Queen

by Daya Daniels

  But, deep down, I did.

  In this moment, knowing I should tread with caution, I protest a little against his tender actions.

  As if I had set his fingertips ablaze, he lets me go.

  Please don’t let go.

  My watery eyes search the depths of his own finding them full of loneliness.

  I suffer the same affliction…

  “Briar, please allow me to comfort you.” Tentatively, that big warm hand comes for me again.

  At the outset, it seems to be a patient move.

  But I realize it is not. It is a demand. For my acceptance. For my humility. For my submission.

  It is a gentle nudge which encourages me to accept what I am here and now and to not be ashamed of it.

  I am hungry for his touch.

  Desperate even.

  Starved for flesh, just as he seems to be…

  My forehead crashes into his shoulder and I breathe him in, nose pressing into the soft fabric of his robe.

  A heavy arm wraps around me. So much strength. So much warmth. There is so much power in his embrace which only wants me to be nearer to this man. Soon, I am encouraged to come closer. I become boneless in his grip, and eventually, I allow myself to be swallowed up in his warmth. I am calm in his presence. Safe. I give myself permission to be weak knowing that he will protect me. I am enveloped in pure strength.

  His hand clutches my nape and holds me close. The other settles at my lower back. And then he peers down into my face. “Now there, you see.”

  So tender.

  So caring.

  So loving.

  I am consumed by the gentleness I haven’t had in so long and then he embraces me once more.

  Chest to chest, I sob for the life of me.

  “You weep for things not meant for you, Briar.” He nuzzles his nose into my cheek.

  My fingers twist in his robe, gripping it tighter.

  “You weep for a life that was never meant to be yours.” Thick fingertips brush over my hair. “You cry for things which only hurt you and leave you questioning your worth in the end.” He tips my head back by clutching my chin with his fingers, forcing me to peer into his breathtaking eyes. “I don’t want you to ever have to question that. And no matter what happens, you must know that even if not by blood, you will always be royal.”

  He licks my tears away, one by one by one.

  I do nothing to stop him.

  And when he’s done licking them all dry, he tastes them—he consumes my pain and takes it on as his own.

  Reaching out, he plucks a red rose from the vase which rests in the middle of the table. He buries his nose in the soft petals and breathes in the perfume scent for a moment. I watch in awe as his fingers skitter over its thorns, almost caressing them even though I know they are sharp. He places the rose to my nose and the soft sweet petals tickle my skin.

  Shutting my eyes, I inhale the flower.

  Alexander does not blink. “You once told me that the rose represents love.”

  “Yes.”

  Slowly, he reaches out and hands me the flower.

  And I know with the action, that this man is prepared to give me everything.

  He had held on to the long stem of the rose without wincing even just a bit before passing it to me.

  I gaze into his eyes with disbelief. “What about the thorns?”

  A corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile. “I think I can handle the thorns.”

  “What if they make you bleed?”

  “There are only two things in this world, Briar, that I would ever be willing to bleed for—one is you and the other England.” Sincerity is inflected in his words and I swear they slip into my ears and settle right in my heart, heavy and home.

  I fall into his mesmerizing eyes, daring to look into them for much longer than I know I should.

  He cups my face with his large palms and his perfect lips near mine, brushing, teasing, sweeping over my skin. The soft hairs of his beard tickle my cheeks and the unique scent that is him surrounds me like a vicious lust cloud.

  My tears cease.

  Only easy breaths escape me.

  I fall into him.

  It is only us here, alone, in this big, opulent room which is now suspended in deafening silence.

  He waits.

  I’m not sure what for…

  I won’t trip over myself again like I did the last time when I felt like my life held no hope in it.

  I am a woman of God, and of prayer, feeling much like prey in front of a man who commands too much.

  He is the ruler of England and of all its lesser territories and supreme commander of the armies.

  He

  is

  King.

  How can I resist this man?

  How dare I resist this man?

  What is it that he seeks to claim as his own?

  And then when he must realize that my lips have no intention of seeking his soft ones, his mouth crashes into mine and consumes it with one soul-snatching kiss. I fall. I sink. I dive deep into him, tasting, licking, and sucking on his flesh. His nose presses into my cheek. Heat dashes across my skin. His tongue sweeps across my lips. His large hand cups the back of my neck and slowly guides my mouth back to his.

  With a whimper, I suckle his lips and then my tongue is seeking the depths of his sweet mouth—consuming, licking, sucking.

  “Oh, Briar, you are delectable.” He groans against my lips and then runs his nose along my temple.

  A soft wail is all I can offer him in return as my hands skitter over his powerful arms which all but cage me in where I remain sitting in this pretty chair.

  I become a lost woman in the veiled world that is Alexander which I know nothing about.

  He leans in, applying pressure to my mouth with his own. My head is forced back then urged forward as our tongues tangle and the kiss becomes ravenous. His breaths become labored. His eyes become wild and his hands become eager as they pull me closer to his chest. “Dear God, woman.”

  The chair rocks violently.

  A deafening screech fills the silence when the legs of the chair scrape along the stone. I’m wrenched almost out of the chair and practically become swallowed up in the thick fabric of his robe.

