years old, a Sunday churchgoer known for his discreet yet charming personality. He was married for twenty years, and has one child in college. He got divorced last year, and soon afterward he joined an online dating site.”

  He took a couple of pictures out of the envelope and showed them to him, along with a sheet of paper with the man’s information on it. Nassor lifted the picture. A man who looked good for his age, with the hint of a smile as he looked on. Must have been a picture for a professional badge or official ID. “Where is he?”

  “About a year ago he sold his home and went to live in the south. Japor.”

  Japor. The town bordered other African countries and was hard to get to, located in the middle of a primitive forest and near a reservation park. Why the hell had he gone there? And exactly the time after Mary’s death. “What else do you have on him?”

  John pointed at the other documents, statements from the bank. “Ever since his divorce, he’s been in debt. He needed money.”

  “Why would he try to get it from Mary Roberts? She was a middle-class American tourist. I doubt she had the means to pay his debt,” he said, making a mental note to ask Izzy about it.

  “Because maybe he thought she had some. Talked to her online, saw her home, and decided to have her come here. If he went back to the U.S. with her, he could marry her and leave his debt behind.”

  Nassor rubbed his chin. “I want you to bring Obasi to me. I need to question him in person,” he said. Because of the remote location of that city, the strenuous trip there would take a few days. He’d give John permission to use a royal jet, but once they arrived at the forest, they had to leave the bird behind and hike into town. Now that he was king, he couldn’t be away for that many days without alarming people.

  “Will do, Your Majesty.”

  “Thank you. As soon as you have him, text or call.” Since the king was the highest authority, anyone who had been summoned for questioning by the king would have to show up. No questions asked. “Don’t tell him what it’s about, I don’t want him coming up with several different strategies.”

  “Of course.”

  John stood and, with a small bow, left the room.

  Guban knocked on the door and entered the office. “Don’t forget about the museum charity event, sir.”

  Nassor sighed. He’d forgotten about tonight’s ball. To raise money for their upcoming art center, The Gwokon Museum of National History was giving a lavish ball. He had been able to decline many invitations, otherwise he wouldn’t get shit done. But this one was different—his presence at the ball would give the cause more exposure, therefore, more money.

  He was too busy trying to fix healthcare and better the economy to worry about the arts, so the fact someone else wanted to do it was great.

  “Of course. Be sure to get an invitation to Ms. Lima.” She’d appreciate the event at the museum. Maybe he’d sneak away from his duties and actually enjoy himself with Izzy.

  Thankfully, cameras were allowed on the red carpet before the event but not inside.

  Guban tugged at the collar of his gray shirt. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I haven’t invited Ms. Lima because your mother specifically asked me not to.”

  “She did, did she?”

  “She said it would be an event more appropriate for locals due to the notoriety of the guests, and she’d hate for Ms. Lima to feel out of place.”

  Frustration hit him like an old-fashioned gong, each time causing waves to reverberate through him. If his mother thought she could meddle in his affairs, she was dead wrong. First, introducing him to Morowa Peete when he’d specifically told her he didn’t want any matchmaking until after Izzy left. And now…this. He had to send his mother a clear signal she wouldn’t control any aspect of his life. He’d indulged her, maybe because a part of him understood she wanted to be cherished again. To fit in. Not at my expense. “I can’t think of anything else she’d hate more.”

  Guban nodded.

  “There’s been a change in plans, though. See to it that the stylist goes to Ms. Lima’s room immediately and gets her ready for tonight. She’s coming with me as my guest.”

  “Your guest? Your Majesty, if I may, people will—”

  “You may not.”

  Color drained from his face. Guban shot him a tremulous smile. “Certainly, Your Highness.”

  “Good. Call her room for me.”

  “I would, but you have a web conference with the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom in about ten minutes.”

  That meant he couldn’t tell her his findings about the man. He was sure that conversation would take much more than ten minutes. He’d have to wait until he saw her for the party.

  …

  Izzy looked at her reflection in the mirror.

