Queen Sized Page 2

  But my God, I am aching for her.

  Gwen.

  A woman who would stand up to a king, sass him without batting an eyelash.

  Sharp of wit.

  Proud.

  I’m not so much of a barbarian that I don’t realize how quickly I’m moving. I should at least sit beside her at the bonfire, talk to her, share a couple of ales, before spiriting her off to the loch for our first fuck, but I’m already dangerously close to spilling my come down the leg of my pants. She is affecting me like nothing I’ve ever experienced. As soon as I’ve been between her thighs a few times, I’ll bring her back to the Joining and treat her properly. I swear it.

  I’ll propose.

  That she become my mistress.

  And she’ll say yes.

  Because what woman wouldn’t be overjoyed to live in the castle? I’ll dress her in the finest clothes, fill her with the best food, satisfy her sexually. Give her children. There is nothing else a woman could ask for.

  Right?

  It is unlike me to feel doubt—and I don’t like it. So I ignore the feeling and continue guiding the beautiful Gwen toward privacy. We’ll need to be out of earshot of the Joining for what I have planned.

  “Have you come to the Joining alone?” I ask, eager to know more about this interesting female. One who would give no quarter to a king. One who would tell a man to drop dead without hesitation. God, I like the hell out of her. A woman! Who thought it possible?

  “No. I am here with my two sisters, Viola and Sadie. They are too young for the nighttime festivities, so they’ve gone to sleep in our tent.”

  “Your voice warms when you speak of them.”

  “Yes.” She averts her face, but I catch the color on her cheeks. “I love them with all my heart and soul.”

  I stoop down to study her face, laughing when she ducks her head. “Does it embarrass you to speak about your emotions?”

  “Yes. It’s horrible.”

  “It is,” I agree, chuckling. Goddammit, I like her so much.

  A woman!

  “I don’t know how people manage to…define their feelings so easily. And then talk about them to complete strangers,” Gwen continues. “Why not just hand them a—”

  “Weapon,” we say at the same exact time.

  “Yes,” she breathes, studying me with a puckered brow. “But my sisters deserve to have someone who professes love for them, so I force myself to do it. Only for them. Even if it makes my face feel like it’s on fire.” She pauses. “Do you have anyone like that in your life? Someone you would let your face burn for?”

  “Perhaps my sword.”

  “Ah. It must be magnificent.”

  “A flick of my wrist and she’ll leave a man’s entrails at his feet.”

  “Wow. Entrails. Do you talk like this to all the ladies?” She glances back over her shoulder. “It’s a wonder there aren’t a trail of them swooning in your wake.”

  My laughter echoes off the side of the mountain. “God, woman. You amuse me.”

  “Are you looking for a new court jester?” she quips, her expression so charming, I almost pull her down onto the grass, eager to put my mouth on her full, clever, beguiling one. Now. “Is that where your interest lies?”

  “Far from it,” I rasp, reaching beneath my tunic to adjust my throbbing dick.

  “Too bad,” she sighs. “I wager a jester makes decent coin.”

  Concern briefly eclipses my hunger. “Are you in need of coin, my lady?”

  Firmly, she shakes her head. “That is not your worry.”

  Obviously she doesn’t see where this relationship is going. “Oh yes it is.”

  Her nose wrinkles. “No, it is not. You are a king, but you are not my king. Besides, not even the ruler of my kingdom worries himself over a lower class farmer.”

  The fact that someone else rules her, even temporarily, is repugnant.

  It results in an erosion in my chest. A cascade of ugliness down to my belly.

  “You are a farmer,” I force out, imagining her sowing a field on her hands and knees. The image is pleasing and unacceptable at the same time. Pleasing because farming fits her exactly. It’s honest work. It’s real, like her. But I don’t like the idea of her toiling under the sun, and I don’t plan to allow it any longer.

  “Yes, we have a small family farm in Lavere.” She stares ahead, as if seeing a very different landscape. “The earth has not cooperated for the past two harvests, unfortunately, leading to a position as jester to sound more and more appealing.”

