Count On Me

by Abigail Graham

  “I didn’t mean that…”

  I trail off as one of the servants carries a milkshake in a tall glass on a silver tray. He sets it in front of me and I stare at it.

  “Are you trying to make me fat?”

  “Not yet. We’ll plump you up when you are carrying my child.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  He smiles as he watches me eat. The milkshake is so thick, too thick, really. I have to start off with a spoon. Not that I’m complaining.

  I save the cherry for last, crushing it between my teeth.

  “I think I could watch you eat all day.”

  I dab at my lips with a napkin. “You seem to want to.”

  I stifle a burp.

  “What do you want to do with me now?”

  “As long as I can remember, I have never slept in the presence of another person. Come with me.”

  “It’s early yet.”

  “I wish to talk more. Come.”

  He rises and offers me his hand. Gingerly I take it and walk with him. We’re alone now, no servants, no guards. He walks me up another staircase. They never seem to run out.

  The bedroom is as grand as the one where he’d been keeping me, and the bed just as large. Once inside he closes and bolts the door, and rests his hand on my back, guiding me to a huge, ornate sofa. I sit down at the far end, slipping my feet out of my clunky boots. I jerk my legs back and cover my toes with my skirt.

  “In some ways I am as curious as the children were. I can’t imagine a life so different as yours, Penny. I’ve never been so free.”

  “Were those your comic books up in the library?”

  He looks at me and I swear, he’s blushing. He’s embarrassed.

  “Not all. My grandfather started the collection and I set out to continue it. He was mad, as mad as my father, but there was a kindness in him, too. When he was older and stepped down from the throne in favor of my father, it changed him, as if some part of the madness left him to pass itself on.”

  He notices my shoulders quivering.

  “You’re shivering. Are you cold?”

  “Yes. It gets chilly in here at night.”

  Yawning, he rises and walks to the hearth, piles some split logs, and kneels to set the kindling ablaze. The flames from the straw and finely shaved wood lick up around the logs until they too catch, cracking and popping. They throw long shadows around the room.

  When he sits down I scoot closer, my knees drawn to my chest, skirts hanging over my feet.

  “You never had feelings for this other girl,” I ask.

  “No, not for her.”

  “Why?”

  “She was very beautiful, but there is more to attraction than beauty. She did not rise into the role of princess, she wished to drag it down to herself. None of her predecessors demanded so many jewels and dresses as she did, and my father indulged her.”

  “Liking fine things doesn’t make someone a bad person.”

  “It doesn’t make them a good person, either. Sometimes, it can be too much. I look around at all this, and do you know what I think? I don’t own it, it owns me.”

  “I’ve heard that before. Would you ever give it up?”

  “I can’t let anyone else have it. The burden is mine to bear. I would lay it down for a time, though. When my father ruled, my mother and I would travel the land with my grandfather. It was called a royal progress. At the end of each year we would settle for a month or so in a cabin in the north, at the feet of the mountains. It was always late, and the garden outside made the whole house smell of herbs. My grandfather taught me to fish in those streams. Have you ever gone fishing?”

  “Yes,” I sigh. “When I was young and my brother was three or four years old, my father took us to Canada, to a lodge in Quebec. It’s not there anymore now, they tore it all down. I caught a fish.”

  “Oh?”

  “A little perch or something. Nothing impressive.”

  “All children are impressed by their first fish.”

  “We put it back in the water. I guess it’s kind of cruel to put a hook through an animal’s mouth like that, but…” I shrug. “I loved that trip. I wanted to go again so badly but we never did. I loved that part about the missionary work, sleeping in tents, even the prepared meals. I like camping and the outdoors.”

  I shift closer to him, and without a word he slips his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in, again sniffing at my hair. He breathes deep.

  “You smell earthy,” he murmurs. “Like iron and tilled soil. A good smell.”

  I snort. “Thanks, you really know how to flatter a girl.”

  “I want you.”

  As my hand slides down his stomach and comes to rest on his erection, I sigh. “I can tell.”

