Surprised, his princess broke free of the kiss to stare down at her hand around his hard, engorged length. She looked up at him, and that little dip in her brows returned, then she closed her little hand around his girth and slowly began to stroke.
“That’s it,” Malac whispered, biting back a groan at her timid touch. He needed much, much more. “That’s exactly right.”
Emboldened by his praise, she took a firmer grip and moved with a little more confidence.
Groaning, he wrapped his hand around hers and showed her a bolder, tighter stroke, letting her get familiar with his size with her hand, first. And when he released his grip, she continued that stroke on her own.
“You smell so good…” She pressed her face right into his chest and inhaled, while she continued to stroke him. “I know that’s witchcraft, but—”
“Witchcraft?” Malac tilted her head up so he could see her face, and when her hand went still, he thrust into her fist, to remind her what she was doing.
She began stroking him again, firmly. “Your scent. Because you bit me.” The fingers of her free hand skimmed over the healing bite mark at the base of her throat.
Malac laughed. “Witchcraft is what’s between those gorgeous little legs of yours, princess. And you haven’t bitten me. Though I wouldn’t mind a little nibble.”
Her brows rose, and her innocently intrigued expression drew another groan from him.
“Or a lick,” he amended. “Or a kiss. I’d love to be touched by you in any way you want.”
So, still stroking him, Maari began to work her way down his chest in a series of tantalizingly soft kisses, moaning as his scent engulfed her in a cloud of lust. When his hand slid over her sex again, he found it swollen and dripping for him.
As he slipped one finger inside her, her little tongue flicked out and teased his left nipple. “Mmmm…” she moaned. “You taste good too.”
“As do you,” he said, but she’d already turned back to his chest, licking and kissing her way down, taking the occasional sweet little nibble at the bulge of his pec or the ripple of an ab. Rubbing her face against him, as the urge to cover herself in his scent manifested despite her complete ignorance of the instinct.
Finally on her knees, she looked up at him, and the sight of her mouth so near his cock nearly made him come in her hand. “No more nibbles, princess,” he warned, taking her chin in his hand.
She gave him a wide-eyed nod. “Will you… Will you talk me through it, like you did with Jude?”
Oh, gods, that timid little request was so hot. “Didn’t I say I would?” He caressed the side of her face, his cock jumping a hair’s breadth from her chin. “Open for me, princess.” Her kiss-swollen lips parted and she took him into her mouth, her small fist still wrapped around the base of his cock, fully half of which would not fit into her mouth, without some extra effort. “That’s beautiful,” he said as she slid up and down his length. “Long and slow. Ah, gods, that’s good.” Her skill was rough—raw—but genuine. Which he’d known the moment he’d seen her swallow Jude’s girth on her first try.
If she weren’t a princess, she would make a marvelous whore.
Malac struck the thought from his head the moment he’d had it. The world had plenty of whores, but there was only one Princess Maari Delayne, and she was all his. Or she would be, anyway, in her heart, even if she still had to service his brothers.
For a couple of minutes, he just stared down at her, enjoying the sight of a princess on her knees for him. Aching to please him.
“Ready to go deeper?”
She let him slide from her mouth so she could nod. But he could see the fear in her eyes.
“Good. This time when you take me into your mouth, stick your tongue out to keep it from blocking your throat.” He adjusted his position, to straighten the line of her neck and open up her throat. “Okay, open for me again, princess.”
She parted her shiny lips again, and as he slid into her mouth, she extended her tongue to cradle the underside of his length. For a couple of strokes, he only nudged the back of her mouth, angling himself down to keep from gagging her.
“Deep breath through your nose,” he whispered, and she obeyed. And this time when he bumped the back of her throat, he kept pushing, again angling down. “Relax your jaw,” he ordered softly, pulling back when she began to choke. “You’ve done this before. Remember?”