  “You are meant for far better things, Gwen.”

  “Yes, I know.” She winks at me. “It was only a jest.”

  Something funny happens in my stomach. It’s the feeling I had as a lad when falling off a horse. I’m free falling and the ground is a long, long way down. This time there doesn’t seem to be any ground at all. This woman is wreaking havoc on my body and mind. I’ve never been in this position before. Of liking a woman and wanting to fuck her so bad. In fact, I don’t recall a single time I’ve liked a woman at all. Or cared one way or the other whether I laid with her.

  With Gwen…

  I feel a terrible rapping inside my ribcage, and the fact that it’s my heart making the god-awful racket is terrifying. My heart’s only function is to keep me alive so I can reign victorious in battle. It ought not to be slamming around in my throat over a woman. And yet…it is.

  Ignore it. Focus on practicalities.

  “You will not be a jester. Nor will you farm a single day longer.” I cup her cheek, tilting her face up toward mine, anticipating a flood of gratitude in her gorgeous brown eyes and eager to watch the show up close. “You are to be my mistress, woman. Permanently.”

  Silence stretches.

  It stretches so long, doubt begins to creep back in and tingle my spine.

  Finally, Gwen smiles sweetly. “Like hell I am.”

  She stomps back toward the gathering.

  Not even a second passes before I’m striding after her, unable to ignore how perfectly shaped she is from the back. Sweet fucking hell. A finer, juicier ass has never been crafted. She was molded by the angels, every curve and dip given the utmost attention.

  “Come back here, Gwen. Now.”

  She shoots daggers at me over her shoulder. “My first demand stands. Drop dead, Your Majesty.”

  Fuck sake. I may have handled this very badly.

  I should have put my lust on hold and brought her to the bonfire before propositioning her. I didn’t expect to feel this…this possessiveness, though. It caught me off guard. Still, surely she is not reacting how a woman normally would when a king shows her attention. Right?

  Jesus, she’s quick.

  I break into a run and come up behind Gwen, easily tossing her over my shoulder, turning on a heel and continuing toward the darker, more hidden areas of the loch’s edge. “You think to escape the Fury so easily, woman? Many a warrior has tried and failed.” I find a large notch carved into the side of the mountain and set Gwen on her feet inside of it. I settle my hands on her shoulders, mentally preparing a speech that will make her see the advantages of my proposition, clumsy though it was…and that’s when I notice the sheen of tears in her eyes.

  The words on my tongue die a withering death, my knees feeling suspiciously weak.

  Have I made this courageous woman weep?

  A pit yawns wide in my stomach over the possibility.

  “Gwen?”

  “I understand now.” She keeps her spine straight and proud, but the effect is challenged by the red tip of her nose. “You saw an easy target. The big girl with the cheap dress. You wouldn’t even have to woo her. Just drag her out to the loch for a roll in the grass.”

  All right. Now my head is spinning.

  Irritation over being misunderstood spears up into my throat, but it’s nothing compared to the discomfort I feel over the tears in her eyes. Tears I caused.

  “How on earth did you come to that conclusion?”<
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  “You just assumed I would lay with you.” She tips her head back and blinks rapidly to keep the moisture from falling—and the sight of it wounds me. Worse than being run through on the battlefield. “Would you have made that assumption about a respectable lady?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have time for respectable ladies—” Fuck. Her eyes are flashing and I’m already holding up a hand. “That came out wrong. I meant, I don’t waste a lot of time on romance. Imagine me trying to court someone?” She sniffs and my hand cups her cheek, stroking it with my thumb, the instinct to comfort her fierce. “I brought you out here, Gwen, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in all my years on this earth. Not because I thought you might be easy. Frankly, my lady, there is nothing easy about you—that’s part of what I like.” I look down at my humongous frame, back to her. “And if you’re big, what does that make me?”

  4

  Gwen

  Don’t. Do not kiss him.

  Kissing the giant is a terrible decision.

  And completely unlike me.

