As I gave my bouquet to Bonny and took his hands, I gazed up at him. There was a whole private universe between us; a whole realm of secret desires and experiences unspoken. The darkness of our dungeon, the intensity of our love.
“Do you, Iris, take King Randal to be your husband, to have, to hold….” The bishop said the words, but they felt far away, like I was overhearing them across a meadow. It was okay—I knew them by heart already. I focused on Randal’s beautiful eyes, his scars, his confidence. His utter, breathtaking, heart-throbbing perfection.
“I do.”
“And do you, King Randal…”
The words faded away again, and I let myself get lost in his eyes, knitting my fingers into his, running my thumb over the edge of his chain-mail cuff. He had done so much, not only for me, but for the whole kingdom. He was such a magnificent man. And I was lucky to have him as mine. But more than that, I was lucky—in every single way—to be his.
Promises gave way to vows, vows gave way to rings, and I watched—mesmerized—as his huge fingers wiggled my ring onto my finger, at the way the diamonds that encrusted the band pressed into his fingertips.
More vows, more promises. I was blushing so hard I knew I must be cherry red. This was our big moment. This was it.
“…then you may kiss the bride.”
The organ music roared up into its most majestic octaves, making my whole body tremble, but as soon as his lips met mine, I hardly heard or felt the vibrations of the notes. Because the kiss, oh God, that kiss. He took my cheek in his huge hand, gripping the back of my neck with his thick, strong fingers.
I groaned into his mouth, watching him through slightly parted lashes. He was watching me, too, and I felt him smile as I smiled. This was no polite kiss, though; this was deep and long and the sort of thing I’d never done in public before. The crowd hooted their appreciation as he stepped into me and pulled me close, with one massive hand on the small of my back, lowering me down into a dizzying dip.
When the kiss finally ended, the crowd erupted in applause and delight.
Now was the part of the ceremony when we turned to walked back down to the aisle, but as I tugged on his arm to turn and go, he shook his head at me, smiling. All mischief. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said into my ear.
My maids of honor stepped back, as did his men. Two priests joined the bishop that had married us. The organ music built up into one chest-shaking chord and then ceased. The cheers of the crowd died down.
There was a silence, the likes of which can only happen in a full cathedral—complete, sudden, and total. The priests bowed their heads; the squeak of the pews made me turn to look behind me. Coming down the aisle before us was the royal master of jewels. And on a green velvet cushion he carried a crown.
My crown.
I looked up at Randal, astonished.
“You mean…today? Now?” As if my wedding day hadn’t been overwhelmingly joyful enough. We had barely discussed my coronation. I had been too unclear on the rules to mention it, too unsure about how to ask. No matter what gowns or jewels I wore, I felt I’d always be a simple girl a heart. Affairs of kings and queens were far beyond me. But he was always a step ahead of me. He always knew the way.
“Yeah. Now, beautiful,” he said, with a very un-kingly grab of my ass, hidden from prying eyes by the voluminous folds of my wedding dress, and doubly shielded by their lowered heads and downcast eyes.
“You are my wife,” he growled softly into my ear, “and it’s about fucking time you become my Queen as well.”
After a day of feasting and celebrating, we were finally alone in our own private quarters. He’d prepared for this. There were candles lit and fresh fruit on the bedside table, along with a bottle of wine and a glass pitcher of water. The things we did together, the way we were in private, was hard and hungry work.
As soon as he shut the door behind us, the ferocity in his eyes told me what I’d been hoping since the moment he placed my crown on me. I might be Queen out there in the world, but here, in private, with just the two of us, I was still his possession. To use and have as he desired. I pulled a grape from the bunch by the bed and slid it into my mouth, sucking on my finger as I watched him.
We were alone, utterly alone. That had been another thing I worried about—if this huge change in status would mean that we were surrounded by servants all the time. But apparently not. Thankfully not.
He locked the deadbolts on the door without breaking my gaze, and then took two long strides into me. He was dark now, serious. Intense. He undid his sword belt and I unfastened the row of clips that secured his chain mail. Through all of it, I didn’t say a word. Speak when spoken to.
