Page 13 of Coronation
The entirety of my life has come with rules for civility and decorum, procedures to be followed, and traditions to be upheld. I’d thought they would be too deeply ingrained to ever escape their bonds, but one look at Zelda Flowers’ cunt, and I know I would put my fist into the face of any man who tried to take her from me.
Tearing my eyes from her sex, I meet Zelda’s gaze. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, plump tits heaving beneath that silky dress. “Is that an order, sir?” she breathes.
“It certainly is, Miss Flowers.” And, because I’ve exhausted my self-control where she’s concerned, I lean forward, dragging my tongue through her slit.
The taste of her is incredible, but as I suck greedily at her clit and hear that first startled cry from the woman spread out before me, the sounds of her pleasure… yes. That’s what does it. I feel the change come over me, the palpable shift from man to beast as my conscious mind falls away, taking any semblance of control with it.
My fingers dig into Zelda’s thighs as I push her legs open wider, giving myself room to seal my mouth over her sex, lapping at the musky arousal that has flooded over my tongue. We’re exposed; anyone could see what I’m doing to her, andI fucking want them to.
This is, by far, the most sordid thing I’ve ever done, and I never want it to end.
“Oh my god,” whimpers Zelda, her warm, satin-soft thighs trembling in my hands as I turn my attention lower, teasing her entrance with firm circles of my tongue. “Don’t stop, please?—”
I’d have to be mad to stop. My head swims with the rush of whatever caveman instincts have flooded my system, demanding I make this so good for her that she only comes tomefor this. I want to be the man who gives her pleasure and gets her off, but beneath it all is a primal, biological demand which has certainly never registered for me before.
Her noises grow louder as she grasps my hair in both hands, pulling to the point of pain as she instinctively tries to get closer to the source of what is making her feel so good. I let her, following her cues and going harder as her grip tightens. It will be a miracle if I don’t spill in my goddamn trousers by making this woman come.
Hitching her leg over my shoulder, I press my hand between her thighs as well, slamming two fingers into her obscenely tight cunt. At almost the same moment, I pull her clit between my lips, suckling the swollen bundle of nerves with single-minded desperation.
I need her to come—need it more than the air in my lungs or the earth digging into my knees—and thank fuck, she does.
Fucking her with my fingers, I watch, entranced,as Zelda comes apart. Her lips fall open, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air as her body tenses and shakes, thighs trembling on either side of my head. I never want this to end. When it does, though, and she props herself further up on the lounger, gazing at me through eyes still hazy in the aftermath of her orgasm, I find myself grinning. “There’s a great deal more I would like to see, Miss Flowers.”
She lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Do I get to see you, too?”
“If you’d like. I’m more than happy to spend the evening making you come on my face.”
I truly would, and still feel like the luckiest man on the planet for it, but Zelda seems to have other plans for me. The tip of her tongue darts out to wet her lips as her eyes roam down to the thick ridge of my cock, testing the material of my trousers, then back to my face. “I think I’d like for you to fuck me, instead.”
Six
Zelda
It’s surprisingly easy to find an empty bedroom.
I guess privacy wouldn’t be high on many guests’ priority lists, judging by what we just did, and the number of people who were fucking in the lounge when we reentered the house. King Benedict—it’s officially getting weird that I call him that—kept an arm wrapped possessively around my waist as we made our way through the dimly lit room, my skin prickling with heat as I saw more than one couple, or throuple, touching each other right out in the open. Davina and the CEO she was flirting with are nowhere to be found.
The exhibitionism was definitely an unexpected turn, and one I wouldn’t have expected to enjoy quite as much as I did, but it’s a relief when we climb the magnificent staircase in the entryway, passing the crystal chandelier as we do, and emerge in a secluded corridor, lined with glossy wood doors.
The very first one we try turns out to be empty and tastefully prepared for tonight’s proceedings.
The king—I really can’t decide if it would be weirder to call him by his name or not—moves ahead of me into the room, and I feel a hook tug below my belly button as I hover just inside, taking in the scene before me. More candles are arranged on every flat surface, and a massive four-poster bed stands against the far wall, its mattress draped in deep-blue satin. On the bedside table is a silver tray, equipped with an array of lube, condoms, and sex toys, all new in their packages.
A hysterical little giggle bubbles from my lips, and King Benedict turns to look at me, an amused glint in his eyes. “I just ate your cunt in view of several world leaders, an oil baron, and a Nobel Prize laureate, and this room is making you blush?” he teases, stepping back to me and banding our bodies together. “You are a very pleasant conundrum, Miss Flowers.”
Responding is quickly deemed off the table when the tall, dark-haired man lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me as if I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted.
The king lets out a low hiss as I catch his lower lip between my teeth, exerting just enough pressure to hurt. “I want to make you feel good,” I murmur when I release my bite, and the room is filled with the sound of a low, masculine groan as my hand slips between us to palm his cock. Even through his trousers, it’s clear that this man is considerably more sizable than my few and mediocre former lovers, and my inner walls clench at the thought of how he will feel inside me.
Laid out before him outside, as a few couples wandered past, shamelessly watching the leader of this country eat the pussy of a far-too-young-for-him American actress… It was the most erotic moment of my life, and I suspect the ones coming will eclipse it.
My gaze doesn’t break from his as I sink to my knees, lifting my hands to his belt. “May I suck your cock, Your Highness?”
The king curses under his breath, and his chest heaves ashe watches me lower the zip of his pants and undo the button. Making sure he’s watching, I lean forward, pressing soft kisses to the formidable length straining against his briefs. Everything about this, from our age difference to the setting for our encounter, is turning me on to an indecent degree. My panties must have been left out on the patio, because my pussy is bare, and my arousal is spreading to my inner thighs.
“May I, sir?” I repeat, squirming in an unsuccessful effort to relieve some of my discomfort.
A brief nod greets my words, and I’m all but panting as I pull the waistband of his briefs down, allowing his engorged length to fall into the space just before my mouth. My estimations of his size were correct. When I drag my tongue over his precum-soaked tip, gazing up from beneath my eyelashes, I’m rewarded with the sight of him reaching desperately for a bed poster, the muscles in his jaw strained. “I’m going to keep you on your back all fucking night.” There’s something about the combination of his posh accent and the dark promise of his words that makes heat surge up my spine to expand through my chest.
