The chill in the air dissipated as their combined body heat encompassed the room, and she pulled his head down toward her as she rose up on tiptoes. “Give me a son,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his.
Then came his reaction; their lips met, closed at first, but there was a spark of passion behind them, a restrained desire. She opened her mouth and teased her tongue between his lips, over his teeth, and he reciprocated, following her lead, his tongue finding hers. Her hips rocked back and forth, rubbing herself over his erection, and a slight gasp escaped from their kiss that hadn’t come from her.
She reached across his chest to unbutton his black shirt. His hands clamped down over her fingers and he pushed her away, then pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion. Though the vision of his naked, utterly chiselled, virtually perfect torso stole her breath away, it was not enough. She took a further step back and pointed at his trousers. Wordlessly, he obeyed; crouching down to untie his boots and remove his socks first, he then removed his trousers. All the while, his expression never changed, but the promising bulge that sprang free when he stood fully nude belied his stoicism.
Lenora took a moment to appraise him. While the intention was simply to get pregnant, now that she had a willing and impressively built man at her service, perhaps she could indulge a little. They faced death if caught. She might as well go out having enjoyed the night.
She held out her palm and he held her hand. She pulled him close and guided him down to his knees. He reached up of his own accord and touched her breast again, and his other hand followed, taking both in his palms as he traced the tips of his thumbs along her alert and sensitive nipples. She pushed her chest forward, aiming her breast at his mouth, and he seemed to understand, opening his mouth and planting delicate kisses along her breast. Her head lolled backward at the sensation, long locks of brown hair tickling her back. He was a fast learner.
She laced the fingers of her left hand through his short red hair and reached up above her head to grip the black bar hanging from the ceiling as she gently pushed his head downwards. He responded by running his lips down her stomach and over her soft tufts of pubic hair, where he paused.
Lenora turned her attention downward. He was staring up at her, dark eyes full of question, awaiting further instruction, perhaps? She gave him a smile, though it was not returned, and let go of his head to grip the ceiling bar with both hands. Parting her legs for him, she gave him a nod.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
And he resumed, his tongue tracing the inside of her thigh where the wetness of her arousal had already spread free. He dipped his shoulder, hooking one of her legs over his back to leave her weight propped on the toes of one foot, and she gripped the bar to maintain balance as his tongue moved across her throbbing clitoris.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped again as he fell into momentum, his fingers joining his tongue, working her over with such skill she started to doubt this was his first time. Her senses alighted; the flame of the single candle seemed to grow into an intense white light behind her eyelids. She felt the tip of a finger tentatively slipping inside as he sucked and kissed. He pushed deeper, his finger sliding in, followed by another, and she let out a moan as he began a quick rhythm—slick, wet sounds encompassing the silence of the room.
Averys, Brarentyn, the Empire—all faded from her mind as she focused on the feeling Nathanial stirred below. The sensation began at the tips of her toes, a tingling that raced up her legs and across her chest, and she found release, panting heavy breaths up to the ceiling. Her eyes squeezed shut, her grip on the bar loosening as her palms began to sweat. Then she slipped, losing hold of the bar and tumbling straight down into a wobbling heap of nerves and arousal.
He had caught her, saved her from smacking straight into the hard, tile floor. As the sparkling dots in her vision dissipated, she found herself sitting in his lap. Her need built again. He still wasn’t giving anything away in his expression, but she stopped caring; she wasn’t there for love and affection.
Lenora unfolded her legs, straddling him as they sat face to face. Her hands pushed against his shoulders as she tried to make him lie back so she could ride him. It was like trying to push over a mountain—a mountain that clearly didn’t want to be pushed over. Instead, she pushed her hips forward, planting her feet on the floor behind his back, toes pressed up to the door for leverage. All the while, he watched her. She pushed her hands down on his thighs and lifted her hips, positioning herself in place with a slight wriggle of her bottom as she adjusted to the awkward angle. The tip of him pushed against her opening, and she held her breath as she slowly slid down, taking in every inch. A moan escaped her as she reached the end. Still, he did nothing but stare, though she was sure he’d held his last breath along with her.
She started with an experimental rock backwards, and at first it felt like too much, the feeling of him inside at this angle bordering on pain. As she tried again, a whimper escaped her this time. He shifted his position, raising his knees, and placed his hand on her hip. She tried again, arching her back upwards as his hand guided her back down. The new angle was perfect. She felt a rush of wetness escaping between them, lubricating for the ride, and she moved, rocking back and up and crashing down into him, gaining speed and rhythm with each bold move.
It was exquisite. Every thrust stirred the intense sensation inside. Her head rolled back as they gained momentum. He pushed up to meet her on every down-stroke, and her whimpering turned to muted moans. She felt her breasts bouncing up and down, almost screamed when their rhythm slipped and it hurt, but didn’t stop—couldn’t stop. Her eyes opened to glance at him; his mask had slipped, his face now flushed and eyes hooded as they both bumped along toward climax.
She exploded around him, the sensation so hot and intense that she let out a scream. His hand clamped down around her mouth, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, thrusting, rocking, touching, squeezing, sensing. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nostrils and rolled his head backwards as he found his own release, nothing more than a deep murmur escaping his lips.