With each movement, each glance from him, I felt myself getting wetter and wetter. My heart pounded with anticipation and need.
I took off his mail and hung it on a hook, then turned to him. I lowered my eyes and knelt before him.
He growled when I went to my knees. With one huge finger he tipped my chin up, so I was looking at him. He looked savagely hungry. Dangerously full of desire.
Thank you, Lord, for this danger.
Randal dragged the pad of my thumb down my lip and pressed his fingers into the angle of my jawbone. I loved when he did that—letting me feel all his power in one tiny gesture. He traced my face with his eyes, and I saw the bulge between his legs grow to the point of straining his pants.
“That pussy better be ready for me, my Queen,” he said, and slid his finger under the diamond choker that I wore around my throat.
Chapter 21
Randal
“Everything off, except this choker,” I told her. I backed away from her, dropping my pants as I did. My dick was rock-solid, a smudge of precum already wetting the tip.
Seeing my precum pissed me off. And it reminded me of the simplest of the simple fucking truths: I was as cunt-whipped as any man had ever been in the history of the world.
No matter how big and strong I was, no matter how many motherfuckers knelt at my feet, she sat on the prize. Her pussy had the power. Always had and always fucking would. I’d chew through stone walls to eat her out. I’d destroy kingdoms to put my cock inside her.
Sitting down on the bed, keeping my legs spread wide so my throbbing balls had plenty of room to hang, I took my cock in my hand and stroked it as I watched her unfasten the row of hooks that went down the corset of her wedding dress. As her breasts came free, I saw an angry curved red line where her dress had been cutting into her. I liked that a whole fucking lot—the idea of her hurting a little in a place that only I’d ever see. I gripped my cock harder, trapping blood in the shaft as I stroked.
“Jacking off while the queen strips for me,” I said, gripping myself tighter. “Fuck, it’s good to be the king."
She hurried through the last of the hooks on the corset and let it fall at her feet, rushing to get her skirt off. I needed her to remember that this was my palace and I gave the goddamned orders. No matter how much I needed to fuck her, I outranked her. I gave the commands.
“Slow the fuck down,” I growled.
She froze, fingers trembling, and looked up at me with big innocent eyes. Fear. I saw it there. And I groaned as my cock pulsed in my hand.
“I like you, you know,” she said softly, all mischief. She hooked her thumbs under the waistband and then she slowly, so fucking slowly, shifted her skirt to get to the long row of buttons that ran down from her ass.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “That works out then. Because I fucking worship you.”
She gave a sassy, bratty little “Mmm-hmm” into her closed pink lips, long lashes dusting her cheeks. One button gave way. And then she slowly moved to the next.
So this was the game we were gonna play then. The give and take. The command and conquer.
I stood, releasing my cock from my grip, and moved toward her, stepping into her to make her back up against the sofa that sat in front of the fireplace. I took the tiny buttons between my fingers, looki
ng her in the eyes, making like I was going to undo them.
But instead, I ripped those motherfuckers off in one yank. They skittered over the floor like a handful of loose jewels.
Iris threw her head back with a sexy little giggle.
Fuck, that throat. I loved that throat.
While she still had her head thrown back, I wrapped my hand around her neck, keeping the skin of her throat taut and ready. Her giggle turned into a warm-honey moan. I went right for her throbbing pulse point on the left side, sucking hard, being dirty about it. I felt her melt in my hands. That spot on her neck—it made her knees weak when I teased her there. But as she wobbled, I caught her with one hand cradling the small of her back.
Still kissing her throat, I spun her around and then threw her back on the bed. I dropped to my knees between her legs and pulled her panties off with my teeth, inhaling hard to get a solid hit of her sweetness and salt. She was drenched already. I forced her thighs toward her chest to stretch out her slit and give me maximum access.
As I pinned her thighs back, my huge hands sinking into the soft white flesh at the backs, she grabbed her knees for me, moaning as my mouth met her opening.