Maari nodded as he pulled out a little, and she sucked in another breath. “You’re longer. I don’t think I can—”
“You can. Take a breath and think about how good my fingers felt inside you. Remember?”
She moaned with the memory.
“You have the power to make me feel that good too. Ready?”
His princess nodded and opened her lips for him again. Malac put his hands along both sides of her jaw and positioned himself carefully as he slid into her mouth again. As he approached her throat, she took another breath. Then he pressed forward, groaning when his head slid into the tight opening of her throat.
When she began to gag, he pushed in a bit more. “Swallow,” he ordered.
Her hands flailed at her sides, her eyes watering.
“Princess.” His tone hardened, just a little. “Calm down and swallow my cock.”
So she did.
“Gods below, that’s amazing.” He pushed deeper into her throat, glorying in the constriction as she swallowed around him. “You look so beautiful right now.”
Malac pulled out enough to allow her a breath, then he pushed his way back in. This time she swallowed on her own, her throat constricting blissfully around his head. Once. Twice. He pushed a little farther, and then he held himself there, petting hair back from her face while he stared at her lips closed over the base of his cock. “You’re doing such a wonderful job,” he praised her, as his length jerked in her throat, her hands desperately gripping his thighs, as if she weren’t sure whether to push him back or pull him closer. “I’m going to pull back, then we’re going to go a little faster.”
He pulled out, and she gasped for air around his length. And this time he didn’t ask if she was ready. He just slid into her throat, pushing past that tightness, and she swallowed him like a very good girl.
“Oh, gods.” Malac adjusted his angle again, keeping a firm grip on her face, and he began to work himself in and out faster, allowing her a breath every three strokes.
When she began to whine, no doubt with an aching jaw, he moved faster. “You’re doing great, princess. I’m so proud of you right now.” His balls began to tighten and his jaw clenched, his cock hardening even further in her throat.
And he might have forgotten to let her breathe, as his pleasure roared toward a violent peak.
He came with a howl, his head thrown back while he thrust deep inside her, shooting straight down the back of her throat again, and again, and again.
Only once his pleasure had ebbed and he slid from her mouth did he notice the tears pouring down her face. The stinging claw marks on his thighs.
“Oh, princess!” He gathered her up in his arms, running his hands over her hair and down her back. “That was magnificent.” Her swollen lips and tear-stained cheeks were just as lovely as the memory of her sweet little choking sounds. Of her gasps for air, as she struggled to take all of him. “No one’s ever made me so happy.” He picked her up and carried her to the bed, whispering obscene tribute as he laid her down, then he propped himself on his side next to her. “You are so beautiful.” He kissed her cheek, and his tongue snaked out to sample a fat teardrop. “My perfect princess.”
Maari blinked up at him with huge golden-brown eyes. “I—” She flinched, and her hand flew to her throat.
“That may be sore for a little while. Because you did it exactly right.”
“Will you…?” she croaked. “Are you going to leave now?”
“Do you want me to go?” Malac had no intention of leaving her side for the next twelve hours—there were some advantages to going la
st—but she needed to believe that was her choice. The princess needed to want her knight to stay. “Because I thought I might take some time and apologize for that sore throat, after I promised you no pain.” His hand slid over her breast, caressing her, then down her stomach.
To his delight, she parted her legs for him without being told. She was still wet from his earlier attention, but no longer teetering on the edge of oblivion. Yet she was clearly eager for a return to that state.
Malac dove into his task, licking, stroking, and petting her entire body, lingering over every dip and curve, until she began to writhe beneath his tongue. To arch into his touch.
He feasted on her sighs and lived in the heartbeat between throaty little gasps. Every moan he pulled from her was a triumph he became determined to outdo. His princess was a banquet of erotic sensations, and with every touch he needed more of her.
