Her King - Kingdom of Raultshire

“It’s nothing,” he says, looking down at his chest. “I did not even feel it.”

“That is too large a wound not to feel it, my lord,” I say, continuing to wash him.

“No one has ever done this for me before,” he says, placing a kiss on the inside of my wrist. That one little kiss rocks me to my core.

“Done what?” I ask, after swallowing thickly.

“Washed me.”

“Surely, you jest.”

“I am sure as a child, I had help, but never as an adult.”

“I find that hard to believe. No one in the brothels?”

“I’ve never visited a brothel, Braya.”

“All men do, even peasants,” she says.

“Not this man,” he says with conviction.

“I suppose the brothel comes to you,” I say absentmindedly. He grabs my wrist and pulls me so that I am just a few inches from his face.

“I thought we went over this.”

“If you tell me about more handsome kings than you, I will leave you here all alone.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying that there are none more handsome than you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Fair to who?” He asks as I move the soapy cloth over the rest of his body. I do not linger though I want to. I have never even seen a naked man, let alone been this close to one. Touching one would have seemed out of the question ten minutes ago.

“Anyone. I do not know. I am speaking out of turn.”

“You can speak freely to me, Braya.”

“Your Majesty,” I whisper, my lips a breath from his.

“Christofur,” he says before devouring my lips.

Before I know it, I am in the tub with him. My clothes are soaked, but I do not care. All I can think about is this moment. Our tongues do some kind of dance I would never have thought of, but I love it. My body loves it too.

Again, I ask myself, what am I doing? I am ruining myself, and I can not bring myself to care. He is my king, and I am his more than willing subject. Suddenly, he stands with me in his arms and steps out of the tub. Water drips everywhere, but he doesn’t seem to care. He sets me on my feet carefully and reaches behind me, untying my apron and tossing it away.

“I must admit that I don’t know how to open your dress,” he says, chuckling.

“Oh, let me,” I say, reaching behind me and deftly opening the tiny buttons down my back. I could have left the room. Gotten away from the man, but I chose to stay. To see what happens. Living in the country, I have some ideas, but now I need first-hand knowledge. My dress loosens, and I am standing before him in a soaking wet shift. Reaching down, I pull it up and over my head. Suddenly, I am just as naked as he is.

“You are so damned beautiful,” he says, his hands running down my body, coming to a stop at my hips.

“Thank you. You are quite handsome yourself,” I tell him.

“Do not lie to me, Braya.” I want to murder everyone who did this to him. Everyone who told him he was less than. He is the king, for God’s sake. His confidence should know no bounds.

“I do not lie, Your Majesty. I also do not wish to hear this kind of self-deprecation, especially when it is not true.”

“Christofur,” he says, his lips finding a rather delicate spot on my neck.

“Hmm?” I moan.

“Say my name,” he demands, going back to my neck.

“Christofur,” I moan, then he takes my left nipple into his mouth, and I lose it. I put my hands on his wet skin, letting them roam over his back before moving to the muscular expanse of his chest.

“You’re mine now,” he growls before placing me on the bed.

“Your what?” I ask, basking in the feel of his lips on my belly, moving lower.

Chapter 3

Christofur

Her beauty astounds me. I do not think I’ve seen a more beautiful woman in my entire life. The fact that she sees more in me than I ever have makes me want her even more. I feel powerful for the first time ever as I get on the bed above her. I know that once this happens, she will be mine forever.

"Everything," I murmur in answer to her question. Her mouth forms an "o" shape, but no sound comes out.

“Why are you just staring at me?” she asks, trying to cover her body. I push her hands that are obstructing my view.

“I literally cannot help myself,” I reply honestly.

“It is impolite to stare,” she says, laughing.

“I suppose it is.” I lean down and kiss her lips again. My hard cock is begging for relief. Using my fingers, I run them through her folds. She is wetter than I thought she would be. She moans at my slight touch. I bury my face there and taste her. I may not have done this before, but I have heard talk from my men about this kind of thing. War makes conversation bawdy, to say the least. It does not take long before she is grinding into my face harder and harder. I thank God that I am doing it correctly. Everything about her screams says that she is mine.