  As I trace the length of him through his clothes with my finger, I feel him harden more and feel a tingle between my legs. He’s, ah, impressive.

  “You’re not the first guy that wanted me.”

  “Or the first that has had you.”

  I tense. “Careful. Is that a problem? Where I come from it isn’t.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly true. I was… We never… I mean, we fooled around, but that was it. I…” I shrug. “Okay, this is weird, but my mother told me, in detail, how she slept around before she married my dad and told me that tying herself down to one man was a mistake. She kept pushing me to, I don’t know, sow my wild oats or whatever. I don’t know if it was to defy her or just who I am, but I wanted it to be special. I was waiting for my wedding night. We did other stuff. Pretty much all the other stuff. Just not that.”

  He runs his fingers through my hair. They graze my scalp and leave trails of lightning in their path.

  “Do you wish to wait?”

  “I don’t know.” I close my eyes. “Things are different. I have more perspective. I almost died. That choice was almost taken away from me. I want it to be mine again.”

  “It is yours. I will never hurt you, Penny. I will never descend to the level of those animals.”

  I snicker. “You owe me three chopped-off hands already.”

  My stomach quivers and my chest flutters as he pulls me onto his lap. I shift and wriggle my butt, feeling his cock dig against me through his clothes, even my skirts. His hands glide reverently across my body over the fabric of my dress, one resting on my hip, the other on my ass.

  He squeezes and I jerk and wriggle in his lap and tuck up against him. He smells good, too. Like leather and trees.

  “I would never descend to the level of an animal who hurts women.”

  “Stop it,” I whisper, digging my fingers into his chest. I pop one of the buttons on his shirt and slip my hand inside, feeling his warm skin. “Don’t talk like that. It scares me. I want the man who carried me to safety, not the man who tore apart the people who attacked me.”

  “Why do you feel such concern for them?”

  “They’re people, too,” I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m tired, don’t make me think about things like that. I don’t like thinking about you killing people. I want you to stop.”

  “You are an angel. Only an angel sent from heaven could have such mercy. Or feel so wonderful.”

  His finger traces along my shoulder, and his hand rests on the back of my neck.

  He kisses me again.

  He’s more gentle this time, at least at first. Then he kisses me harder and it’s like swallowing a drop of warm honey, the heat spreading through my body. He makes me want to forget it all.

  He whispers in my ear. “Your prince commands you to remove your dress.”

  He looks just a little shocked when I don’t argue. I twitch from the cold stone floor against my bare feet as I stand up and undo the laces at my sides. A tug and a wriggle and the dress pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but these ridiculous bloomers.

  He stands up, taking me by the waist, and shoves them down.

  “You have freckles everywhere,” he wh
ispers, tracing them to prove it, down the middle of my chest and stomach.

  “Yeah. Grandma was Irish.”

  “I thought American girls shave themselves,” he whispers in my ear, as his hand slips between my legs.

  “N-n-not all,” I choke out, rising on my tiptoes as he traces a finger along my slit.

  “I like it. Promise me you won’t shave.”

  “Trust me, you don’t have to convince me.”

  “It’s red,” he says.

  “Yeah. Irish.”

  He scoops me up in his arms and carries me, newlywed style, to the bed. The farther we move from the fire, the colder I get, until I’m shaking like a leaf as he lowers me to the bed. I sink into the featherbed and yank the thick blankets up to my chin.

  He starts taking off his clothes, unbuttoning his shirt first. I tremble as I watch.

  “I don’t know how far I want to go. You’ll stop if…”

  “Yes,” he says. “In my country it is customary to sleep naked anyway. Move over.”

  Still bunched up in the covers, I scoot back to give him room. He takes his shirt off first, and I gasp.

  “Oh my God, what happened to you?”

  The scar on his chest doesn’t look like he should have survived it. It runs from his collarbone diagonally left to right over his body, ending just above his hip.

  “It’s more of a burn than a cut. It was a close thing, my great duel.”