Lenora bent forward, placing her forehead against his shoulder. His breathing returned to normal in a heartbeat. Hers took a little longer to calm. Some part of her wanted to stay here with him until morning, screw the consequences. The moment felt too perfect to let it end. But it was over, and they were headed right back to reality. The Consort and the assassin, their paths at stark odds with one another.
She sighed and kissed his neck, breathing in the scent of his warm skin. His lips brushed against her shoulder, and then he moved back and withdrew.
They both dressed in silence, though it took her only a second to slip the nightdress back over her head, giving her time to watch him reassemble his clothes. Finally, he collected the knife from his bed and sheathed it on his waist.
“I will escort you to your room,” he said, straight back to business.
“This…may not work on the first attempt,” she replied suddenly, realising the fact herself.
“It will be harder to repeat when Averys returns.”
“But not impossible?”
He stared at her for a moment. Was she really asking him to take such a risk again? “If he sends me on an assignment, I will be unable to tend to your needs.”
She frowned. Did he think she wanted him as a pleasure toy? As pleasurable as it had been, she was not so naïve to think they would get away with it repeatedly. Even if they could, that wasn’t her goal. She needed a child, not a lover.
“You should find another to father your child if this has been unsuccessful.”
“No,” she almost snapped at him. “I’ll not risk this with anyone else.”
Something inside started to ache, and she had to grind her teeth together to stop herself from sobbing like an infant. Why did this suddenly hurt so much? Was it just the stress of finding out that so many powerful men were conspiring to kill her? Was it the fact that her husband had turne
d out to be a complete hairy-ass-crack, physically and metaphorically? Or was she simply hurt by the fact that Nathanial could turn so cold only moments after they’d shared something special together? At least, it had felt special to her.
“As you wish, Ma’am,” was all he said as he opened the door.
She followed him in silence through the empty halls. He dodged the patrolling guards with such a natural flow that she wondered if anyone ever heard his approach. As they reached her bedroom, she realised that her mask had slipped along the way, and hot tears trailed down her cheeks. She slipped inside the bedroom and headed straight for the bed, refusing to look back, unwilling to let him see her so distressed. As the door clicked shut, she let go, sobbing her heart out into the pillow.
IV – Welcome Home
Lenora awoke in her bed, lying atop the covers, still wearing the thin lace nightgown from the night before. A dark figure loomed at the end of the bed in the early morning light. Averys.
She propped herself up on her elbows, at first thinking that he knew, that he was there to kill her or drag her from the bed and throw her in the dungeon. When he bent forward, she noticed he was smiling.
“I’m glad you’re back, love.” Natural—she had to sound natural.
“Barentyn told me some interesting news,” he said as he crawled up the bed toward her.
She started to ease away, instinct taking over. “That man is terrible at keeping secrets.” She tried a smile, hoping it might cover the tremble in her voice.
“No one should keep secrets from me.” His head reached her belly and he bent down to kiss her stomach. “There may be a son in here.”
A sigh escaped her lips and she allowed her head to lie back down on the pillow. He pushed her nightdress up her thighs and onto her stomach, then began a series of kisses from her navel, heading down further. Her stomach turned somersaults. She hadn’t washed after last night.
He parted her legs with his hands and trailed his lips up the inside of each of her thighs. She held her breath. When had he ever shown an interest in anything other than the standard pillow-hammer routine? Why did he have to start now?
As his lips folded down around her, she held her breath, waiting for him to realise another man had been there.
“Mmm, you smell and taste delicious,” he murmured as he parted her with his fingers then dipped his tongue in as deep as it would go.
If she could see her own face, she was sure she’d find an expression of horror plastered across it. Though he tended to her now, somehow his ministrations were more about pleasuring himself as his nose jabbed against a tender spot in a not-so-nice way. Once again, she found herself biting her tongue. He was the Emperor. If he—albeit unwittingly—enjoyed tasting assassin sperm on her pussy, then who was she to argue?
The unusual oral sex session lasted for over ten minutes, during which she’d discovered a broken fingernail that needed tending, admired the cornicing along the ceiling edge, seen a flock of gulls flying in formation past the window, and generally watched the clock ticking away the seconds until he finished.
He eventually sat back on his heels, wrapped his fingers around himself and proceeded to masturbate at her feet. Lenora propped her torso up on her elbows and watched him, presuming that was what he wanted her to do. It was sort of erotic, she had to admit, watching the most powerful man in the Empire at her feet, wanking himself silly. His face contorted as he increased the rhythm, the olive skin of his hand turning white as his grip tightened. Then, without warning, he lurched forwards and jabbed the tip into her, still clutching at the shaft for a few more pumps until he was spent. This time, he didn’t collapse on top of her. After a moment passed, he climbed off the bed and headed into the washroom.
Lenora reached up, grabbed hold of the pillow, and tugged it over her face to stifle the fit of giggles she just couldn’t hold back any longer. By the time he returned, tears of laughter streaked down her face.
“What?” he barked at her, a frown crinkling his forehead.
