by Sky Corgan
“Why do I have to?” I smirk at her.
“Because you're their leader.” She gestures awkwardly as if she can't think of the right word. “Besides, you can't be hiding from General Daniel Hansson just because you got into a confrontation with him.”
“General Daniel Hansson,” I snort. “So formal.”
She gives me a warning look.
“I'm not hiding from him.” I kiss her on the shoulder, trying to show her that I wasn't really making fun of her. It's just odd hearing Daniel referred to by his full title and name. I'm used to calling him Daniel, or hearing our men call him General Hansson.
“If you don't go to the encampment tomorrow, it will seem like it,” she insists.
“I'm not going to the encampment tomorrow because I have more important business to attend to,” I inform her, burying my face in her hair and kissing her neck.
“Like what?” she purrs softly, craning her head for me.
“Marrying you.”
Her body tenses in my arms, and for a moment I worry she might be upset, but then she glances back at me with a smile. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. A man's allowed to take his wedding day off, isn't he? Besides, there's no important business to attend to.” I sit up, edging down to her feet.
“Where are you going?” Anya frowns.
“To worship my princess.” I pick up her dainty little foot and kiss the top of it. Seeing her delicate folds makes my cock twitch. I can't wait to be buried inside of her and filling her with my baby.
“I think you just wanted to see this.” She bows her legs for me, giving me a better view of her pretty pink pussy. I groan as my dick pushes against my slacks, begging to be released.
“Princess is dirty,” I tease, kissing my way towards her inner thigh. When my tongue touches the seam of her sex, her back arches off the bed. “Careful now. We don't want to aggravate your wound.” I give her a concerned look.
“I'm fine,” she assures me, slipping her fingers into my hair and guiding me back down.
I chuckle before I put my lips on her again, licking and sucking and nibbling until she's all moans and writhing passion.
“Your cream tastes so good,” I tell her before I plunge my tongue deep inside of her and massage her clit with my fingers. Within seconds, she's shattering all over my face, her legs trembling as she continues to hold them open. Her hand tightening in my hair causes the tiniest bite of pain that awakens something feral inside of me.
I reach a hand down to unzip my pants, unable to wait any longer. With a few quick motions, I guide myself to her parted folds and buck all the way in, filling her to the hilt. Her eyes fly open, and she hisses from the intrusion, but when they land on mine, they're filled with lust.
“Fuck me, my prince,” she says breathily.
“As if I'd give you any other choice.” I cage her wrists against the bed as I pound into her. When I see her wince, I remember her wound and instantly feel bad for getting so rough. This isn't going to work.
I pull out of her, standing to take off my pants. My cock glistens with her juices. Not understanding what's going on, she follows me to the edge of the bed, grabbing my dick before I have a chance to drop my slacks.
I suck in a breath as she strokes me hard, and it takes everything in me to step away from her. She pouts, reaching out for me again.
“Greedy girl,” I tut at her.
“You made me this way.” An apparent glutton for pain, she rolls onto her back, leaning her head over the side of the bed and opening her mouth. Again, she beckons to me with her hands.
I shake my head as I step out of my pants and boxers and kick them aside, then move forward so that she can reach me. I allow her to guide me into her mouth, sliding my dick straight down the back of her throat.
“Oh fuck yeah,” I groan. “Can you taste your sweet little pussy on my cock?” I piston in and out of her mouth, reaching forward to pinch and hold on to her nipples as I thrust.
Her mouth vibrates around me, a mess of stifled moans that make me feel like I could come down her throat at any moment. I don't want to lose my shit like this, though. I need to save my entire load for her snatch so that I can make sure to get her pregnant if she's not already.
I pull my cock away from her, and she whines as if losing her favorite toy.
“Back up on the bed. On your side. Keep your injured shoulder elevated.” I motion to her to get her moving.
She does as I ask, crawling back up to where the pillows are and waiting for me to join her with an expectant look. I don't make her wait for long. The thought of almost losing her makes my need to claim her completely that much more intense.
I slide up onto the bed beside her, fisting my hand into her hair and pulling her head back for an onslaught of kisses. Our mouths move in time as my hard dick rubs between her ass cheeks. I'm leaking pre-come all over the bed, a fucking waste, I quickly realize.
“I need to be inside you right now,” I whisper against her lips as I position myself and slip inside her wet wanton snatch. She shudders as I tunnel up into her, her eyes closing as pleasure sweeps through her from my entry. “Your pussy is so fucking greedy.”
“You have such a dirty mouth.” She caresses my cheek, her eyes glued to the spot where our bodies are joined.
“I'll only ever be dirty with you.” I pick up the pace until she cannot form words even if she tries. Her voice is wholly dedicated to moaning and saying my name. Her tits bounce with every buck of my hips, and I wish I could see them better, but her comfort is much more important. We probably shouldn't even be doing this with us both being injured, but the need is too great.
“Your little snatch is going to take everything I have to offer,” I tell her. “Touch yourself for me. I want to feel you cream all over my dick while I fill you up inside.”