Malac crawled down her body and spread her thighs wide as he settled between them. The first taste of her made his cock twitch, mere minutes after he’d released into her throat. The urgent way her hips arched toward him, her swollen outer lips… He’d intended to keep her intoxicated on him. On his scent and his touch. He meant to keep her addicted to the pleasure he could wring from her body. Yet as he circled her clit with his tongue, drawing another guttural moan from her, Malac realized, to his utter fascination, that he’d gotten it all wrong. His princess was the drug, and he, damned fool that he was, seemed destined to overdose on her.
He slid two fingers inside her, and her body grasped at them as if she intended to keep them. He withdrew and plunged into her again, stroking upward at the engorged, slightly rough patch inside her, and his princess practically jolted him off the bed.
Two strokes later, she came on his fingers, drenching them even as she clutched at them.
Malac withdrew before she’d ridden out the last of her orgasm, leaving her entrance empty and grasping at air, drawing a groan of frustration from her as he pushed her thighs open even wider and crawled back up her body.
He shoved himself inside her in one stroke, and her passage spasmed around him as the intrusion pushed her release to new heights. Groaning, Malac pumped into her hard and fast, his pelvis scraping against her clit over and over, sustaining an orgasm that already had her legs clenching around him, her nails digging into his shoulders.
Maari’s mouth fell open as she stared up at him, her eyes glazed with a mindless, brutally persistent pleasure that left her entirely in his grip. At his mercy.
What she did not know—what he could not afford to let her understand—was that the inverse was also true. Malac was hers in that moment. The brutal bastard prince, commander of both Stead Camden’s infantry and a spacefleet of a thousand ships, the man responsible for the slaughter of thousands of members of her own stead’s military, was as defenseless in her grip as a kitten trapped in the jaws of a ravenous wolf.
He came again with a cry that sounded for all the world like astonishment, shooting his seed deep inside her as her muscles spasmed around him, seeking, evidently, to hold him there indefinitely.
And if that were possible, Malac thought, once thought became possible again, he might have tried to stay there inside her forever. But as his pleasure finally ebbed—as she began to relax her grip on his cock—Malac rolled them onto their sides and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”
“I—” his princess croaked, and her hand flew to her abused throat again.
Malac frowned and reluctantly pulled out of her, but made no move to put on his clothes. “Let’s have ice cream! That’ll feel good on your throat, right?”
The princess sat up in bed, her hair adorably tangled, her beautiful body marked in a dozen places where his love bites and gentle sucking had gotten a little too eager. She nodded, her wide golden-brown eyes staring adoringly up at him.
So he placed an order, and they ate by the window, naked. An hour later, he took her to bed again, and afterward, he crawled beneath the covers with her, stroking her hair across the pillow. But despite the ice cream and the indulgent cuddling, his princess seemed tense.
“What’s wrong?” Malac asked.
“When Orlann comes—”
“I don’t want to talk about Orlann,” he growled. “Right now, you’re all mine.”
“But that won’t always be true, and I just…” She blinked up at him, eyes wide. “I wanted to ask for a favor.” Her voice had returned, but the rasp in it—and the memory of how it came to be—threatened to make him hard yet again.
“Name it.”
“Will you be here the next time Orlann comes for me? Please?”
A fierce bolt of satisfaction shot through him at her request. Yet… “Princess, he has an equal claim to you. I can’t interfere in his time with you.”
“But you could be here?”
“Is that really what you want?”
“Yes. It would be a great comfort to me.”
That satisfaction swelled within him, pride rearing its head like a beast just beneath his skin. “Then I will be here.”
Maari smiled at him, then she rolled onto her side with a yawn. “Thank you.”
“It will be mine, you know,” he whispered as he pulled her close, cradling her body with his own, her back against his chest.
“What will be yours?”
“Your baby. The first one, anyway. I want it to be mine.”
The princess stiffened in his arms, but said nothing.
Malac rose enough to press a kiss to the side of her neck. “It’s still hard for you to be here. I know it isn’t what you wanted. But haven’t we had a wonderful night?” By his count, she’d come at least three times, and that first one had lasted ages and left her limp, in a lust-drunk haze.
