by Brenna Lyons
He watched her pleasure him, his breathing going ragged in his need to come, his body moving with her. Finally, his eyes closed again.
Silently, slowly, Sira eased her sleeping gown higher. Matthew’s panting and his grimace announced how close to the edge he was. It was time.
She eased his cock back slightly and encased the head and first finger-width of his shaft inside her. Matthew cried out harshly, coming up off of his back so that he was nearly face-to-face with her. The motion forced more of his cock into her, and he went still, his eyes half-closed in pleasure, his muscles bunching.
“You shouldn’t,” he gasped out.
Sira paused, enjoying the stretch of her muscles around his cock. In answer, she pushed down further, moaning at the delicious sensation. “Goddess, yes, I should,” she breathed.
“Sira,” he reasoned.
She silenced him with a single motion, the slide of her sleeping gown up her body and off over her head. He stared at her, his cock bucking against her walls.
“You want to. You hunger to do this. Don’t you?” Sira tossed the sleeping gown away, noting that his eyes didn’t track it.
Matthew started to shake his head in a negative response, then stopped. “You know I do, but it’s too soon. You’re not healed.”
Sira answered by sliding further down his length. It was sweet torture.
“Does it hurt you?” he asked. “By the Goddess, tell me the truth.”
“A light ache and no more. Matthew, my body must adjust to you. All women do.”
He nodded, his jaw tight. “If it hurts you—”
“I promise to tell you.”
“Then take me in.”
Sira moved slowly, forcing his cock into her, stilling at the sharp little twinges where she had been torn the first time.
“It hurts you,” he accused. “It is too soon. We will wait—”
“No,” she panted out, easing back a bit and settling further. “Oh, yes. I’m going to take all of you.”
“If you can.”
“I can.” She didn’t question that it was true; she’d done it before. Instead, she slid back and down again.
Matthew’s hips jerked up, and he pulled back, a guilty look on his face. It was unacceptable.
“Again,” she pleaded.
“Sira—”
“Again, Matthew.”
His hips rose to meet her, and she moaned in delight.
He hesitated a moment, then thrust up again, assessing every expression, every movement. At his next rise, she pushed down onto him, smiling at the touch of his body that announced she’d very nearly taken him to the hilt.
“Deeper,” she urged him.
His cock bucked at her inner walls again. He breathed her name, bowing up from the bed to comply. He stayed there a long moment, his breath fanning hot and fast over her mouth.
Sira tipped her head to one side and tasted his lips. That kiss led to another and a third, each more involved than the last. She wrapped her hands in his hair, and his hips started to move, slowly at first, then gaining force as their kisses did likewise.
“Tell me,” he demanded at a break between them.
“This is what I want...what we both want.”
His mouth came at her, unrestrained. His body followed close in its wake.
Climax whispered, then roared through her, her scream muted against Matthew’s questing tongue. His cock erupted within her, stealing her breath.
He collapsed back to the pillows, dragging her along by virtue of her grip in his hair. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, and his arms circled her back, holding Sira to him in his most unguarded moments.
“Goddess, I have no control with you,” he berated himself.
She laughed. “Who said I want you to have control? If this is you lacking in it, I fully support the idea.”
Matthew turned over her, his eyes hard. Her heart rate jumped in alarm, then settled. This was Matthew...no drugs, no madness, the same man who’d refused his needs to give her ease and comfort...to allow her to heal.
“Like this, Sira?” There was a bite of something unforgiving in that. “Can you ever face the thought of me over you again?”
“How can you face me over you?” she countered. “The memories of—”
“The memories of what I did to you are worse...and better, which doesn’t help my sanity,” he admitted.
She tipped her hips up, watching his frustration and torture melt into something soft and dreamlike. “I can face you over me, because it’s you, Matthew.”
He buried his face in her hair. “I just want to hold you.”
A plan took shape. “For now.”
“And afterward?” he breathed in a voice that sounded of exhaustion.
“Do you still want me as your wife, Matthew?”
“Yes. By the Goddess, yes.” His hands closed on her waist lightly, holding to her as if to keep her from leaving him.
“Then I have a wife’s needs.”
He raised his head, his eyes hot in understanding.
“Will you sate them?”
His cock answered with a buck against her before he verbalized it. “Every one.”
Chapter Eight
Matthew glanced at Sira, then back to his work, his thoughts scattered. Having her spend time with him while he worked had seemed like a stellar idea, at the time. The reality was that her proximity made working impossible.
Sira questioned him with nothing more than his spoken name, probably taking note of his inattention to the matters he’d claimed a need to attend to and his fixation on her.
He set his pen aside and pushed his chair back. “Come here.”
Surprise and curiosity warred in her expression. She rose smoothly and crossed the room in a sensual glide he was sure she was unaware she possessed, coming to his side without pause.
Matthew drew her across his lap, smiling at her demure shiver. She blushed lightly.
“I have needs, Sira. Goddess but how I need you.” He’d avoided admitting that for days, focusing on her needs. Perhaps he’d been afraid that he’d know no control, that he would confuse wants and needs. There was no mistaking that this was a need that had been driving him all day, a need to have her close, a need to touch her.
