Desire and Duty (The Consort's Chronicles Book 1)

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Desire and Duty (The Consort's Chronicles Book 1) Page 5

by Jarvis, E. C.


  He eased the material over her hips, tickling her skin with the tips of his fingers, sending ribbons of delight up her spine. He rolled the material as he lifted it over her navel, up to her breasts, curving his hands around to brush past them, setting her nipples to attention. She lifted her arms and he slowed his pace, pulling the material up far slower. Lenora could see his eyes through the flimsy material; he was looking down, appraising her body, and she didn’t mind him doing so.

  Finally, the slip was flung free, and she was once again bare to him. Somewhere in the back of her psyche, a voice warned against such wanton activity—in the bedroom she shared with her Emperor husband, no less. Nathanial set to removing his own clothing—his boots were already laid neatly beside the bed. When had he done that? Between coming in the window and startling her at her shoulder? Damn, he was good.

  She watched with hungry eyes as his layers peeled away, revealing the hard torso and pale skin which had haunted her dreams and naughty masturbation sessions since their last encounter.

  “Ma’am?” he said when she’d spent an excessive amount of time staring down at his throbbing cock, pulsing in her direction, a rare, questioning look on his face.

  “You can call me Lenora,” she said with a smile, hoping he would. No one else did these days, not even Averys. He only ever called her wife or woman. Such a charming man.

  “I don’t think I can, Ma’am.”

  She reached out and gently stroked the back of her finger up and down his shaft. “How about now?”

  “Certainly not now.”

  She sunk down to her knees and pressed her lips gently to the tip of his cock, her eyes looking up as he gazed down at her. He reached out to grip one of the bed posts.

  “How about now?” she asked allowing the tip of her tongue to tease him.

  “Ma’am,” was all he said as she slid her lips down the length of him. Averys had pressed her into doing this a few times, and she’d never quite gotten the hang of it—nor had she cared enough to pay attention to his reactions to know whether or not she’d done it correctly. Once, he’d ejaculated without warning straight into her mouth, then berated her for pushing him so far, mourning the loss of his seed in the wrong place. This time, she paid attention.

  Nathanial’s reactions were so subtle they were virtually non-existent, but she wanted to pleasure him—to give him the sweet sensations with which he’d imbued her during their last encounter. It felt inexplicably naughty, sucking on his cock like a wanton harlot as he stood in the spot where her husband climbed into bed most nights. It was dangerous, erotic, and delicious.

  She came up for air, sliding her slick, wet lips and tongue down the outside of his shaft, all the way to his balls which seemed to lift up of their own accord as she approached. She popped one into her mouth and gave it a tentative suck around the tufts of hair, which tickled her nose, and she felt him tense. She let go, not sure if that was a good reaction or not. As she glanced up, she found his eyes tightly closed, his grip on the post rigid. His other hand came round; at first she thought he was going to grip himself and guide his cock back into her mouth. Instead, he cupped her chin and carefully pulled her to her feet.

  “Not good?” she asked as she stood, terrified that she’d done something wrong.

  “Too good,” he said, then pressed his lips to hers.

  Lenora felt herself humming into him, enjoying having her efforts praised in such a way. She reached up and laced her fingers through his soft, warm hair. He lifted her in one smooth motion, wrapping her legs around his waist and cradling her backside. A naughty thought teased the back of her mind; she would quite like if he took an interest in her backside with his fingers. She wondered how it might feel if he pushed one in; what would he think if she even suggested it to him?

  Before she had a chance to do so, he was laying her down on the silk sheets—sheets still sticky from one of her masturbation sessions during the day. The scent of his arousal mixed with hers made her giddy. She felt a bubble of wetness pop free and spread across his stomach, where her legs were still wrapped around him. He didn’t seem to notice—or care—as he trailed kisses down the front of her chest. If he’d been shy and reserved during their first encounter, there was no sign of that now as his brimming confidence tugged at her nipple with teeth. She gasped.