Anya's hand moves down to her clit, and she rubs in tight circles while I grope her breast and fuck her ragged. In a matter of seconds, I feel her pussy clench around me with her contractions. I suck in a breath as the milking sensation pushes me over the edge and my balls draw up to dump into her. It takes everything in me not to bite her shoulder as I come.
“Oh yeah, take it all.” I push all the way into her and hold myself there, my cock pumping one stream of hot semen after another, filling her womb to the brim.
“Oh Fynn,” she whispers breathlessly.
We stay connected until my dick starts to soften. With a satisfied chuckle, I withdraw, a puddle of my come following. I wish there were some way for me to keep it all inside of her, but I know there's enough left behind.
“You let some leak out.” I give her a playfully accusing look as if it's her fault. I dip my fingers into our combined juices and bring them up to her lips. She licks them clean like a good girl, moaning from the taste. “You're too fucking much. How did I ever get so lucky?”
“You stalked me.” She smirks. “Hunted me down until I had no choice.”
My mouth falls agape as she turns away from me like a brat. I give her ass a good slap. “Is that how you see me, as some neanderthal who just clubbed you over the head and dragged you back to my cave?”
“Something like that,” she huffs. “And now you want to get me pregnant so I can't ever escape you.”
“Do you really want to escape me?” I brush her silky blonde hair back over her shoulder.
She turns to me finally, and her soft smile makes my heart swell. “No. I don't want to escape you.”
I settle beside Anya, and she cuddles against my chest. My mind drifts away to my scuffle with Daniel and my father's imminent disapproval. I wonder if Daniel has already told him about Anya. I wouldn't be surprised. There aren't many threats that Daniel makes that he doesn't follow through with, and after I'd beaten him half to death...
“I need to make a phone call,” I say abruptly before sitting up.
“Is something wrong?” Anya looks at me with concern.
I sigh. “It bothers me that my fathe
r has probably found out about you through Daniel. I'm certain he's painted the situation in the worst light to spite me, and I'm not sure I can blame him. Everything that's happened since we came here has been unexpected—since winning the war, I mean.” I tear my hand through my hair.
“You mean me.” Her voice is serious.
“Yes. I do mean you.” I lean down and give Anya a chaste kiss on the lips to show her that everything is going to be okay.
“I'm sorry I've caused so many problems for you, Fynn.” She recoils with a look of genuine remorse.
“Hey.” I gently place my hand on her shoulder to get her attention. “I'm not.”
She smiles at me weakly, but it's enough that I feel okay leaving her alone. Besides, the longer I put this off, the more nervous it makes me. While I may not follow my father's orders all the time, he's still the king, and I wouldn't put it past him to have me arrested if he thought I had turned into a traitor.
I throw a robe on and make my way to the study before pulling out my cell phone to make the call. He answers the phone as if I have caught him in the middle of something important; his tone is already full of disapproval.
“Is it true?” is the first thing he asks. “Daniel said you'd taken up with some rebel harlot.”
I blow out a breath from this misinformation. “No, Dad, it's not true. She's not a rebel, and she's not a harlot.”
“And you're not going to marry her,” he makes it sound as if his word is final.
My jaw clenches, and I feel anger welling up inside of me. “We'll be getting married tomorrow. I regret that you won't be able to attend the wedding, but I'm sure you understand the urgency given the situation.”
“You will do no such thing.” I can picture his plump cheeks red with stress. His face always gets red when he's upset, and he's definitely upset right now. “You'll return home immediately, leave Daniel in charge, and I'll find you a suitable match.”
“I'm not interested in any of those stuffy princesses.” I jerk my head to the side. “I love Anya. She's kind and brave, and she cares about people and will make a great wife and mother.”
“She cares about her people,” he booms into the phone. “The rebels. She's probably planning something sinister for you to try to gain some advantage in a war they've already lost.”
“She's not a fucking rebel, Dad. I found her scavenging for food just trying to get by,” I inform him, though I already know it will make him think less of her. At least he'll no longer see her as a threat.
“Gutter trash,” he huffs.
“My soon-to-be wife and the mother of my children,” I say firmly.
“Not if I have anything to do with it. I'll have you arrested if you even think about marrying her.”
“She's already pregnant with my child. Your grandchild.”
There's silence on the other end of the line for several seconds. I think I've won him over until I hear him say, “I won't stand for this.” Then the line goes dead.
I try to call him back, but he doesn't answer. That means he's really pissed. Who knows what he's going to do now? Send Daniel and some men to arrest me. I know he won't kill Anya as long as she's pregnant, but I wouldn't put it past him to arrest us both for treason. And as for our unborn child...
I need to create as much protection for the both of us as I can, and the best way to do that is to ensure that we're married before anyone is able to get to us. I was too bold saying that we'd be married tomorrow. Now he knows the time frame he has to stop me. We need to speed things up.
I take long strides back to the bedroom, bursting through the door without warning. Anya shrieks and pulls the comforter up over her chest until she sees it's me. Then her expression mirrors my panic. “What's wrong?”