Sira rose to him, seeking his mouth.
Yes. Goddess, this is wonderful.
There was nothing gentle about this joining, nothing careful. If Sira wanted him without control, there was little question she was going to get what she wanted.
Their mouths meshed, danced, parted, explored only to return and mesh again. Hands roamed, pulling at clothing, speeding them toward something hot and hard.
Matthew shoved his trousers down his hips, then her skirts to her waist. He turned her away, pressing her hands to the desktop, nipping at her neck as he dragged her panties down her thighs.
Sira didn’t question what he had in mind. She levered herself up, and he positioned his cock, then thrust into her. Her body sinking over his wrenched a moan from him. He guided her by a hold on her hips, taking what he needed, what he hoped they both needed.
A click brought his head up, and Matthew forced her hips down, locking her to his body. He pushed the chair as far under the desk as he could, taking their last heartbeat to soothe Sira’s fear.
The sight of his father striding around the door sent his heart into palpitations. Matthew swallowed down a growl of frustration; the king wasn’t someone he could simply order away.
Worse, he’d probably have something to say about the current situation. It wasn’t too late for him to disallow the contract between Matthew and Sira. Though his father didn’t openly oppose Matthew, he didn’t show favoritism either.
“Ah...Matthew. Here you are.” The old man hadn’t looked up from the file in his hands, and he was distracted.
Sira’s little movement of shock sent tremors down his cock that weren’t helping his aim to keep this scene as innocent-appearing as possible.
&nbs
p; Matthew bit back a groan of pleasure. “Yes, Father?”
Edward ambled to the bar and poured himself a whiskey. “I have to talk to you about...well, about the charges that were brought as a result of the Bride Ball.”
Sira sank further into his embrace, and Matthew wrapped his arms around her.
“Is it important?”
His father drained his drink and turned, nodding. His color dipped, and his gaze trailed up and down their bodies.
“Oh, Sirana. I didn’t know you were here. Would you excuse us for a moment?”
She stiffened in Matthew’s arms. His move to answer was cut off by the bite of her reply.
“If it has to do with that night, I think I should be included.”
Edward hemmed and hawed a moment. “If you insist, I suppose.”
“Perhaps we should—” Matthew began.
“You have some concern?” the old man inquired.
Yes! Matthew had several concerns, not the least of which was the urge to finish what they’d started. But how to put that one into words? He shook his head.
“If you’re sure, Sirana?”
“I am,” she replied.
Edward turned back to the fire, seemingly searching for a way to begin. “It’s not as neat as I wish it would be,” he admitted.
Matthew tensed at that pronouncement, his cock waning. “In what way?”
“Mora supplied the poison, but she fell victim to her own misadventure. In short—”
“She became a victim,” Matthew interrupted him. “More victim than assailant.”
He poured another whiskey. “Precisely, I’m afraid. She hadn’t used a significant amount of the drug in her bid to bed Benjamin. We can’t even prove she meant it as more than a prank.”
“So...Mora will walk free,” Sira guessed.
Edward swallowed the second drink. “I’m afraid anything more than a punitive slap of the law would be seen as a further hardship to her. She was fed more of the poison than you were yourself, Matthew. She had no more control over who she bedded and how than you did.”
“If I wasn’t responsible, she shouldn’t be either?” he guessed.
“That is what the Counselors believe,” he confirmed.
“But the others,” Sira managed. “Lodi and Nuay and the others? Surely, they have to pay for their crimes. They didn’t have to use the Gorus. They had no right to, and the second crime doesn’t make right the first.”
“Since the Counselors want Mora relieved of responsibility, holding the drinking mob responsible for what happened next, with a poison that seemed to their muddled minds the perfect solution at hand... If anyone is to be held responsible for what happened under the influence of a mind-altering substance, all will. If we excuse one, we excuse all.”
Matthew’s stomach dropped. “No one will pay for that night,” he breathed. “Not a single person will be held responsible.”
“If I hold them responsible—”
“Then hold me responsible,” he demanded. If it meant punishment for the others, he’d accept that.
“No!” Sira and Edward answered together.
His father continued. “It would do no good, Matthew. The Counselors would be faced with the same choice. Even if you walked into the proceedings, intent on facing punishment you don’t deserve, they would set you free and all the others with you.”
Fury burned in him. Matthew fumed at the decision that had been handed down.
Edward sighed. “I did my best to sway them. The best I could do was a series of new laws.”
“And those are?” Sira managed.
“Aphrodisiacs are now outlawed in Lenvia. They are too dangerous, too easy to abuse or to have go wrong, in the confusion of the moment.”
“It’s a poor recompense,” Matthew noted, forcing his jaw to unlock far enough to form the words.
“It is,” his father agreed. “Uncontracted women at sexual events will be escorted by an older woman, one not seeking a contract of her own, preferably already contracted herself. That escort is to remain sober and vigilant and will be responsible for all actions committed by her charges.”