  “Not good?” he asked.

  “Too good,” she said sliding herself along the bed to find the tip of his cock with her sodden entrance.

  He planted a hand on the pillow beside her head and held her hip in place with the other, then slowly and gently thrust his hips forward, pushing himself inside. She gripped the bedsheet, then dropped it and clutched his arm instead, digging fingernails into his skin. Nathanial stayed there for a moment, unmoving, unblinking, his cock wedged in up to the base, and she could feel it stretching her apart. She focused on her insides and clamped down with her muscles, squeezing him. A small, rare smile curved his lips upward, and he moved, rocking backwards at a devastatingly slow pace. She shifted, wanting him to move faster, harder, not tease her all night long. They didn’t have time for that. She tightened her grip on his arm and reached out to grab his shoulder with her other hand.

  “Nathanial,” she whispered as he started the long, torturously slow movement back inside. “Faster,” she commanded.

  He bent down and captured her lips, running his tongue across them. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  He braced himself once more and did as instructed, his fast and determined thrusts so sudden and lust-filled that she almost passed out with the pleasure rocking through her body. Every tumble forward grated against her needy clitoris and filled her begging insides, taking her to the edge over and over.

  They writhed and moaned in each other’s embrace, kissing, grabbing, fucking their way towards heady bliss. This was more than an attempt to get pregnant; this was what she had been missing in her life. Passion and pleasure and someone who truly desired her, whom she desired equally in return. This was what she desperately longed for but could never truly have, and she imagined it was much the same for him. She grabbed on, claws digging into whatever flesh she could find across his ridged body, his back, his neck, his hair, his solid ass. As she gripped his backside, he stiffened and increased speed again, crashing hard and fast into her body. She lifted her hips and threw back her head, letting out a restrained cry of pleasure, and he matched that cry with his own groan of release.

  Spots danced behind her eyelids. She still held onto him, one hand wrapped around his hair, the other cupping his butt; it was like holding onto a rock. He lay above her, relaxed yet not pressing his full weight onto her body. He curled his neck around briefly, letting out a sigh through his nose. Leaving a terse kiss on her breast, he then untangled himself from her talons.

  “Wait,” she said, wishing he would stay for a few more minutes, just holding, hugging, perhaps loving?

  “No time.” He pulled his underclothes on and tugged his shirt back over his head. She glanced at the clock. It was ten to eight.

  “Damn.” She thumped her head back against the pillow, wondering how she was going to turn her just-fucked hair into something reasonable-looking and still have time to tug on a dress.

  In a flash, Nathanial had his clothes back on. Lenora had only just managed to drag her ass out of the bed and stood on wobbly legs.

  “Will you come again?” she asked, knowing he was moments away from jumping out the window and off into the night.

  “Averys will notice if I sneak in whilst he is here.”

  “Then do it when he is not here.”

  “I cannot give any guarantee.” He turned on his heels, gliding past the bed toward the window, and she groaned out loud. He paused, looking to the side, and then turned around to look her up and down.

  “What?” she asked.

  He gave no answer, but pointed a finger at the long, dark blue chiffon dress laying haphazardly across the dresser. She headed toward it, incredulous and dumbstruck. Had he ju
st chosen which dress he wanted her to wear? She picked at the fabric, running it through her fingers, at the same time running through all the things she wanted to say to him. She turned again to find an empty room; the only movement was the window clicking shut.

  As the minute hand ticked around, giving her only two minutes to spare, Lenora’s heart sunk. She was going to be late, and Averys would be angry.

  VII – A Royal Celebration

  After rushing down three flights of stairs and racing across the palace to the grand entrance hall, Lenora’s heart thumped, her legs cramping—though she imagined the cramping stemmed more from her other vigorous exercises. The long blue dress floated about her legs, and her long curls of rapidly brushed hair danced atop her shoulders. She’d not bothered with underwear in the name of saving time, but for all her efforts she was late, and there was no escaping it.