I pace the room, unable to hide my mounting stress. “As expected, my father did not give his blessing for our pending marriage. Having said that, I'm afraid it can't wait until tomorrow. I need to send for the priest immediately and pray to God he doesn't arrive with Daniel and some of his men to arrest us.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ANYA
I can't believe this is happening. Within an hour of Fynn telling me about the conversation with his father, we're downstairs standing in front of a priest. Luckily, my shipment of clothes came just in time. Otherwise, I'd probably be wearing a pair of Fynn's pajamas instead of the royal blue 1950's vintage flare dress I have on right now. It's the nicest thing I've ever worn, with a lace overlay for the bust and sleeves and a golden buckle at the waist. I don't quite feel like a princess in it, but I definitely feel refined.
But this is not the wedding I imagined for myself, not that I ever thought too hard about what my dream wedding would be like. I'm not wearing a wedding dress. We're not in a church. The best Fynn could do was move us outside so that there would be room for all his staff to stand around and witness our union. We're not surrounded by family and friends. Everyone here is a stranger to me apart from Fynn, and if it weren't for our intense intimacy these past two days, he would be little more than that.
Everything is moving at lightning speed, but I understand the urgency behind it. It seems like everything Fynn does is so spontaneous that I barely have time to adjust. I hope that things calm down once we're married and back at the palace.
More than that though, I hope we actually make it back to the palace. By some miracle, Daniel hasn't made a move to separate us yet, but the threat feels ever-present. He could show up at any time and arrest us both.
What would happen then? I'm sure that Fynn would eventually be released, but what about me? Would I be executed? I'd like to think that Fynn would be able to stop it, but he's lower on the hierarchy than his father. It's odd being at the mercy of someone I've never met—my soon-to-be father-in-law—but then again, it's not much different than the war. For the longest time, I've felt like I had little control over whether I lived or died. One dropped bomb I didn't see coming could have ended my life. Fynn's men could have come upon the camp and shot it up. It feels like there are a dozen ways to die these days. What makes this one any scarier than the rest?
“I'm sorry that you're not getting to wear a lavish gown, but you look beautiful.” Fynn takes my hand as we stand in front of the priest.
I smile at him and give his hand a gentle squeeze, so lost in the surrealism of everything going on that I have a hard time focusing. No, this isn't the wedding I had envisioned, but it doesn't really matter. And I'm not doing this because I feel forced to from Fynn pushing me along faster than I can keep up. I'm doing this because I believe in what we have together. I believe...that this is love. And whether I live or die as a consequence of our actions, I think I'm fine with it. Because I never expected to know love like this. Love that would make a man turn his back on his country, his best friend, his family. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
We say our vows in the courtyard of the estate. It might have been a nice day if the wind wasn't whipping so fiercely. The weather is tumultuous, like every second that passes by. I think I spend more time listening for approaching soldiers than I do to the priest’s words. Maybe that's why Fynn really wanted to have the wedding outside. He wanted to hear if anyone was coming.
My heart echoes in my ears as we get to the part where we exchange vows. There was no time to write our own. And even if there had been, what would we have said. Fynn probably would have written something along the lines of seeing me from afar and feeling immediately hit by cupid's arrow. I would have said that in the few short days I've known him, no one has cared for me as much. No, those aren't good vows. The generic version is better for now.
I stumble over my words, wondering if a wedding has ever been filled with this much tension. Lova is crying, but the other servants are stone-faced. Stress is apparent in Fynn's tensed jaw. I'm on edge, expecting him to tell the priest to hurry up. This isn't romantic at all. Not in the moment. But in the grand scheme of things, to an outsider, it would be.
Finally, we're
pronounced man and wife, and I feel relief sweep through both Fynn and me like a passing wind. We gaze into each other's eyes, and then we kiss, sealing our union. The kiss is chaste, but I still feel a zing of electricity between us. Fynn rests his forehead against mine, and I can see that he's just happy that the wedding is over. No, this is definitely not a typical wedding. If we somehow both survive this and don't end up in jail, I want a re-do in a few years.
“Congratulations,” the servants say as we proceed back inside the house. They bow and curtsey to me, which seems incredibly odd.
“You're a princess now,” Fynn leans in and tells me with a smile.
Even though I knew this was what would happen when we married, being reminded of it is still a shock to me. Princess Anya. It doesn't sound real. Like some made up name not belonging to me.
I stand near the stairs while the servants go back to their posts and Fynn speaks to the priest for a while before dismissing him. Then he takes my hand and leads me upstairs. When we get to our room, he stops in front of the door, scooping me up into his arms to carry me over the threshold. I can't help but giggle.
“I think you were supposed to have done that when we entered the house,” I inform him.
“This isn't really our home. Just a temporary one. I can get it right back at the palace.” He winks at me.
“If we make it that far,” I mumble.
“We'll make it that far,” he assures me, setting me down on the bed. “My father may be pigheaded, but there's not much he can do now. Arresting us won't change the fact that we're legally bound in marriage. At worst, he'll try to force me to annul the marriage, and when I refuse, he'll grudgingly accept that this is the way things are. It may take a while, but I guarantee he'll warm up to you the second he sees his new grandbaby.” Fynn tenderly places his hand on my stomach.