I ate her out like it was my fucking job, like I had been starving all my goddamned life. True enough. I had. I’d been craving her before I even saw her, and ravenous like a hunting tiger ever since. I went right for her clit, giving her exactly what I knew she needed. Fuck the foreplay. I’d have a lifetime of teasing her. Tonight I needed every orgasm she could give me, and I needed the first one now.
Her moans rose into ecstasy as I shook my jaw against her cunt to intensify her pleasure. My stubble scratched against the raw flesh of her red opening.
“Oh shit,” she panted, her toes curling hard against my extended forearms. Even her little toes were sexy as hell. “Shit, shit, oh shit, Randal, I’m gonna…” Filthy words sounded so goddamned good from her pretty mouth. If I hadn’t loved her so much, I’d have hated her. Way too perfect. Way the fuck too perfect.
She came, hard and loud. Her back arched up and she dug her heels into my shoulders as she roared my name. I sucked her clit deep into my mouth as she did, telling her with my tongue and my mouth that she was such a good fucking girl and that she was all mine.
While she was still rolling with pleasure, I stood and placed myself at her opening. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glazed, the sheen of tears catching glints of firelight.
Without warning and without hesitation, I plunged my cock into her, going deep until I slammed against her cervix. She sucked in a breath, like she’d been winded, and rose halfway up off the mattress. I shoved her back down and took her deep and hard, tipping her hips up so I met her g-spot with every thrust. Fuck, she felt so good. It was a pleasure so intense it was almost disorienting. All the bullshit of life, of kingship and ruling, fell away. And I became just another guy fucking his woman until she begged for him to go just a little softer. Please, please, please.
I didn’t. I gave her everything I had and more. Jack-hammering her until I thought I was going to crack the plaster on the wall, I imagined what I had been thinking about since the first time I saw her and ever since. Then I dragged her to the edge of the bed, pulled out just long enough to flip her onto her knees, and took her from behind. When she was on her knees, I could get into her deeper. And when it came to her cunt, deeper was always what I needed. “I’m going to fuck my baby into you tonight, Iris,” I snarled as my balls slapped against her clit.
Her pleas for just a little softer stopped and she gave me that sexy, sassy laugh. She looked back over her shoulder at me, all trouble. Careful, girl, I warned her, without saying the words just yet. I opened my hand and spanked her hard enough to leave a bright red welt on her lily-white ass.
But she didn’t relent. As I fucked her, her body bucking and rolling, she bit her lip and watched me. “You’ve already fucked a baby into me, my King.”
Wait. Wait a fucking minute. I plunged into her all the way, and paused there inside her, cock throbbing, pussy pulsing, my entire body dripping with sweat. “You mean…?”
She nodded. Her pussy tightened as she said, “Yes, I do.”
That meant I’d knocked her up before I married her. Hottest thing in the goddamned world. My orgasm hit me like a dam breaking right down the middle. I gripped her hard by the hips without pulling out. Staying there, safe inside her, I pulsed squirt after squirt of cum into her pussy. A baby. She was having my fucking baby. Holy fuck, yes.
When my balls were drained and my cock finally went half-hard, I pulled out of her. I rolled her onto her back and then got in bed beside her, nestling my head against her belly. I turned my cheek and pressed my lips to her soft skin, as she ran her fingers through my sweat-soaked hair.
Never in my life had I really been happy. Not until her. Not until now.
Epilogue
Randal
Five years later
I dismounted in front of the very spot where I was crouched when first Iris called out for my help. Every year on our anniversary, we came back to Iris’ old farm to help with calving. As I patted my mare, I heard her laugh ring out from the old milking shed, now rebuilt. The whole place had been updated and improved, at her direction. She was damned proud of the place and so was I. But it wasn’t just her beautiful laugh that I heard. It was also…
“Daddy!” Yelled the kids, running at full spring across the yard to get to me. I dropped to one knee. Randal II was in the lead, long and lanky even at five years old. But his little sister Maggie was hard on his heels, with a furious look on her face, tongue sticking out as she ran as hard as she could with fists clenched to catch up to her older brother. So fucking cute. She had her mom’s eyes, and her mom’s hair, and she was tough as nails, just like Iris.
