Page 111 of Bride By Coronation

He chuckles, gives me a chaste kiss, then pulls away when I slide my tongue into his mouth. His lips twitch, and a flush creeps over his glistening skin. He leans into my ear and declares, "Don't worry, my queen. There's more than one way. And your king's going to fill your pussy so deep with cum you're going to feel my warmth for days."

"Yes," I whisper, pushing my pelvis eagerly to meet his thrust.

His determined gaze sears into mine. He thrusts harder and faster, keeping his hand in the same position, not increasing or decreasing the pressure.

Spasms overpower my core, desperately trying to hold on to his erection as it slips in and out of me. They start to slow, then viciously escalate until I'm unable to focus on anything else.

My body convulses against his hard frame and then his cock expands. I cry out, "You're a fucking god!"

His low groan vibrates against me. He thrusts through it, burying his seed deep inside me until we're both peaking with a rush of adrenaline.

He releases my neck, collapsing over me, holding himself up on his forearms. His hot, ragged breath hits my shoulder.

My chest pushes against his, trying to get air.

He rolls onto his back, tugging me into his arms.

It takes a while until my focus returns and my breath normalizes. I slowly lift my head.

He stares at me, his lips slightly curved.

My smile overpowers me. I lean up and kiss him, retreat, and tilt my head.

He caresses my back. "What's the look for, my little bird?"

I arch my eyebrows. "I'm the best?"

He grins. "Yes." Then he slides his hand in my hair and pulls me back to his lips.

We kiss for a while and then I settle into his arms. He slides his palm over my ass, and we lie here, content and sated.

I break the silence minutes later, propping myself up on my elbow. I trace the snake over his chest, saying, "You know how you said you would tell me whatever I wanted to know once we said our vows?"

He nods. "Yes."

"Is anything off-limits?"

He hesitates but then surprises me by saying, "No. Nothing is off-limits. Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you."

"What if it's not about me?"

He sits up, rests against the headboard, and gently pulls me into the same position. He asks, "What do you want to know, Fiona?"

I gather my thoughts but decide there's no easy way to ask and that direct is best. I trace the scar on his cheek and question, "How did you get your scars?"

He tenses. The remaining flush on his skin disappears, and he looks away.

"You don't have to answer?—"

"I will tell you," he interjects, pinning his gaze on me.

I nod, pick up his hand, and kiss his branded skull mark.

He takes a deep breath, then flatly states, "What you've heard about the Petrovs is true. They traffic and rape women. Sometimes, children too."

A chill runs through my bones.

"I am not like them," he reiterates.

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