  I push.

  He pulls.

  A dance?

  With a wild commotion of ripping, shredding, and tearing, the hem of my dress is pushed up over my thighs and the material finds itself gathered around my waist. Thick warm fingers settle on my bare skin.

  I want them there.

  God would surely strike me down if I ever dare to claim otherwise!

  My legs flail. My hands seek to find purchase on something but fail. My mewls become louder.

  While clutching the back of my neck and forcing my chin to rise, his beautiful face peers down into mine. Every muscle in his big hard body is locked tight. Desire skitters its way across his brow. And rubbing along the inside of my right thigh through his trousers is his cock—swollen, thick, big. It begs to be let out.

  I’m not sure I want it to be, but I play brave anyways. Maybe it’s all I can do. I grit my teeth. “If you want it, Alexander, why don’t you just take it?”

  No one will stop you.

  No one will come to my rescue.

  Nobody cares.

  I am a woman.

  As you know, I have no rights unless this man—the King—gives them to me.

  This royal man is free to take whatever he so pleases with every inch of me.

  In an instant Alexander freezes and gifts me with a smirk. “If I simply wanted to take what you have to offer, Briar, I wouldn’t have waited this long.” His fingers dance along my thigh. And then his open palm slides along the inside of it forcing them to part wider and wider, or perhaps that happens even without his urging!

  A squeak leaves me when his fingertips brush over the most sensitive part of my pussy.

&
nbsp; He buries his nose in my neck and I swear the groan he expels rattles my entire being.

  Arousal renders me stiff at every joint and my teeth are buried in my bottom lip.

  His lips find my ear. “I am a patient man, Briar.” He takes my earlobe between his teeth and sucks on the soft skin there and then kisses are peppered along the line of my neck.

  Helplessly, my back arches. “AHHHHH!” The most ungodly wail rips from my chest when his fingers sink into my wetness, and with no way to stop it, my pussy clenches powerfully around his digits, and I become a slave to his ministrations and eager for what his hand has to offer.

  Purpose is carved into Alexander’s expression.

  I pant away, eyes wild staring into his, speechless and feeling utterly exposed.

  Laughing softly, he lifts a brow. “Why take, hmmm?”

  I suppose there is nothing to take because I am already giving it all away!

  Little breaths leave me full of desire and I am unable to answer his question at this very odd time.

  Alexander’s smile is victorious. “Besides, it’s more amusing this way.”

  Alexander

  PALE AND SHAPELY THIGHS quiver helplessly around my wet hand, rattling my soul.

  They part wider and wider and soon I have them up near her shoulders.

  Bare.

  Raw.

  Her pussy is desperate for this finger fucking.

  A groan rolls through me and I lean in and edge closer to her face, urged on by how lost she looks.

  Her pussy…

  Swollen lips like petals swallow my fingers. They slip and wrap around them. They welcome them.

  The chair rocks and scrapes along the stone.

  My arm moves at full force, fingers delving into her haven, stretching it, parting those pretty lips, teasing that swollen clit until she’s bucking against my hand, fucking begging for it.

  Briar screams!

  And it is perfection.

  A smile perches on my lips, and by God, it is there to stay.

  So wet.

  So delicate.

  So ravaged.

  Like a rose, she blossoms.

  And my heart weeps at her beauty.

  My finger thread through her hair, securing her head, forcing her to look into my eyes as my fingers delve deeper into her wetness. Her mouth falls open and the most wonderful cry drifts from it. With a jolt, her body almost threatens to leave the chair and leap up to the heavens. Her fingertips dig into my forearm. Her body stiffens. Her beautiful eyes grow wide with wonderment.

  Yes, that’s it.

  I bury my nose into her cheek and breathe her in harshly. “You could always tell me to stop, Briar…”

  Her eyes grow watery.

  Sadness?

  Defeat?

  Desire?

  I’m not quite sure what it is exactly that I see swimming around in her captivating orbs.

  I take her silence as consent…

  My forearm moves with more determination as two of my thick fingers sink into her, fucking her slowly with a force which rocks the entire chair. She relaxes. Her hands settle around my neck. Her face falls to my chest for a moment. I continue the motion, tunneling into her wetness, reveling in the sensation of her tight wet walls closing in around my fingers.

  Her head falls back, and her eyes settle on mine.

  Briar looks at me.

  And she doesn’t look away.

  It is an exquisite gift to own her gaze at this very moment.

  She is covered in sweat.

  Her top lip quivers.

  A groan leaves me.

  And when she mewls out my name, it only encourages me to give her MORE!

  My lips seal with hers and I consume her mouth with another kiss which leaves her breathless when I pull away. My heart rate ratchets up in my chest and my cock is beyond swollen and raring to go but I know it can’t be now. It can’t be now. She is not ready. She is still consumed with heartache. She is still hurting. So, for now, I will give her a little piece of me. Something to remember me by.

  And with that morsel, she will want more…

  “ALEXANDER.” She bites down on her bottom lip in her best attempt to stop it from quivering but it’s of no use. Her thighs shake around my hand. The dishes and silverware on the table rattle. Those enticing thighs part wider and wider and wider, helplessly, giving me access to everything.