Sira nodded. “So, there will never come a time when no one can be held accountable,” she summarized.
“Quite. There are other measures under deliberation. I’m certain a few will pass.”
“For instance?” Matthew asked wearily.
Edward paused. “Guards on the bowl at drinking events. Only servants of the house may serve food or drink to attendees. Only the guards may carry weapons.”
There was a moment of silence.
His father turned toward them, his eyes skating over them without much attention to detail. “Am I welcome to join you for lunch before I go?” he asked. There was a note of something broken in that, as if he felt he wouldn’t be welcome, in light of the news he’d carried to them.
“Of course,” Matthew assured him.
Sira wiggled, reminding him that they couldn’t rise from the desk.
“If you’d give us a moment,” he amended. “I think we need one.”
* * * *
Sira watched King Edward depart, her heart aching for Matthew. He wanted so desperately to make this right for her. Desperately enough to submit to a judgment he hasn’t earned.
“This is all the right I need, Matthew,” she assured him.
“It’s not.”
“It’s not, for your sense of guilt. It is enough for my peace of mind.”
He sighed, as he always did when he wanted to argue something with her but dared not.
She turned on his lap, drawing his mouth down to hers. Matthew didn’t argue the move, but he didn’t resume the frantic pace they’d been lost in when they’d been interrupted.
Sira eased off of his lap and onto the desk, working the panties off her legs and spreading wide for him. Matthew stared at her, his eyes dilated and breathing choppy already.
“What you pursued before was precisely what I need, Matthew.” It was. She wanted him at ease with the passion between them. She needed that connection, the raw passion that existed between them. It was real and tangible.
He lowered his mouth to her, taking a taste that turned into a feast of sensation. Sira fisted her hand in his hair, watching him lose himself in the moment, his cock going hard and pulsing, weeping fluids.
“I need you inside.”
Matthew was on his feet in the next heartbeat, his cock thrusting home, his mouth covering hers. He released her lips on the second thrust, licking at the sheen of her fluids on his own.
“You’ll have to be quiet, Sira,” he breathed against her cheek. “Can you do that?”
Her answer died in a half-swallowed cry of delight, as he doubled his pace.
“You’ll have to do better. My father is just down the hall.”
She nodded, biting down on her lower lip, riding the cascade of pleasure foaming and rising in her.
Matthew took her harder, faster, his hands clamped down tight on her hips. He gasped out her name, burying his mouth against her temple.
Climax crashed down, and Sira clawed at his back, choking back a scream. He followed her with a moan, working his way down to her mouth, laying his claim.
They parted slowly, breathing in ragged gasps.
“This is right, Matthew.”
He nodded, pulling her closer to his body as if loath to the very thought of letting her go. It was a sentiment she understood all too well.
Chapter Nine
“What did you say?” Matthew asked, certain he’d misheard or dropped off to sleep and dreamed the announcement. This is a nightmare, not a dream.
“Lady Mora Ashgrove to see you, Hein Matthew,” Prentice repeated.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the butler to show the “lady” out, but that would make it seem he was afraid to face her. Though the words stuck in his throat, Matthew forced them out. “Show her in, Prentice.”
He retreated with a slight nod and returned a few m
oments later. “Lady Mora Ashgrove,” he announced smartly but in a voice that those who knew him would recognize as laced in distaste Matthew shared.
Matthew made a show of not looking her direction, feigning interest in the work stacked before him. At the appropriate moment to make his snub clear, he focused on her. His assessment of her made it as far as the pregnant swell of her midsection, and his clenched jaw slackened.
“If you’re laying odds,” she hinted.
“Not a chance in paradise or perdition,” he countered.
Mora sauntered to his desk and dropped a sheet of parchment on it...then a second. Matthew didn’t pick them up; he kept his fists clenched to avoid using them against her in haste.
“Go on,” she invited. “The first proves paternity. The second proves it’s your heir I carry. Both were confirmed via amniot draw.”
“Achieved with an illegal aphrodisiac you yourself provided.”
Still, he reeled. How had she proven paternity without him providing a sample? Had she somehow accessed the samples taken when Wheatstand reported the attack on Sira? Since it was related to that night, chances were she’d been granted it. But without notifying Matthew?
Mora settled in a chair, arranging herself artfully. “And we’ve all been forgiven our poor judgment.”
“Some more than others,” he quipped. If the Goddess was just, Mora and the other “ladies” who’d used the Gorus would pay for it in stigma for years to come.
“The child is still your heir.” There was no hesitancy in that.
“Only if I claim him, and I have no intentions of tying myself to you to do so.”
A sly smile pulled her lips up. “Whyever not? You could have your little mistress to warm your bed. I wouldn’t even demand my wifely needs from you.”
Mistress? I don’t have— Realization left him cold. “Sira is my wife, not my mistress.”
“She carries your second son at best. She may not carry an heir, at all.”
“She is my wife, Mora. Any son she presents me will be named my heir. This child. The next. Four or five from now, if she and the Goddess grant me so many.”