  If he’s nervous, he never shows it. He walks to a side chair and steps out of his trousers, long, muscular legs flexing. I tuck the covers up to my chin and watch, entranced by the way the firelight dances across his body, deepening the shadows between his bunching, corded muscle. I gasp and quickly quiet myself when I realize he’s not wearing anything under his trousers. He tucks his boots under the chair and throws his pants over the back, and walks over to the bed.

  My jaw drops as I watch. He’s incredible, like a statue, and his cock is enormous. There isn’t a single hair anywhere on his body but his head. He lifts the covers back and I tug on them, covering my chest as I curl up in a ball.

  He lies down beside me, turned a little my way, and relaxes. A patient look comes over his face, as if he’s waiting. I forget myself and bite my lip as I reach over and lay my hand on his chest. His broad body and thick muscles make my hand look tiny, my farmer’s tan dark against his pale skin. Instinctively I trace my fingers along the length of his scar, shivering as I do. He must have been cut deep. I can feel the little tucks in the edges of the scar where the the stitches held him closed.

  “Did this hurt?” I ask dumbly.

  “That which does not kill me makes me only stronger. It wasn’t the wound that pained me, but who delivered it.”

  “Your own brother did this?”

  He nods, and touches my hand. I half expect him to just shove it between his legs, but his rough fingers toy with mine, like it amuses him how little my hand is compared to his. He has big hands, with prominent calluses where his fingers meet his palm. I end up toying with his hand with my fingers, flicking the calluses with my nails. If he feels it, he doesn’t show it.

  Kristoff moves closer to me on the bed. The big featherbed yields to his weight and almost dumps me on his lap. He finishes the job by slipping his arm under my waist to halfway lift me onto him. He flinches and blinks wide, a hint of a smile curling the edges of his lips.

  “Your legs are cold.”

  “I’m cold. I don’t understand how it’s summertime in the valley but it gets so cold up here at night.”

  He rolls on his side and pulls me to him, and slips his arms out from the blankets to press them tightly around my body, trapping his warmth against me. I lay my leg on his and flex it, rubbing my thigh and calf on his leg.

  The response is instantaneous. I must look surprised, he laughs when he sees my expression as I feel him stiffen. He pulls his arm back under the covers and his hands rest on my sides, just above my hip, like we’re dancing. One moves up my back, his fingers spreading like he wants to touch as much of me as he can. The other glides over my ass and squeezes.

  I let out a little squeak and flop in the bed.

  “I like it when you make this noise,” he growls, drawing me closer.

  His chest presses against mine. His cock is fully hard now, throbbing against my stomach, pressed between us. My hands find more scars, on his shoulders, on his back.

  “You’ve been hurt a lot,” I murmur, tracing the patterns.

  I try to put together an image in my head of what the battle must have been like, reading the scars like a map. He was hit on the shoulder and it left a deep cut, and there’s a puckered, craterlike mark low and to the side on his back, like a stab wound.

  Somebody stabbed him in the back, literally.

  As he moves I keep the covers tucked up to my chin, suddenly losing my nerve to let him see me naked, even as I wrap my legs around him and roll my hips, grinding on him. He makes an almost pained sound.

  In a quick motion he knots his fingers in my short red hair and pulls. It hurts just a little… But I like it. He pulls me down as he rises up over me, then lets go as I sink into the pillows. He lies half on top of me and yanks the covers down, and out of pure instinct I cover my breasts with my arms.

  My tan only extents my arms, and it’s mostly freckles, freckles over my whole body. The rest of me is as white as a sheet, dotted with a million tiny little spots. He kisses me again, lightly on the lips, pulling back when I try to go for some tongue, smiling as if he thinks I’m unruly or something. The word patience forms silently on his lips, and he traces his fingertip back and forth over my collarbone.

  I can feel myself uncoiling at his slightest touch. I grab his wrist and pull, trying to move his hand down, but he’s too strong. He goes from stroking my upper chest to my shoulder and neck, and it sends electric shivers down through my body, like my nerves are coming alive for the first time. Like waking up naked under warm sunlight.