“Nothing, love. I’m just…happy,” she said, racing to cover up the truth.
“Women. Crying over everything and nothing,” he muttered as he dressed himself.
“Did you have a pleasant trip?” As soon as she’d asked the question, she regretted it. It had been a perfectly innocent attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence. The trouble was, she knew the truth about where he’d been and why he’d been there, and of course he wasn’t going to tell her that. The flash of concern streaking across his face as he stared at her whilst buttoning his white shirt made her worry. Would he simply wave her question away as usual, or race to come up with a lie?
“State business,” he said, turning to look out the window. It wasn’t a lie, she supposed, just a vague answer with a gross omission of the truth. He was uniquely skilled in that respect—the complete statesman.
“Business which required attendance in the middle of the night?” She felt her toes curl up. Why was she pressing this? Though her mind did jar. If he had simply been visiting the family of her prospective replacement, he wouldn’t have needed to do so in such an odd manner. There must have been something else going on the night before last to cause Barentyn to drag him away. After last night, she felt the need to do something to gain a foothold in the situation. She’d been utterly complacent for too long.
“It is not your business, woman,” he said, not even turning to face her. So much for gaining a foothold.
“I’m just concerned, love. So long as our country is safe for our children.”
This time he did turn, his features softening somewhat. “When our son is born and he is old enough, I will teach him how to deal with threats to our borders. Until then, don’t ask questions.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, a small threat in his expression. It was enough to make her shut her mouth. He tapped on the windowsill then headed towards the door. “The doctor will examine you tomorrow,” he said, then left.
She flopped back against the pillow and stared up to the ceiling. She wasn’t well versed on biology but knew enough to know that the doctor wouldn’t find much after only one day. She couldn’t dismiss him so easily a second time, not when he would be acting on the Emperor’s orders. So what could she possibly do if he found her to be without a child?
V – Doctor’s Orders
Day and night passed. She’d barely slept, filled with worry about her new problem. Averys had mercifully spared her the pillow-hammering. Listening to his raucous snoring all night hadn’t helped her insomnia. She’d been confined to their bedroom all morning, a guard standing outside her door who gave her a sneering sideways glance every time she opened it to look out. Sneaking out wasn’t a possibility unless she developed a head for heights and sudden, skilled athleticism to risk scaling the palace exterior. Being on the sixth floor made that a stupidly dangerous notion. So, she had passed the time by staring out at the view of the city below and the rolling waves crashing over the distant ocean. Tall merchant ships dotted the horizon, their sails carrying them to faraway places.
More than once, her thoughts had turned to Nathanial, his strong arms holding her softly, his musky scent, the heat of his small room, the crossbar, his tongue on her clit. She had to push the thoughts aside each time they bubbled to the surface, as they were followed by a hot bubbling between her legs. Her knickers were well and truly soaked. She contemplated having a lie down and a good, hard rub. The thought of the doctor, the Emperor, the guard outside, or even Barentyn coming in and catching her in the act simultaneously terrified and excited her further. Her session with Nathanial seemed to have sparked some deeply buried, utterly dirty desires.
How funny it would be if she were to strip naked, lie on the bed spread-eagled, her fingers dipped deep inside, the other hand furiously teasing her swollen slit, only to have a barrage of men spill into the room to see. A smile tugged on her lips as she imagined it. What could they possibly do? It wouldn’t be a punishable offense, surely, for the Consort of Kienia
to pleasure herself whilst alone in her room? She could almost imagine Averys ordering her to finish up while they all continued to watch. Another blob of hot wetness soaked into her undergarments at the thought.
A knock at the door broke her thoughts away from such dirty notions.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Doctor Roath scuttled inside, followed by Barentyn. Lenora’s heart skipped a beat. She had been planning to let Roath perform his examination, then beg him to report it was too early to be sure. She could turn on the tears easily enough, perhaps even allude to her fear of the Emperor replacing her if she failed and Roath seemed like a nice enough man. He could go along with her for a month or two, buy some more time.
Barentyn positioned himself in the corner of the room beside a large potted fern, folding his arms across his chest, legs spread wide—a soldier who wasn’t going to budge from that spot. She couldn’t put her simple plan into action if he oversaw the process.
“Ma’am,” the doctor said, placing his black bag of utensils on the floor beside the bed. A bead of sweat collected in the bridge of his spectacles and he almost fell over with shock when the door clicked shut. “The Emperor has asked that I examine you today.” He waved toward the bed.
“Am I to have an audience?” she asked, looking at Barentyn.
“The Emperor finds the notion of another man touching his wife in such an intimate manner…troublesome,” Barentyn said. “I’m here to ensure he acts professionally.”
There it was. There was no argument she could find to counter that. It seemed a reasonable claim, but there was something in the flat tone of Barentyn’s voice which told her he was lying. Perhaps he suspected her and thought she would convince the doctor to leave her alone as she had before. It was odd that not two minutes ago, she’d been enjoying the idea of a room full of men looking at her in an intimate way, and now here was the reality, and it was utterly terrifying—not even slightly erotic.
Desire and Duty (The Consort's Chronicles Book 1) Page 3