“Yes. Thank you,” she said at last, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it.
No matter. She would come around eventually. How could she not, when he planned to wring pleasure out of her at every opportunity, keeping her wet with her own arousal and filled with his seed.
“You’ll be happy here, princess,” Malac promised squeezing her against him. “Just keep doing what you did tonight—keep opening yourself for us—and you’ll have everything you could ever need. And more pleasure than you can stand.”
His princess huffed. “I’m afraid you’re right about that last part, at least.”
“I’m right about all of it. You can have whatever you want. Name it, and I’ll have it delivered.”
“Clothing. Sunshine,” she whispered. “I want to take a walk in the garden.”
“Jude has forbidden clothing and excursions, at least until you’ve acclimated.” A chill slipped into his voice, and she shivered in his embrace. “Don’t abuse my generosity by asking for the impossible, princess.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot we both serve at the pleasure of the king.”
Malac rose onto his elbow and rolled her onto her back. He took her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I command his army,” he growled.
Her breath hitched, but fire shone in her eyes. “Yet you can’t get me so much as a bath robe, unless he approves it?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you think you can bait me into going against Jude’s orders by questioning my authority?”
“I think that if he trusts you to command his military, he should be able to trust your opinion about something as insignificant as whether or not the concubine you share deserves clothing.”
She was not wrong.
Malac’s frown deepened as he considered.
“And…” She gently peeled his fingers from her chin and kissed the tips of each one. “If I had something to wear, you’d have something to take off of me.” She smiled up at him with heat in her eyes.
“You’re not as clever as you think you are, princess. I know what you’re doing.”
Her smile only widened. “Is it working?”
He gave her a soft growl as he reclaimed her chin and bent down for a kiss. “Yo
u shall have clothing,” he said, when he finally pulled away from her mouth. “But I forbid you from getting too attached to any of it, because I intend to destroy every piece I rip off of you.”
10
Jude
Jude entered his office to find Orlann already waiting for him on the leather sofa, one leg crossed over his knee. The king marched across his office and into the attached restroom without a word of apology for being late. “Fucking strawberry jelly,” he muttered as he ran water over his hands at the sink. “Stickier than the devil’s jizz.”
Orlann snorted. “Breakfast with the brats?”
“Do you think you could find a more respectful way to refer to my daughters?” Jude dried his hands and dropped the towel on the countertop on his way back into the office.
“I’ll try to come up with something,” Orlann said as Jude sank into his desk chair. “Why am I here so early in the morning?”
“The council wants an interim replacement for you, and I know you’ll want a say in who I send.”
“Why the hell would I need a replacement?”
Jude looked up from the com device, where he’d been reading the communication from the Chancellor. “Because you can’t go back to Valemont until Maari’s pregnant. The whole point of giving her to all three of us is so that no one knows who sired her children. If you’re not here fucking her when she gets pregnant, then you’ve taken yourself out of that equation.”
“I don’t want kids.”
“She’ll be the one raising them. And what you want is beside the point.”
“The hell it is. I will be in Valemont when the session starts on Monday,” Orlann said.
Jude’s gaze narrowed on him. “I don’t give a shit who you’re fucking in the capital, right now your obligation is to me. To all of Stead Camden.”
“I’m not… It’s—” Orlann took a breath, visibly recomposing himself. “Stead Delayne will have chosen a replacement for Jaarod, which will change the dynamic of the entire committee, and my absence will only further destabilize things. And I can’t trust any interim replacement to accurately report whatever the new Delayne representative has to say about his stead’s ‘mistreatment.’ Jaarod has been insisting for years that Stead Delayne didn’t start the war. That our father’s assassination was in retaliation for a first strike from Stead Camden, and I need to be there to push back against that propaganda.” Orlann shrugged. “But I could be convinced to come home and fuck her royal highness on the weekends.”
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