  I grin and resist him as he tugs at my wrist to expose me. The look on his face when my nipple is exposed is priceless. I feel my face turning red, a flush on my throat and chest. He cups my breast and catches my nipple between his fingers. I squeak and jerk when he gives it a little pinch, and wrap my arms around his head, pulling him down.

  His mouth, hot and wet, opens over my nipple and he drags his hot, soft tongue over, tasting me, and I groan. His cock is throbbing against me, screaming to impale me in all its hugeness, and I feel tiny and vulnerable beneath him. He’s gentle and rough at the same time, his hands gripping my sides tightly, his mouth chasing my breasts as I wriggle under him, gasping and biting down hard on little moans.

  I’ve never felt so scared and alive and excited at the same time. It’s now, I want it now, but I want what’s coming next even more. He licks my nipples so hard they hurt and leaves a burning trail of kisses down my stomach and along my sides, taking what feels like hours to move down and finally drag his tongue along my quivering pussy. I arch and moan, writhing in the bed, my face aching from twisting from a slack mask of pleasure to a silly grin and back again.

  Very slowly his finger presses inside me as he runs his tongue gently over my clit, sending icy spears through the hot buzz that fills my body. His finger sinks deeper and my body clenches around it, my legs locking around his head. Soon I can’t take the rough feeling of his tongue on my clit but I like it too much to stop him, moaning and whimpering as he devours me, pulls me down through myself into him and into a pink haze, every muscle relaxing as I lie splayed on the featherbed, my heels resting on his back like I’ve mounted a stallion.

  “Let me suck your cock,” I blurt out, maybe trying to stop myself from rolling over the edge yet. “Please.”

  His finger draws slowly out of me and he shakes loose of my legs, climbing over me, and for a fluttering, heart-pounding moment I think he’ll ignore the appetizer and take the main course, thrust inside me and ravage me with his huge erection.

  He falls b
ack on the bed, splayed out.

  His cock is so hard. It’s so heavy it lies down against his stomach as he rests on the bed in front of me. I tremble when I realize I’m kneeling naked and exposed, my thighs wet, a dark-pink flush on my skin. There is a moment of confusion as I realize I don’t really know what to do, and start to giggle.

  My prince seizes my arms and pulls me on top of him, into a deep kiss. Instinct takes over and I melt on him, like honey drizzled over a hot stone. I could lie here like this for a long time, just kissing him and rising and falling with his breath.

  No, his cock urges me, come here.

  So I do, slowly, the way he did. He likes it when I kiss his neck and likes it more when I use my teeth on his chin and chest, nipping at the skin, pinching between my teeth. Every little bite makes his body spasm and his cock flare harder under me. As I slide down, his erection glides over my sweat-slick skin, stroking between my breasts as I sink down between his legs.

  I rest my head on his thigh and stroke his manhood lightly, holding it gingerly in my fingers, surprised by the heat and the softness, like a layer of velvet over a steel rod. All sorts of urges fill me, things I’ve never felt drawn to before. I duck in quickly and touch my tongue to the spot where his balls meet his shaft, just a quick taste.

  Surprised that I like it, I bring my lips there and give the base of his shaft an openmouthed kiss. He sings his praises with a soft moan and a tight squeeze of his fist in my hair, a sharp pull before he releases and strokes my head and neck as I work down and tickle my tongue between his balls, so hard and hot. He groans and I feel his shaft throb and pulse in my hand, growing larger and harder still.

  I lay my tongue on the underside of his shaft and drag it all the way up, grinning at his hoarse moan of pleasure that turns into a deep sigh as I close my lips lightly around the head of his cock and suck, a quick pulse that makes his legs jerk. I settle between them and he squeezes my sides with his knees as I take him deeper in my mouth, my eyes growing lidded.

  Never before did I really understand why girls would want to do this, but something about him is different. His cock on my tongue quivers and it’s like I can feel the pleasure I give him flowing back into my own body, buzzing in my lips. I can take his endowment no more than halfway before I sputter and gag, so I use my hand, too, stroking his shaft, wetting it with my spit so I can grip harder and feel the veins throbbing against my palm and fingers.