Charmed By The Mountain Prince: An Arranged Marriage Romance

by Frankie Love

  I don’t want a Princess who can’t understand where I come from and why. Who can’t find the beauty in the life I’ve chosen. She and I will never work if we can’t find common ground.

  And that’s why I didn’t toss her over my shoulder and carry her back to the castle.

  I want her to give my way of life a chance.

  I also wanted to fuck her again, taste her pussy for the first time, and let her hold my cock.

  But I didn’t know if she’d stay when she woke, or if she’d throw a hissy fit and flee.

  When she opened her eyes, it was obvious she’d had a change of heart. She looked around, but the only place her eyes landed was on me.

  I took that moment for what it was, for what it is: ours.

  She didn’t run out the door. Instead, she stood, slipped off her clothes, and offered me her body for the second time.

  I’d be a fucking fool not to take it, considering it’s everything I want.

  I stand, towering above her. With one finger I lift her chin, and I crush my mouth against her lips. Both of my hands hold her face as I draw her to me. She moans beneath me, and I want to kiss her until her pussy is so nice and wet that she can’t wait any longer for me to plunge my fingers deep in her folds and fill her with my touch. And later, with my cock.

  Our mouths connect. One hand lowers to her waist, running across the soft skin of her back. She smells like flower blossoms and nectar. I’m ready to lick her up, all of her juice.

  My fingers deftly unclasp the hook of her bra and I toss it to the floor. I pull my mouth from hers, wanting to take a nice hard look at her tits—the tits I can’t wait to cover with my come.

  The dress she wore today did nothing for her—not when I see her now, when I see her naked. Her tits are so big, so full. I palm each of them, rolling my fingers over the luscious globes, lowering my head so I can press my mouth against her hard nipples and suck.

  One day I’m going to put a baby in this woman, and these nipples will give our baby life, nourishment. But for now, they’re all mine. Only mine. Goosebumps cover her skin as she runs her fingers through my hair. I look up at her. Her eyes are filled with desire.

  “Take off my panties, Garrick. Tell me if you like what you see.”

  I’m surprised that she’s so coy—that she’s playing this way—but I don’t think it’s an act. For all her confidence in my old bedroom, and the surefire lines that she’s been able to throw back at me … today, in this intimate room, with the lights low and her skin hot, she’s more vulnerable.

  The innocent part of her is dripping from her words. I take off my shirt, tossing it on the bed, and her hands run over the hard ridges of my chest. My body is chiseled, carved just like the wood I chop down, hard and made for a purpose.

  Right now the purpose of my body is to be enjoyed by her.

  Her hands run around the waistband of my pants, and mine finger her panties the same way.

  I pull them down, and after they slide over her curvy hips they fall to the floor. I step back, wanting to get a good view of my Princess. Of my wife.

  Her body is an hourglass, her hips pushing out, her waist narrow, her tits huge.

  Her eyes are on me.

  I pull her to me, hard, squeezing her ass cheeks with both of my hands rolling her warm flesh in my palms. I pick her up, needing to get my face closer to her pussy. I lay her on the bed, loving the way her tits bounce as her head falls against the pillow. Heat rises to her cheeks, and she moves her hand to cover her body, but I pin her hands over her head.

  “No trying to hide yourself from me.” I release her hands. I have no intention of hurting her, I just want her to understand that she has nothing to hide. Nothing to cover. Because I’m ready to uncover every square inch.

  On my knees, I pull her to the edge of the bed and spread her knees apart, take a good hard look at her wet cunt.

  “Oh, Princess, your pussy is so hungry.”

  “Then feed it, Garrick, feed it with your cock.”

  “Oh, you’re not ready for that yet. Your pussy would cry if I try to put my cock back inside you right now.”

  “Then ... what?”

  I wonder how innocent my wife really is, if she’s playing games with me. My parents told me she was all over social media, using apps to post selfies of her life, so she’s not some naive girl who hasn’t been exposed to the real world in some way or another.