  I don’t go around kissing men, let alone rulers of entire kingdoms. This man has explained in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t want a wife. That he is in the market for a mistress only. By kissing him, he might think I’m considering the proposition. But I most certainly will not. My parents raised me to demand respect. To believe in myself. And I won’t let them—or my sisters—down by accepting a position as the king’s paramour.

  That isn’t to say it isn’t an occupation that doesn’t deserve respect, but it’s less than I’m personally willing to accept.

  That being said…

  Is he becoming more and more attractive as time passes, or did that cup of wine from earlier affect me in unexpected ways? Or perhaps it’s the slow, winding burble of the loch. The full moon and endless scattering of stars. The lonely call of the wind and drums beating low in the distance. The scene is romantic. That has to be why I’m so anxious to slide my fingers up into his unruly dark hair and invite his mouth down to mine.

  Corbet of Fallstrom is a warrior.

  Already a legend and he can’t be older than thirty.

  He’s called me beautiful—meant it, too—and his palm on my cheek, it’s stirring a cauldron of new sensations beneath my belly button. He did bring me out here with the intention of taking his male relief between my thighs. Am I wicked for being sort of…excited by that? I remember the way he approached me, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. As if he was compelled to get as close as possible. Even now, his ample body heat penetrates the thin material of my dress and warms my skin, makes my nipples tingle.

  I’ve thought of what it would be like to make love to a man. Sure. It’s natural to picture it. But because I’m rounder of hip and curvaceous, I’ve always imagined the man being equal in size or slimmer. Never larger. Never much, much larger. There is something very tempting about the idea of lying on my back and having this giant block out the world. To feel…overpowered for once, instead of constantly in charge. Making decisions.

  To feel like a prize for the taking.

  I’m not so desperate that I will give physical liberties to the first man who calls me beautiful, however. No, I have more confidence in myself than that. In fact, I’m a catch.

  And so this kiss is on my terms.

  I’m deciding to kiss a king on this magical evening.

  I’m doing it because I want to. Because my body is begging for his contact.

  Tomorrow, I will have the memory to lock deep inside me while I go hunt for a husband.

  “Speak your thoughts out loud, woman.”

  “You couldn’t keep up.”

  Again, my ribbing only brings appreciation to his chiseled features and I like that. I like it too much that he doesn’t take himself seriously at all times. “Is that so? Try me.”

  “I’m thinking that…a kiss would be acceptable.”

  A muscle clenches in his cheek. “A kiss.”

  I hum quietly, my gaze settling on his mouth quite shamefully. “That’s right.”

  His black brow wings upward toward his hairline. “You think I will be able to stop at tasting your mouth?”

  Moisture gathers between my thighs so abruptly, my lips part on a shaky intake of breath. “You’ll have to manage somehow, Your Majesty.”

  Gripping my hair, he tips my head back and examines the line of my throat, his attention sliding down to my breasts where they threaten to spill from the neckline of my dress. And he makes a rumbling sound deep in his chest that causes me to arch my back, without a command from my brain. Letting him look. “Let’s amend this plan, shall we?” he rasps.

  Danger. Turn back. “How so?”

  “If you want me to stop after a kiss, I’ll stop.” His tongue traces the seam of his mouth. “But if you want more, you’ll say the word…”

  “Jester,” I supply, breathily.

  He chuckles quietly, his mouth lowering to mine. “That’ll do.”

  I brace a hand to his chest to slow his progress. “Just so I know exactly what you mean…what does more include?”

  I only observe the slightest jump of his lips before they’re on mine.

  He presses our mouths together, the contact firm, like a stamp. The sides of our noses touch, his beard tickling my chin. Already it’s the most intimate I’ve ever been with another person and I sink into the sensations. The flavor of ale, the way my curves mold around his muscle, my tiptoes pushing me up so I can get close, his arm slung around my lower back possessively. And then he licks into my mouth with a growl—and the kiss takes on new life. A life I’ve never lived before. It’s wild and messy. It happens so fast.