  She rounded a bend, scooting past the incredulous looks on the guards’ faces and forcing herself to slow as she heard voices up ahead. Trying to maintain that serene Consort persona expected of her, she pulled herself together.

  Turning into the grand entrance hall, she found it filled with people milling about, dressed in their finest apparel. The men wore dark, pressed suits with bowties, the women in elaborate long dresses in a myriad of colours and styles. Some of the dresses were disturbingly convoluted in their design, with grand bustles and layer upon layer of fabric. Lenora looked positively sedate in comparison, but as she caught the attention of a few people nearby, who turned and whispered to their partners until almost the entire room had given her a good glance-over, she decided that a sedate dress wasn’t so bad. She was capable of attracting enough attention regardless, her position more interesting than anything else.

  Half of the faces she recognised from previous engagements, and the other half were unknown to her. She smiled and nodded to an old army Colonel, who gave her a short salute, then resumed her scan of the room, hoping to see Averys before he saw her.

  Instead, her eyes locked onto a soldier at the opposite end of the room. Tucked away in shadow—an impressive feat in a room lit from every angle by the large chandeliers above—was discernible from the other soldiers dotted around the room only by the familiar red hair on his head. She gawped at him.

  Nathanial was dressed in a neatly pressed dress uniform, the dark green material very different to his usual black outfit. His hair was brushed back in a tidy fashion. How he’d managed to change so quickly into such an outfit and get down here—when she’d barely managed to pull a dress over her head in the same amount of time—she’d never know. A gush spread between her bare legs as she stared at him. A gush of his private gift to her. She scooted one leg in front of the other, subtly trying to stop any further mess lest she develop wet patches on her dress.

  “Late,” a voice murmured behind her. She tore her gaze away from Nathanial.

  Averys stood behind her. That single word, uttered quietly so as not to draw the attention of those nearby. No doubt he would have shouted it at her, and more, if they’d been alone. Her skin crawled from head to toe, nervous energy pumping through her veins. She fantasized about rushing through the crowd of people to get to the door, race away, and never come back. Though, if she tried to run from him, she probably wouldn’t make it more than two steps. His arm snaked across her back, a strong hand locking onto her upper arm in silent ownership. The strength of his grip squeezing her flesh held the restrained anger she knew boiled beneath the surface. She could only hope he wouldn’t use his fists while he thought her pregnant.

  “My Lords and Ladies,” a man called from the opposite end of the room, “dinner is about to be served. Please, be seated.”

  They ambled through the throng of people, who naturally parted to let them pass. Men and women alike offered gushing praise to the Emperor and Lenora both, trying to curry favour in their desperate manner. It saddened her that this might have been her parents a year ago doing the same thing, desperate to foist their only daughter into Averys’ sights.

  “Come visit us at the lodge this winter, Sire,” one perfectly put-together woman crooned in his ear. She probably fancied sharing his bed for a few long winter nights. She was quite welcome to him. Sadly, he waved her away without a word. No, he already had what he required, and he subtly manhandled her toward the dining room.

  The guests lined up at the impressively long table, shaped in a curve with seats on either side. A prominent pair of chairs sat at the middle of the curve, perfectly positioned so everyone could see the Emperor and his Consort. It wasn’t until Averys sat his hairy ass down in his chair that everyone else followed, taking their seats.

  Lenora slunk down into the chair beside him and resigned herself to spending the next few hours enduring mindless small-talk, dull gossip, and excruciating comments of admiration aimed toward them both. She could only hope that Averys would enjoy it enough to forget his displeasure at her tardiness, though she doubted it. Only the two seats opposite them remained empty.

  She reached out for her wine goblet, hoping to pass the night as nothing more than a drunken memory. She held it up for one of the servants to fill, noticing a slight nod from her husband at the man holding the pitcher. As her goblet was filled she took a long drink but had to stop herself from spitting it straight back into the cup. It tasted like water. She set it back down and turned to Averys.