  But I guess she could still be pretty sheltered.

  “Do you know what I plan on doing with you right now?” I ask.

  “I have an idea....” Iris bites her bottom lip. Damn, that move turns me on.

  I look up at her, my head between her legs. “How much do you know about being fucked?”

  “I know that I like what you did before. I know that my pussy wants it. Needs it. I know my body craves something it doesn’t even understand. I know my body craves you.” Her words get my cock so fucking hard, so fucking fast.

  “I’m going to press my mouth against your wet cunt, and then I’m going to lick you until you come all over my face. And then, when you’re gushing like a good Princess, I’ll show you my cock.”

  “Don’t make me wait, I don’t want to wait. My body is on fire, Garrick. Do something to make it stop.”

  I can’t wait any longer; I press my face against her warm pussy and roll my tongue up and down her warm slit. She’s so wet, and I lap up her sweet juice like it’s my last motherfucking meal. Up and down, I roll my tongue over her, getting her off.

  Her clit throbs, and I know fucking her will be the real release she’s waiting for. Still, her pussy is so nice and tight and it needs me to work it over first. Pressing a finger into her, I move it in and out, rolling my tongue over her the entire time. I finger fuck her harder, wanting her to explode on my mouth.

  “Oh baby, baby, yeah. That’s so, so good.” Iris is writhing on the bed, her hands clenching the quilt spread beneath her.

  This is what I love, the thing I’ve been waiting for. Her release gushes out of her, and I keep finger fucking her nice and hard until she’s moaning, her ass in the air as she comes. I lean down, my mouth not wanting to miss a single drop of this release. I want to lick her pussy juice as it pours from her. And I do.

  My beard is covered in her goodness and I shove my face all up in her pussy. She squeezes her thighs around my head, and I raise up on my knees, pushing her back on the bed.

  Taking off my pants, I am ready to give it to her. This Princess has been good and she’s ready to take my cock

  “Oh God, show me Garrick. Show me your cock. Show me what it can do to me. Because what you just did... I can’t imagine....”

  I smile, knowing Iris hasn’t seen anything yet.

  11

  When he drops his pants, takes off his boxers, it reminds that this really is my wedding night. With a man I hardly know. With the Prince. In this cabin.

  Everything about today has been a roller coaster of emotions.

  But somehow, as he pulls off his boxers, I’m grateful for this moment. Because this is what I expected when I imagined my wedding night. I imagined a man, excited to get close to me. I imagined a prince who wanted me as his princess.

  I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. In fact, I’m just trying to imagine that tomorrow isn’t going to happen at all, because I know this cabin isn’t going to look quite as charming in the light of the day.

  But I’m hoping. I’m hoping that it’s the dream come true I imagined this morning when I was talking to Dahlia. I’m hoping that this is perfection. Hoping that whatever misunderstanding we had earlier, and the disappointment that seemed to revolve around the actual ceremony, maybe that was just a blip. Maybe from here on out it will be rose petals and sunsets and unicorns.

  Hell, I don’t need a prince who drives a fancy car. Garrick can take me out in a horse-drawn carriage. Maybe that is enough. Maybe that is everything.

  So when he takes off his pants and reveals a massive, hard, th
ick cock, I gasp at the incredulity of my life. He just pressed his fingers so deep inside me I basically exploded on his face, and he loved it. And I loved it. I felt gorgeous and desired, my body hot and alive and ready.

  Ready for his cock to be inside me again.

  “Oh my god, you’re so big.”

  “You can handle it,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

  I blink slowly, my senses awakened, my pussy once again on fire. Now that I’m lying across the bed, I watch as Garrick straddles me, his hands running over my shoulders, over the peaks of my breasts, down my rib cage, until he reaches my entrance. One hand palms my pussy, fluttering against the folds. I close my eyes, unable to think or breathe. His hands are so big and they touch me so well.