  Less than an hour earlier, the royal fashion stylist had marched into her room accompanied by a high-maintenance hairdresser and a third person whose job title Izzy still didn’t know.

  The trio made her try on four different dresses and were quick to choose the winning gown she now smoothed her hands over—a deep forest-green dress that draped her body like a second skin. They’d paired it with a golden clutch that sparkled every time she touched it, and matching high-heeled shoes Izzy barely managed to balance on.

  All she’d gotten from Nassor had been a text about getting ready for a party. God, how could he commit to a bunch of wives when he had not enough time for one bought lover? Why do I care?

  Because he’d kept his word. He’d helped her, gave her time on his first official day as king and visited that B&B with her. The words from him still echoed in her ears. He hadn’t felt like this before. She bit her tongue, even though the idea was in her mind and not her voice. Maybe he said those things to every woman—part of his bedroom skills. Pillow talk.

  A knock on the door made her jump, yanking her from her musing. Another short knock followed, and a jolt of excitement moved through her. She’d come to recognize the way he knocked on her door, those two short and precise thumps automatically putting a smile on her face.

  She opened the door.

  Lord have mercy.

  Shivers of desire raced down her spine. Wearing a crisp all-black tux, including the modern bow tie, he looked good enough to feast on right now. A lascivious smile formed on his lips, the hint he might think the same about her.

  “Good evening, Your Highness,” she said. A few feet from him, his assistant spoke into a sleek earpiece, probably arranging for them to make their way out of the wing and the castle. Surely, they wouldn’t arrive in the same car. That’d be too carefree and inappropriate. “I didn’t know you’d make it all the way here.”

  “You’re my guest tonight,” he said, stretching out his hand.

  She angled closer, tilting her head to the side. Had she heard him correctly? A guest? The last night she’d been a guest had meant staying mum for hours and sticking out like a sore thumb at a party where she didn’t belong. Why did he talk like it’d be different tonight? “Yes, I was also a guest at the coronation. I’m a guest at the castle and everywhere I go.”

  A flash of amusement gleamed in his eyes. “You’re going with me. In the same car.”

  “Why? Are the paparazzi on strike? Are we going to some sort of underground secret society meeting?” Why else would he want to
take her along, hell, arrive with her?

  He took her hand in his, kissing her knuckles. “It’s a gala dinner at the National Museum. You’ll have access to all the paintings and a private tour.”

  “This isn’t fair. You’re dangling a carrot in front of me.”

  “The carrot is located not far from here, my sweetheart. There’s not much dangling.”

  “What if people discover my identity?”

  “They won’t. We’ll go in, and I’ve given Guban a fake name in case someone asks. They can look for you online under a name like Jane Smith, and that’s it. Won’t find you and move on.”

  Why would they move on? Because I’m not sticking around. The white woman from America isn’t staying for good—and people knew that. The realization caused the knotting sensation in her chest to move throughout her body. Her dress felt tighter. “Sounds good. Shall we go?”

  “I love this dress,” he said the moment the driver lifted the partition. A chilled bottle of champagne sat in the silver bucket. He touched the soft fabric, mesmerized by the material.

  She fixed her décolletage, her naughty nipples already puckering against the material. She’d forgone a bra, and the rich fabric didn’t outline her breasts as other unforgiving clothes might. But now, she didn’t need to glance down to feel her breasts straining and shaping themselves. “I could have used a shawl,” she said out loud.

  He watched her, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. He hadn’t made a single compliment about the way she looked ever since they’d left her room and the castle a few minutes ago. All the praise she needed flickered in his eyes, and she sucked in her breath, scooting back in her seat.

  “Having you arrive aroused at the event could make people think you’re not just a diplomat from the United States, but a real threat to our country.” He brought her onto his lap with one quick movement, and she put each leg on his side.

  “I’d hate to make people uncomfortable,” she said, her chest rising and falling from her shallow breaths.

  “You’re making me very uncomfortable right now.” He traced his index finger along her jaw, sliding it down her neck until he pressed into her main vein, which throbbed in response. “Taking care of this problem will benefit us both.”