  My thumb finds her clit and I stroke oh so tenderly.

  “Alexander, OH GOD!”

  He isn’t here…

  This is not his house.

  It is mine.

  I keep going until she’s bucking against my hand, searching for pleasure and soaking my fingers in wetness as she does. I move with more force, seeking the very back of her, wrenching wails from her throat.

  “Alexander!” She holds on to my shoulder tightly, peers into my eyes and with a distorted expression bleats and bays out her orgasm while I look on with complete satisfaction until she’s depleted and boneless in my hold.

  A moment passes.

  I say nothing and neither does she.

  Panting, her trembling hands pull away from me. I make easy and gentle movements, pulling her dress back down and righting the rest of her clothing. Then, I press a soft kiss to her lips. And another. And another. Each kiss is an encouragement. A coaxing. Until she is meeting mine at her own accord.

  A victorious smile finds its way to my lips.

  Her long lashes flutter.

  I peer down at the enchanting woman in my clutches and at her pink, pink cheeks, wet lips, and flustered appearance. I want more. I would be a liar if I said I do not. I could command her to remove all the clothing she now wears but I will not. Taking her hand, I encourage her to stand which she does on unsteady legs.

  I rise to my feet.

  We meet eyes.

  Odd things are exchanged. Questions. Expectations. Fear for the future and what lies ahead…for us.

  If she would only ask me…

  Even if she did, would I have the courage to tell her?

  Briar sucks in a breath.

  I wait patiently.

  Clumsily, she backs away without saying another word.

  I keep my eyes on her messy and post-orgasmic appearance. She is beautiful with dark lips and tendrils of her hair which have slipped out of the perfectly coiffed hairstyle she once had.

  Her eyes beg to know what I am thinking.

  But my worries are for me only.

  She is not privileged to them…not just yet.

  I will not clutch her. I will not prevent her from leaving. She is free to go as she pleases.

  “Alexander.” She takes more steps, grasping at the furnishings and bumping into things.

  “Briar.”

  “Alexander.” She nears the door and her delicate hand stays on the jamb. She stills for just a moment, as she takes one last glance of me. I bask under the watch of those hypnotizing eyes. They feed my soul. They calm me. They make me feel all sort of maddening things when they regard me. I stand taller.

  Still, she makes the decision to leave.

  CLICK.

  She’s gone.

  I’ll be a damn fool to think she won’t be back.

  CHAPTER

  III

  Briar

  A WEEK LATER…

  I wander the wide corridors of Berkhamsted Castle this morning, breathing in the intoxicating warm and sugary scent of fresh pastries floating from the main kitchen which only confirms that Charlotte has been busy and at work. I’ve been pondering for hours, days even, peeking out the window, thinking and reminiscing about the breakfast I had last been summoned to with Alexander. The one which had concluded with my dress almost up and over my head, which I can only deduce had prevented my brain from working properly and resulted in me allowing myself to almost be completely ravaged by him.

  Taking another step, I press a hand
to my belly and cringe. After putting my clenched fist to my mouth, I bite down on it and then I explode into giggles. I’m such a silly girl…I accept that I have no idea about how to feel. A part of me wants to curse Alexander—to slap him even. And then another more pliant part of me—maybe my heart—wants to kiss him and love every single bit of him. I’m so confused.

  So, I decide that maybe I’ll walk in another circle until I figure it all out.

  Continuing my stride, I stop when I make it to my chamber, surprised to see Beatrix already present there. Tentatively, I place my hand on the door, push and prepare to let my presence be known. But, instead I remain silent since I am taken aback in surprise at what I discover.

  A quaking form.

  Shuddering.

  A blonde head of hair lowered to the dress she is folding.

  Beatrix weeps.

  I shut the door behind me, and my light footsteps take me closer to where she stands.

  She cries for a while, clutching my dress and sucking back little breaths.

  “Beatrix.” Reaching out a hand, I touch her shoulder.

  Instantly, she jumps and twists around to face me and then makes her best attempt at hiding her tears and keeping her face hidden from me. “I am so sorry, Princess Briar, I did not know you were here.” Her eyes widen. “I thought you were in the garden this morning.” With her brows knotted and wiping away her tears, she sniffles. “Aren’t you always in the garden around this time?”

  Her question serves as a distraction, but nothing in the world could turn my attention away from the way this woman, who as long as I have known her, has been an exceptional example of someone stoic and put together. Her appearance at the moment completely baffles and makes me curious all the same.

  Lips tight, I tip my head forward. “Yes, I did visit the gardens but there wasn’t much work to be done so I decided to finish up early and return here to my chamber.” I look around realizing that when I am in the gardens is usually around the same time Beatrix visits my chamber to tidy things and lays out new dresses for me to wear.

  Essentially, right now, this chamber should be empty.

  “I am sorry, Princess Briar, I didn’t expect anyone to be here. I am usually alone.” Taking a step toward me, she lowers her head and keeps her eyes downcast. And then suddenly with haste, she rushes over to the bed and folds the dress in her grip quickly.