  “When I come in you, I’m going to fill you with my seed. I’m going to fuck you and I’m going to fill you with an heir.” He looks at me and means every word he says. It gives me a thrill; my entire body awakens, because the idea of giving this man what he needs, the idea of being able to provide for him what he wants, is intoxicating.

  It’s more than I imagined.

  I want to give this man what he wants. A baby.

  “Come in me again, come in me like you promised.”

  He nods, his mouth meeting mine again and he kisses me as he drills his cock deeper into me.

  “Oh Princess, you feel so good.” He moves deeper and deeper and deeper in me until there’s nowhere else to go. Both of us, drenched in sweat, my legs wrapped around him so tight.

  He rocks in me, my pussy tight and full, and right when he is about to come, he pulls put.

  “I’m going to mark you as mine, Princess,” he tells me.

  His cock is hard in his hand, pulsing with life, and my pussy cries, wanting him in me again.

  He pumps his cock, and ropes of come spurt from the tip, the milky pleasure falling over my breasts, my nipples. I reach up, wanting to rub his come all over me, wanting to be marked by him just like he promised.

  “I’m still so fucking hard for you,” he tells me, and I reach for his length, feeling the soft ridges of his cock, amazed by the weight and thickness of it. It makes me wet all over again, just holding his manhood.

  “Oh god, Garrick, I’m so hot for you again,” I moan, unable to stop my pussy from aching for him.

  I pump his length, getting him harder than he was before, and he kisses me, grinding against my body.

  I press his cock inside of me, and his hands cradle my face.

  Oh, yeah. That is what I need. What I want.

  We fuck, we come. All night.

  Together. Forever.

  This is right.

  Our bodies orgasm, and any doubts I may have had slip my mind.

  They are replaced by exhaustion, as my body lies cradled in his arms.

  When I wake, bright sun shines through a small window across from the bed. I sit up and see that no one is beside me.

  No one, meaning my husband.

  Husband. The word is still so foreign on my lips. I look at myself—wrapped in a sheet, naked—instantly remembering the way he took my body last night. So fully and completely.

  After we made love many times, I fell asleep. My eyes closed as the exhaustion of the day swept over me.

  I moved to a new country after saying goodbye to everyone I love, boarded a plane and arrived in Alpinweiss, and met my husband—well, actually I married him first. Then we fought, made up, and made love.

  And now, sitting up in bed, I look around this one-room cabin and realize it’s actually icy cold. A shiver runs over me. Last night, it was dark when I woke up from a fainting spell.

  I woke in a room filled with candlelight and a fire blazing in a wood stove. I wasn’t able to make out the details of the room around me, mostly because I was blinded by the way Garrick looked at me—like he wanted me, needed me.

  The same way I looked at him.

  I stand, wrapping the sheet around me, and walk toward the wood-burning stove. There’s a log in it, but it’s fading fast. The neon-orange embers glow against the ashy gray.

  Sighing, and not at all interested in setting my new husband’s house on fire, I step away from the wood stove and assess the situation. “Garrick?” I call out. “Are you here?”

  I turn in a circle, getting a grip on my surroundings. A queen-sized bed, an end table with a stack of books. Hurricane lamps, two windows. A kitchen without a stove ... though this wood-burning stove is here. A water pump mounted above a white enamel basin. A table with two chairs; in the center, a bowl of apples. There are two chests of drawers.

  There’s little else. A braided rug on the floor, with two rocking chairs. A few rifles hang on the wall, and an axe hangs below them.

  This place is really rustic. Really rugged. Being here alone, I feel exposed—naked and alone. My suitcase waits by the front door, and when I walk to get it I notice a small door leading to the bathroom. Thank God. For a moment I had this terrifying thought that there wasn’t actually an indoor bathroom.

  By which I mean, there are limits … and then there are limits.

  I toss my suitcase on the bed and root around for my toiletries. I need to brush my teeth before Garrick shows up. Grabbing my bag, I step inside the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind me.

  I pee, sitting on the icy toilet seat, looking around this man’s bathroom. And it’s exactly that. I don’t think it’s ever had a woman’s touch, let alone ever had a woman sit on this seat.