  “Wine is not good for the child,” he whispered in her ear, the words spat out at her as if she were an idiot.

  She managed not to groan at him, just about. She also managed to stop herself from mentioning that she wasn’t actually pregnant yet. Perhaps staying sober would in fact be a good idea. After another sip of water, taken more to pass the time than because of thirst, the servant bent over and filled her cup. She had her own personal water-cup-filler, probably under strict instruction to ensure nothing alcoholic came within two feet of her mouth. She watched carefully as Averys swallowed a cupful of wine in one gulp. Her heart sunk further. If he was going to be drunk by the end of the night and she remained stone-cold sober, her chances of escaping her mistakes without bruises reduced markedly—and she’d be fully aware of the entire ordeal.

  Lenora scanned the room, looking over the faces of their dining guests, wishing again that one of her family members were here. When she’d looked over every person sitting down, she stared at the guards surrounding the room, wondering if Nathanial had moved to join them. It would be nice if he were tucked in some alcove in her direct line of sight, where she could at least pass the time ogling him and dreaming about all the things they’d done and would hopefully do again. The intention of using him as nothing more than a stud to fulfil the baby order became marred by her burgeoning sexual desire.

  “Who are you looking for?” Averys asked, catching her unaware.

  “No one,” she said, the word tumbling out a little too quickly and defensively. Averys lifted his head and scanned the room in the same manner she had, as if he could figure out the puzzle himself. She shifted in her seat, another blob of warm wetness escaping between her legs. “Just wondering who is going to be joining us.” She pointed toward the two empty seats opposite them. A hearty cheer went up inside her head for the quick solution. That cheer was replaced with an internal groan as two men strode down the length of the dining hall toward them. Barentyn and Lusk.

  They snapped their feet together a few paces from their chairs and offered military-style bows towards them—or perhaps only towards Averys. He nodded and waved at the empty seats. As if her evening couldn’t get any worse, Lusk chose the seat opposite her whilst Barentyn sat opposite Averys. If she could get away with feeling sick after the first course, she wondered if she’d be excused from the table for the rest of the evening. Averys would be angry, no doubt, but he was already mad at her. How much angrier could he get? Perhaps she didn’t even need to wait for the first course. She placed her hand on his thick thigh and leant towards him to whisper when he sprung from his seat, grabbing a fork
and banging on his goblet.

  The room fell into a hushed silence.

  “This gathering tonight is to celebrate and honour Lady Elenora Trunswick, Royal Consort and soon-to-be mother of the heir to the Empire of Kienia. Join me in making a toast to my enchanting wife and my future child. Let us hope for a male.” He lifted his glass as hushed gasps and yelps of excitement sounded around the table.

  Everyone stood, raising their glasses, and in unison they called, “Lady Elenora.”

  She remained seated, smiling sweetly and acknowledging a few individuals with grateful nods, but inside she screamed, squirming. She wouldn’t have needed to feign sickness, as her stomach churned. If a great hole opened up underneath the table, she would have happily sunk into it to be swallowed up. How could he make such an announcement so early, without warning? She wanted nothing more than to stab him in the eye with her butter knife. There was no chance he’d let her leave the table now, not unless she actually spewed onto her dinner plate—not when this was apparently her party.

  As everyone returned to their seats, the various conversations in the room humming at a more excitable level, she turned to Averys. He was already engaged in conversation with Barentyn, discussing the number of troops at the borders and other suitably dull topics. She knew better than to interrupt him. That left the elderly gentleman to her left—who currently inspected the engraving on the cutlery, muttering to himself about unnecessary extravagance—or Lusk.

  She scanned the room again, doing her best to avoid meeting the gaze of the gaunt-looking figure sitting across from her lest he feel the need to engage in conversation. As the first course appeared, plates of small, grilled fish fillets, she breathed a sigh of relief for the distraction.

 

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