by Susan Stoker
Epilogue
Lennon
Five years later
She was mine now and forever. I pulled her close and inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of her filling my lungs, imprinting in my very cells, the marrow deep in my bones.
Daisy rested her head against me, fitting perfectly right up against my chest. Our bodies were sweaty, the act of me fucking her, taking her… claiming her still covering both of us. Every day, every minute, hell, every second I wanted to show her with my body that I was hers the same as she was mine.
I smoothed my hand down her arm, slipped my fingers through hers, and lifted her hand. I’d married Daisy two years ago, the ceremony grand, royal, of course. But we’d just been two people, neither of us better than the other, both of us just madly in love. We’d waited, planned, made sure everything was set before we’d said our vows.
I’d wanted her to get to know me, the real me, and I’d wanted to learn everything I could about Daisy. I’d wanted us to be as close as two people could be.
I stared at the ring, smoothing my finger over the rock, along her skin, and down her digit. I’d picked this one out especially for her—had it custom made, wanted it unique, the same way she was to me.
Everything I did was for her.
I would have married her the first night I had her in my bed. But I’d waited, let her get to know the real me, learned everything I could about Daisy, and then I made her mine.
I could hear her breath become even, slow, and knew she was falling asleep. Having her close to me, right up against my body, knowing she was safe… mine, was perfection.
I slid my hand over to her belly and spanned the flat surface with my palm. For a second all I did was feel her stomach moving up and down gently as she breathed. “I love you,” I whispered, not knowing if she’d hear, but wanting her to know.
She shifted and turned in my arms, and opened her eyes slowly. I cupped the side of her face, her skin warm, soft. She lifted her hand and placed it over mine, which was still on her cheek.
“Let’s have a baby,” I said, the words spilling out on their own. Moving my hand away from her face, I slid it down her side, skimmed my fingers along the curve and arch of her waist and hip, and moved it so my hand was on her belly. “What do you think?”
“A baby?”
“A baby,” I said and smiled.
She lifted her head and stared at me. “I want that.”
I grinned, feeling so elated I couldn’t even contain it. I rolled on top of her, my cock hard, my body ready for her. I was always ready for her, always needing to make her feel so fucking good.
“Spread for me, baby. Let me make you feel good again.” When she was in position, I settled between her legs. She was wet, so damn wet for me but it was a combination of her arousal and my cum. The fact that my seed slipped from the tight confines of her body turned me on, made me feel possessive, feral even.
“I love you so fucking much,” I murmured. I ran my nose up the arch of her neck, inhaling that sweet scent that always surrounded her. I growled in approval of the fact that she smelled just like me.
“I love you too,” she gasped out because right when she said that, I aligned my cock with her pussy and shoved in deeply.
My movements were slow, gentle even. I pulled back and looked into her face. God, I was the luckiest man on the fucking planet.
“Lennon.” Breathing my name out, Daisy arched her chest and closed her eyes, the pleasure clear in her expression.
I thrust into her over and over again. Daisy moaned my name and I grunted in response.
I kissed her then, claiming her mouth, her body, her very soul. She owned every part of me, had from the moment I saw her and knew I wanted her in my life, fuck everyone else and what they might think.
It didn’t matter how much money we had, how well known we were, I was lucky to have Daisy in my life.
I don’t know what I did to deserve her, but I was never letting go.
***
Lennon
And baby makes three
Watching my wife, the woman I loved more than anything else, feeding our child, had this warmth spreading through me.
I leaned against the wall, my heart filled as Daisy hummed to our baby girl Lana. I’d never thought I could love someone as much as Daisy, but after Lana came into our lives I finally knew what being complete really was.
My girls.
My life.
I stayed there for five minutes, just watching Daisy, just absorbing the sight, the sounds, the feelings. Daisy finished up the feeding and smiled down at Lana, who had fallen asleep. Daisy put her in the bed and came over to me, and I wrapped my arms around her, puling her in closer.
Our life had been pretty perfect, so wonderful that I was glad we could have this life, could be together. We’d moved about an hour from the palace, our estate having been in the family for generations. It was perfect for us, with rolling hills and open lands, with a little farm for Daisy and me to immerse ourselves in and get relaxed.
It was our little part of heaven.
I took her to our room since it was late, just wanting to hold her, to let her know she was always loved, safe, and protected. Once in the room I turned her around and started helping her out of her clothes. This wasn’t about sex. This was about making her feel comfortable, letting her relax while I did everything else.
I cupped her cheeks, stared into her eyes, and smiled. “If I could marry you again and start from the beginning to prove to you over and over that you were mine, I’d do it in an instant.” She gave me the sweetest fucking smile. “I fall in love with you every day.” I pulled her against me even more, held the back of her head, and just let the feelings embrace me. I pulled back and leaned down, kissing her until she was breathless and clinging to me. I lifted her in my arms and carried her to our bed, telling myself I shouldn’t be about to ravish her, but unable to stop myself.