  At the sink, I realize there’s no warm water handle on the faucet. And the cold water does nothing to warm me up.

  I reach into the tiny shower stall and turn on the water, confused when only cold water pours out of the showerhead, also.

  I suppress a full on melt down and decide now is not the time to act like a four year old. I’m a grown-ass woman and can handle a little cold water, right?

  Besides, I don’t have a choice.

  I need to bathe. Because besides being coated in my own come, and Garrick’s come, I’m also gross from yesterday’s travel.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  I gingerly step under the showerhead, bracing myself for the chilly water. Holy hell, it’s cold. So, so, cold.

  I shriek. Because fuck my life.

  “Oh my God,” I yell, dancing on my tippy-toes as the water falls over my hair and my shoulders and my skin. “Torture. This is torture.” Reaching for the faucet, I turn it off as fast as I can.

  On the other side of the door I hear Garrick.

  “What the hell, woman? Stop your hollering.”

  I roll my eyes, looking around for a towel. “Where do you put your towels?”

  “Unlock the door and I’ll show you.” His voice is full of humor, but right now I’m not laughing.

  Reaching out of the shower, I click open the door but jump back inside the stall, holding the shower curtain over my naked body. Over my naked, goosebump-covered body.

  “What are you hiding?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He’d holding to-go cups of coffee and pastry bags.

  “Do you not have warm water?”

  “Why would I have that?” he asks, deadpan.

  “Because it’s 2016.”

  “Oh, Princess, living in the present tense is over-rated.” He opens a cabinet above the toilet, finds a clean towel, and hands it to me.

  I grab it, pulling the curtain to cover me, and begin drying my legs. I can hardly breathe, it’s so cold.

  “This is ridiculous. Not having hot water here is unacceptable, Garrick. What other archaic rituals do you subscribe to? Let me guess, you wash your laundry by hand?”

  He scoffs. “I didn’t, the laundress in town did. Now, though, I won’t have to send it out.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask from behind the curtain. I squeeze my wet hair, and droplets of cold water fall on my toes.

  “You’re my wife.”

  “I don’t follow,” I say, stepping out of the shower with the to
wel surely fastened around me. Even though last night was blissful, the morning has quickly created a divide between Garrick and me.

  “Why do you think I need a wife?” he asks.

  “Because your parents wanted an heir. Because you’re a grown man.”

  “I don’t know how things operate back in Elexia—if women just get married and lounge around all day—but that’s not how things are going to work between us.”

  I shake my head, wondering how someone so good with their hands can be so dense. I don’t even know how to address his statement, so I avoid it. “I need another towel.”

  “Why is that?” he asks. “One is enough.”

  “Are you seriously rationing my towel usage?” Pushing behind him, I grab another towel from the cabinet. I fling my hair upside down and gather it in the towel, then wrap it in a turban on top of my head.

  I pull out my blow dryer from my toiletries bag and scan the bathroom, but I can’t find an electrical socket. Of course there’s not a single socket here.

  “Do you have electricity in this place?” I ask tightly.

  “Electricity?” Garrick crosses his arms, assessing me.

  I have literally zero patience for his games right now. It’s like a roller coaster with Garrick. The highs and lows are too much. I feel sick.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “Electricity is this thing that transmits an electric current, that makes things operate. Like charging things, or running things. For example, a refrigerator. Or a stove.”

  “That’s all unnecessary bullshit.”

  “Garrick. I could see how a cell phone charging may seem like “bullshit” to you. But a refrigerator is necessary. How do you keep your food cold?”

  “I knew it was going to be like this with you.”

  “You mean you knew your wife would want to refrigerate her milk?”

  “Exactly.” He smirks, kicks open the door, and leaves the bathroom—with the coffee still in his hand.

  I blink.

  Did my husband seriously just tell me we don’t have electricity?

  I tug the towel tighter around my body, realizing that I’m not going to be able to blow-dry my hair. Basically, ever again.