And I work her slowly, pumping into her as she gasps and groans.
Lenora lifts her chin, her face twisted with passion and craving for more.
“Please, please, please, please . . .”
I slip my fingers from her and grip my cock, sliding again to her slick, hot opening.
“Yes . . . yes . . . Edward . . .” she chants.
I press inside her, just the head.
Slow, slow, slow.
Her muscles resist, but her wetness eases the way. I want to curse with the sensation of her—the hot snugness that makes my vision go dark. But I won’t. This moment is too precious for those words.
“Lenora, look at me,” I rasp.
When her eyes rise to mine, I grasp her hips and thrust all the way in past her virginity, embedded fully in the depths of her wet, gripping heat.
She arches her back and cries out.
For a moment, I don’t move . . . but when I do, it’s down into her arms. I lie on top of her, hovering above her, pressed as deeply into her as I can be. I gaze into her beautiful eyes and brush back her damp hair and I feel the caress of her hands on my arms, my back.
“All right?” I ask.
“Yes,” she nods. “Yes . . .”
And then I move. Hips circling in slow, shallow circles—kissing her, loving her with my mouth—building it back up, wanting to give her ecstasy . . . give her the whole world.
My lower pelvis rubs her clit with every swerve of my hips.
Again and again and again.
Lenora’s chest rises and falls, harder, faster, and heat surges back into her eyes.
“That’s it, love,” I coax. “That’s it . . .”
And Christ, the feel of her—more than I dreamed in my wettest fantasy. Every ridge and rope of her muscles inside is slick and tight and clamping.
I suck at the tender skin of her neck, breathing hard. And her moans fill my ears. Louder and harsher with every roll of my hips. Fantastic, carnal sounds that makes my balls tighten and my cock swell.
The sounds of lust and love and life.
“Edward! Edward, Edward . . .”
She grasps at my shoulders desperately and her heels press against my arse. And I kiss her mouth deep and long—licking the sounds from her lips, holding them inside, keeping them for myself.
I feel it when she comes. It’s in the pulsing clench of her beautiful pussy, in the long, broken sob of her moan, in the squeeze of her arms that cradle me tenderly even as she finds her peak.
Electric heat races down my spine. My hips thrust wildly, roughly, and I groan helplessly against her shoulder as my cock jerks, filling her up, coming hard so deep inside her.
Afterward, I lift my head and look down into Lenora’s eyes, kissing her gently and brushing her hair back. I don’t ask if she’s all right, because I know she is—I see it in her smile and the tender tear that streaks down her cheek. I pull her against me, into my arms, both of us boneless and spent and satiated.
STANDING UP FROM MY CHAIR, I lean my hands on the table and address the Advising Council.
“So let me see if I have this right. Parliament wouldn’t consider my legislation until I was a married woman. Because they wanted a queen who was a traditional wife and assurances that my husband would ‘curb me.’ And now that I’m married, and have been married for nearly four weeks, they refuse to consider the legislation because they’re claiming I’m somehow being controlled by my husband’s cock?”
My uncle’s jaw drops.
Radcliffe could be on the verge of a heart attack.
And Tweedledum gasps in outrage. “Your Majesty!”
“Oh, man up, Tweedle!” I smack the table. “I need you. I need all of you. Because we have to send a message loud and clear that while Prince Edward’s cock is certainly magnificent enough to do the job, the Queen is controlled by no one. Least of all by Parliament. So they’d best get off their arses and do their bloody jobs!”
My council stares at me in shock.
Except for Alfie and Edward. They’re trying very hard not to laugh. And failing miserably.
Edward isn’t an official member of the Advising Council, but since we returned from Finland he’s been coming to the meetings, and later we discuss the issues in private. Sharing my thoughts with him and hearing his opinions is often very helpful.
Now is not one of those times.
“Prince Edward, Lord Ellington . . .” I scowl.
Edward’s eyes dance at me with humor. Because for some reason, he just loves getting me all riled up.
“While I’m happy you find me so entertaining, do you have anything helpful to add to the discussion besides hilarity?”
Alfie shakes his head, his face bright red and busting with a grin.
Edward leans back in his chair, arms crossed and mouth quirked—regarding me with that handsome arrogance that makes me want to kiss him all the time.
“As a matter of fact, I do, Your Majesty.”
“Please, enlighten us, then.”
“You don’t need to send a message. What you need . . . is a good shovel.”
“A shovel?” I ask. “I don’t follow.”
“They’re politicians,” he explains. “Dig up enough of their dirt, and they’ll do any damn thing you want.”
Dirt. Hmm.
Slowly, I nod.
“That sounds very . . . efficient.”
THE FOLLOWING WEEK, ten of the most influential leaders in Parliament meet in the large back office, at the Queen’s request. She wears a candy-pink dress trimmed in black that hugs her perfectly and high black pumps with little bows and a heel so sharp she could stab someone through the heart with it. But it’s the look in her eyes I enjoy the most. Anticipation, excitement, vengeance and victory.
She’s like a sleek, small, silver gun—beautiful but lethal. It’s an intoxicating combination.
“Good morning, my Lords.” Lenora folds her hands in front of her and smiles sweetly. I lean against the wall . . . just watching her.
“Please observe the files in front of you. There is delicate information that has come to our attention, about each of you. We wanted to make you aware that we are aware of this information . . . and that we have documentation to prove it. For your own protection, of course.”
They tear open the files. A few of them may actually shit themselves.
Lenora taps her lip, furrowing her brow worriedly.
“Although, the problem is . . . I do tend to speak without thinking when I’m upset.” She looks each of them in the eye. “I am a woman after all. There’s no telling what secrets I may tell—or to whom—when I am thoroughly put out. It could be the press, the authorities . . . your wives.”
Slowly she walks in front of them, letting them stew for a bit.
“My suggestion to each of you is to not upset me. To vote on the upcoming legislation in a way that will please me. In short . . . do not piss me off. For your own protection, of course.”
Then she’s back to smiling again. And it’s sort of terrifying.
“Also—”
“There’s an also?” Stinky Winky objects.
My vicious girl grins. “There is, Lord Winkerton—do not interrupt me again. As I was saying . . . also, I have decided that the mandatory military service program will include all citizens of Wessco—men and women.”
And the old men lose their minds—grumbling and shouting.
“That is an outrage!” Lord Plutorch bellows.
“It’s an affront to womanhood!” Count Malmunch trembles with indignation.