Randal got to me first, wrapping his arms around my neck. His hair was damp with sweat, and he had bits of hay and feed all over his clothes. Maggie, though, not to be beat, launched herself up on top of her brother’s back like a possum, and hung on tight to both of us.
They easily fit in my arms, both of them together, and I hoisted them up off the ground, which they answered with fucking fantastic, ear-splitting giggles. They did it every damned time I got them up in the air. And it never, ever got old.
Taking Maggie under one arm and Randal under the other, I hauled them across the farmyard like bales of hay. “Iris,” I hollered. “Found some old rotten bales. I’m gonna go toss them in the canal.”
“Nooooooo!” Maggie giggle-screamed.
Randal giggled too, but then panted, “Not the canal, Dad! Not today! One of the heifers is about to have its baby!”
Serious business, indeed. Kneeling again, I let the kids go, and they took off for the milking shed, boots smacking the mud, and Maggie’s skirt all bunched up in her underclothes, showing a peek of her butt as she ran.
Just as they slid out of my arms, I spotted Iris, standing in one of the barns. Since the big barn doors on both sides of the building were wide open, she stood in silhouette—her belly heavy and round with our third. It made me think of the stolen princess of legend, her three children represented by the three stars on our family crest. Would my own children go on to found kingdoms of their own? Not if I could help it. I’d keep them as far away from royal duties as I could, for as long as I could. Watching Iris, I felt my cock respond. Everything about her pregnant body was insanely fucking sexy—that crease between her belly and her hips, the extra softness of her arms, the ripple of extra weight at the backs of her thighs. Fuck. But her breasts especially drove me right out of my skull. Those milky tits. Christ almighty. Just the thought made my damned stomach growl.
Within a matter of a few long strides, I had Iris in my arms. I gave her a kiss and smacked her ass, which she answered with a playful swat of my hand and a smile into the kiss. “Bonny’s right there! Behave!”
I growled into the shell of her ear. “Like I give a fuck,” I said, under my breath.
&
nbsp; Iris drew her shoulders back and put one hand on her hip to say she gave a fuck.
“Alright, alright,” I said, resisting the urge to adjust my balls. The erection was real, but as long as I stayed behind Iris for a minute I’d be able hide it. Mostly. But I didn’t miss my chance to hook my arm around her belly, nestling it in between her tits and her baby bump, and leaning in behind her to say, “I’m fucking hungry. Make some milk for me. Right now.”
She stifled a laugh and slapped my thigh, a hot red blush coming up into her cheeks.
Following Iris into the shed, I saw Bonny seated on a milking stool, one hand to the pregnant heifer’s belly, and one ear to her side. It was the same little Bonny that had thanked me for saving Iris that terrible day when the Queen’s men had come to kill her, the same girl who Iris had taught so much when she ran the farm herself.
But Bonny was a little girl no longer. She had grown up a lot in five years, and she was now well into the full power of young womanhood herself. Millstone Farm was now hers and she ran it like a well-run ship—everything neat, trim, and organized. Helping her with the calving was a farmhand named Rhys, who watched her with attentive, lusty eyes. Most of the men that Bonny oversaw resented being bossed around by a young little firecracker with hair the color of copper, and bright blue eyes that turned a fearsome sapphire when she was pissed off. But not Rhys. He was a grown man only a little smaller than me, but he’d have done absolutely anything that little firecracker wanted. Smitten as fuck.
“Hello, your Grace,” said Bonny, lowering her head. She knew how much I hated the pomp and circumstance as well as anybody, and I was grateful that she didn’t give me the full curtsy and all the rest of that shit. Rhys, though, stared at me with a stock-still terror like he was a deer caught in a cross-bow sight. He began to rise to bow for me and Iris, but Bonny set him straight with a ruthless jab of her elbow into his ribcage. “Sit down, Rhys! Randal will still be the King in twenty minutes; you can bow to him then. But this calf is on its way now.”
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