She breathed out, wrapping her arms around me. This was what life was about. This was what living meant. Royalty or not, I was glad I’d followed my heart and not the path everyone else had set out for me.
Daisy was mine, and always would be.
~The End~
About Jenika Snow
Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.
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Long Live My King by Molly O’Keefe
Chapter One
Gunnar
It was the hottest day in July when I met Brenna Erickson.
My stepsister.
The air was barely moving, and even in the cool of the Palace’s ancient great hall, the heat was oppressive. Every window was open in the hopes that some kind of breeze could be coaxed inside.
Apparently, it couldn’t.
“Would it kill us to get air conditioning?” I asked, standing next to my father, the King of Vasgar, on the wide steps at the end of the hall. The kingdom of Vasgar consisted of two islands high in the North Sea between Norway and Scotland. As king, my father ruled over twenty-four thousand people, six hundred thousand sheep, and a small fortune in oil rights off our shores.
“You know how the people feel about changes to the palace,” my father said.
“You’re remarrying a bartender from the South Island. I think they’ll get used to change.”
“I have been a widower for eighteen years.” My father looked me up and down with his familiar disdain. The fact that I survived my birth and my mother did not, had not been forgiven by my father. You’d think he’d be happy with an heir. But you’d be wrong. Just like I was every day of my childhood. “I think my people will allow me some happ
iness.”
“But not central air.”
Dad didn’t say anything.
“When you meet Brenna, be kind,” Dad said, and the word kind was so ridiculous coming out of his mouth I laughed.
“This isn’t funny, Gunnar.”
“Oh Dad, it is. It’s pretty funny.”
“Just don’t be an ass.”
“Why would I be?” I asked.
“Because you don’t have a reputation for kindness,” Dad said.
It was true. I had a reputation for a lot of things—kindness was not one of them.
The line from that old American drug PSA ran through my mind, like it always did when my father tried to demand something from me he’d never been able to provide: kindness, compassion. Honesty.
I learned it from you, Dad. I learned it from watching you!
“She’s not…royal,” Dad said.
“Excellent.”
“I’m serious. She’s never been off the South Island. She’s gone to the same school with the same people her entire life. Her father was a fisherman.”
“Most of your countrymen are fishermen,” I said.
“You know what I mean.”
Yes, I thought. I know you’re a snob. A king who barely tolerates his people.
“She’s not like us,” my father said.
“Perhaps it’s you who needs to be kind,” I said.
“I’m the king,” Dad said, meaning he did what he wanted. He straightened the neck of the red wool uniform he wore with its chest full of medals. He was sweating right into the fur collar.
Well, I was sweating into mine too. But I hadn’t had a heart attack last month and increasingly alarming checkups with the Royal Physician.
Still, I kept my mouth shut. I’d learned my lesson over the years arguing with my father.
I always lost.
Now, I simply found other ways around him.
“I can be nice,” I said.
“Not too nice.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, jabbing me in my chest full of slightly fewer medals, “you are not to sleep with her.”
“Dad—”
“I’m not kidding. The entire country is laughing at you, thanks to that situation with the English princess and that athlete.”
I sighed. “One threesome with a member of the British royal family and a rugby player, and that’s all anyone talks about.”
“That’s not all they talk about,” Dad muttered.
That was true. They talked about me a lot. And I gave them plenty to talk about.
Gossip and sheep. That’s what my country was known for.
Well, and the threesome with its prince, the princess, and the rugby player. That had made international news thanks to a hotel maid with a camera phone.
Father always said I was an embarrassment, and I did hate to prove him wrong.
“Here they come!” Dad said, smiling an honest-to-god smile for the first time in years. I was long past being jealous over the fact that I—his son—could never make him smile like that. It didn’t hurt. Or sting. It just…was. I turned and looked toward the wide open doors of the palace.
Annika walked in first. I’d met her a few weeks ago, when she’d been flown up for a wedding dress fitting. She was a stunning woman; I could admit to that. She was forty to my father’s fifty, and she looked twenty. She had the blonde hair and blue eyes of most of the South Islanders. She was six feet tall if she was an inch.
The people would like her, because she was beautiful and her smile was radiant. And everyone loved a love story.
But she wasn’t going to help pull my kingdom out of the tailspin it was in.
Annika stopped at the door and turned, waving her hand at someone behind her.
And then Brenna walked through the front door of the palace with a book in her hand.
Most people, when they walk in the palace, they’re pretty awestruck.
It’s the job of palaces to be awesome. And I had been trained my entire life to reflect the palace. To be the personification of the palace. To strike awe.
I mean I was total shit at it—but that was the point of me.