  One second we’re in the shadow of the mountain and the next, he’s walking me farther into the shallow cave and pressing my back to stone, his mouth insatiable on mine. Collecting oxygen becomes a bothersome chore. We break away only briefly to drag in droves of the stuff before our mouths are reattaching, his tongue rubbing against mine, his hands twisting in fistfuls of my hair while I claw at the front of his tunic, dragging my nails over heaving muscle.

  Oh lord, oh lord.

  His shaft is thick against my belly, and just like the rest of him, it’s enormous. Experimentally, I rub my stomach side to side, something deeply feminine inside me satisfied by his hoarse moan.

  But he’s not satisfied. Oh no, the move seems to frustrate him to the point of pain. “Say the word, woman.” He kisses me hard, dragging at my lower lip with his teeth. “Say it. I need your touch more than I’ve ever needed anything.”

  It seems so fast. Didn’t we just begin? But my hands are aching to explore him and it’s obvious, so obvious, that going further than kissing is inevitable and I was too naïve to realize it at the outset. “Jester,” I whisper.

  With a harsh grunt, his right hand leaves my hair and snags my wrist, drawing my hand down to his lap and pressing my palm to his erection. Using me, fondling himself with my touch.

  “It longs to pump between your pretty thighs, woman,” Corbet says, his lips flush to mine. “Jesus Christ, I’d go back and fight all my battles a second time for the honor of pushing up these skirts and mounting that pussy.”

  I gasp. Of course I do. I’ve never heard coarse words bandied about like this. I taught my sisters to knee a man between the legs for such disrespect, but oh…when he says the words while his hot open mouth is skating up the side of my neck, they sound so good.

  And the stiff weight of him in my palm calls to me, begs me to explore. It was only supposed to be a kiss, but I can sense the pain he’s harboring in that thick stalk of flesh. Can feel it in the vibration of his muscles and the manner in which it throbs, throbs, in time with the beating of our hearts. I stroke him once, hesitantly, through his breeches, and he stumbles into me, pinning me to the wall with my hand between us. His breathing is ragged and uneven in my hair, his hips grinding into my hand, and I understand now. I understand why seemingly sensible maidens lose thei
r virtue at the Joining. If they feel even a hint of the desire that’s encompassing me right now, it makes all the sense.

  “I’ve gone a long, long while without relief, sweet woman,” Corbet says, tracing the shell of my ear with his lips. “I thought the pleasures of the flesh were for weaker men. And then I saw you and years of denial caught up with me. I can think of nothing but getting my bare cock as deep inside you as possible.”

  A tremor wracks me, lust curling deep in my belly. For this man. I want not only to release him from his obvious pain, but I want to feel him planted deep within me. Want to be his savior for those precious moments, watching him turn from man to animal in the name of relieving the male hunger he’s been plagued with.

  I cannot lose my head, though.

  I cannot give my virginity to this man. This king. He will not take me as his wife and no other man will either, without my virtue intact.

  “No,” I breathe, shaking my head, although my hand continues its journey up and down his steel rod, growing bolder and bolder with each pass.

  Corbet bashes a fist into the side of the mountain, bares his teeth.

  And that same fist falls to my breasts, his knuckles teasing my nipples through the thin material of my dress, stiffening them further. “There will be pleasure for you in a good hard rut, woman. I won’t be the only one finding satisfaction.”

  “I might be a virgin, but even I know that’s a lie that men often tell women.”

  By accident, I’ve issued a challenge and it makes his eyes bright. I’ve made a mistake in doing so, because this is not a man who takes a dare lightly. “Do you question my honor?”

  “It’s not a question of honor, it’s a question of skill.”

  Lord, why can’t I seem to stop digging my own grave?

  When I expect him to react with affront, however, he only nods with conviction. “By demanding better from me, you prove what I already knew. You were made for a fucking king.”

  Without taking his eyes off mine, he slowly unties the bodice of my dress, freeing the laces that keep my bosom plumped in my neckline. But with the loss of support, the material of my dress sags and reveals my large breasts clothed only in moonlight.