But Brenna Erickson looked up, glanced around, her eyes wide behind her glasses—and then she licked her finger, turned the page in her book, and went right back to reading.
That was the moment I fell in love with her. Like on the spot.
Because she did not give a shit for anything I stood for.
She had her mother’s height and long blonde hair. But the rest of her was strong and thick where her mother was thin. She stood in the doorway with the sunlight running right through her summer dress, revealing the long, long length of her legs. The breeze lifted the tail ends of her blonde hair, dashing them across her glasses as if attempting to stop her from reading. As I watched, she bent to the side and scratched a bug bite on her ankle.
She was absolutely the opposite of me in every way.
I made a sound in my throat like laughter. Like…happiness.
“Don’t laugh at her,” my father murmured.
I wasn’t. I was laughing at us. In our stupid fur-trimmed uniforms. It was fucking August! Brenna was the only reasonable one here.
“She’ll need to be dealt with,” my father murmured.
“What are you talking about?” I asked. Brenna was perfect. She looked like our kingdom in summer.
“Her hair, her clothing, she’ll need to lose a stone or two. The glasses. A book, my god, what does she think this is? A hotel? Look at her.”
I was. And I saw no fault with Brenna Erickson.
“Hello!” Annika, my new stepmother, walked across the great hall with her daughter in tow. “My king,” she said in the old language, bowing before my father.
“My queen,” he replied, and then lifted her hand to kiss it. My father’s eyes twinkled and I felt a little nauseous. “Let me present my son, Gunnar, Prince of Vasgar.”
I nodded my head. “Good to see you again, Annika.”
“Let me present my daughter Brenna,” Annika said, turning toward her daughter, who was still reading. “Brenna,” she hissed and yanked the book away like Brenna was a toddler.
“Hey!” Brenna protested. “That was just getting good!”
“You’ll excuse my daughter.”
“I won’t,” I said quickly, and realized immediately it was the wrong thing to say. Brenna looked as if she’d been slapped, and her mother looked at Brenna with an I told you so glare.
That’s not what I meant, I nearly said. I should have said, but my father stepped in quick.
“We have some wedding details to discuss,” my father said into the awkward silence in the great hall. “The two of you get to know each other a little better. Perhaps show her to the gardens.”
My father and Annika wandered off to do who knows what, leaving me with my soon-to-be stepsister.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly.
“Don’t be,” she said right back, her eyes crackling. “I don’t care what you think of me.”
I was tongue-tied. At a loss. Completely falling in love.
“Can I show you the gardens?” I asked.
“Actually,” she said, “point me in the direction of the library. I’ve heard it’s really good.”
I nodded, my hands behind my back, feeling stupid and sweaty next to her freshness.
“You’re from Nikenburg,” I said, leading her past the dining rooms toward the library. “I was there last fall to help with the—”
“You don’t have to make small talk,” she said.
“I don’t?” Small talk was pretty much all I made.
“This whole thing,” she said, twirling her finger around, “is Mom’s deal. Not mine.”
“What’s your deal, then? If the royal palace isn’t enough,” I scoffed. I was scoffing. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it. Scoffing had protected me against my father’s dislike for a lot of years. And I could fe
el this girl’s dislike from a mile away.
“When I’m eighteen, University of Edinburgh. And then Edinburgh Law and then… who knows?”
Her future looked beautiful on her. She glowed with possibility. And at the moment, I knew she wasn’t for me. I was tied to this island.
“Big plans for a girl who has never been off the South Island.” Asshole. I was being an asshole. I was my father’s son, after all. And I hated it.
I opened the door to the library and stood aside to let her enter.
“Oh my gosh,” she said, looking around at the two-story room full of shelves and tables and comfortable chairs around a giant fireplace. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was my mother’s favorite room,” I said. Even though I never met her, I felt like I knew her a little because of this room.
“Are you mad my mother is marrying your dad?” she asked, looking at me. I blinked under the force of her attention. Edinburgh Law, forget it—this girl felt like she could conquer the world.
“No,” I said and shook my head. “Truthfully, I don’t really care.”
She paled again and I got the sense that I hurt her somehow.
“Are you mad? About your mom and my dad?” I asked.
She shrugged.
“It’ll be cool to live in the palace, I guess,” she said.
“’Don’t get too excited. The palace can be—”
“Cruel?” she asked and I nodded. My father’s household had a reputation. And I had a part of that. We all learned from my father. “I could say the same thing about my mother,” she said. “That’s probably why they get along.”
“Would you like to see—”
“Nope,” she said. “The tour ends here.” She looked around with a happy sigh. “You can tell our parents you did your job, and you can go back to your regularly scheduled life of threesomes and running up tabs at bars in Kolska.”
“Wow.” I blinked and swallowed down the very strange instinct to explain myself. “Seems like you did some homework.”