Page 13 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
But whether or not she’d be able to accommodate his impressive erection, which lent a whole new meaning to the wordupstanding, wasn’t what had set alarm bells off in her head. That would have been the determination etched into his expression and the wolfish gleam in his eyes, which had given her the impression that he intended to gobble her up. And she’d been right to be alarmed by that because he’dlied? What did he mean by that? What in God’s name did he intend to do to her?
‘You’re very tense,’ he murmured, his warm breath feathering over her feverish skin and leaving a rash of goose bumps in its wake.
Well, of course she was tense, she thought, closing her eyes in the hope that not looking at him might make this easier to bear. She hadn’t been near a gym in years. She had cellulite. The faint trace of alcohol on his breath suggested he’d needed fortification to go through with this. Plus, he was all over her and not responding to his electrifying touch was taking every drop of self-control she possessed. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Relax.’
Relax?Had anyone in the history of the world ever relaxed simply because they’d been told to? Besides, she couldn’t afford to relax. She couldn’t afford to let her guard drop for a single second.
But, as he placed his hand on her waist and slid it up her ribcage to her breast, she could feel it slipping. This was what she’d dreamed of for so long. Was it any wonder she was melting like butter in the sun? How on earth was she going to protect herself against him? How was her armour to withstand such an assault? The strategies she’d used in the past to block out feelings she’d rather not have didn’t seem to be working now.
Maybe the best form of defence was to go on the attack, she thought dazedly as he rubbed his thumb over her achingly tight nipple and she fought back a whimper. Maybe if she focused on gettinghimto lose control, she’d hold on to her own. It didn’t feel like the most robust of arguments, but with the imminent collapse of her brain it was all she had.
And she would not be passive in this, dammit. She was his wife, the Queen, and contrary to her earlier concerns, hedidseem to want her right now, which went some way to restore her battered self-esteem. No doubt he thought he was in charge here—the lights were still on, after all—but he wasn’t. She simply couldn’t allow it.
Steeling herself, Sofia shifted into him, lifting a hand to his shoulder and wrapping a leg around his hips. She crushed her breasts to his rock-hard chest, pressed her pelvis into his and felt the tremor that gripped her rip through him too.
But if she thought such a move would give her the power she sought and the opportunity to explore his magnificent form, she was sorely mistaken. It was as though she’d lit a wildfire. In a flash, she was once again on her back, pinned to the mattress by the heavy weight of his body, and she’d barely had time to catch her breath or gather her wits before his mouth crashed down on hers.
He kissed her as if he intended to imprint himself on her, and her head emptied of everything but him, because this surpassed her wildest dreams and they’d been pretty wild. But while she’d frequently imagined the heat and skill of his tongue in her mouth, she’d never considered the specifics. She’d never imagined that his lips would mould to hers as if they’d been designed to do so. Or that he’d instinctively know how to make her writhe beneath him and sigh and gasp for more.
Which he gave her.
After wreaking devastation on her with his kisses, he turned his attention to her breasts, first with his hands, then his mouth, and she lost what was left of her reason. When, precisely, she succumbed to the clamouring needs of her body she had no idea, but within moments she was so addled with desire that she barely noticed him removing her underwear. It was only when he thrust his fingers into her slippery heat and she nearly jackknifed off the bed that she came to her senses.
What was she doing?
She was falling at the first hurdle. She ought to be switching positions—putting him on his back and her hands on him—not swooning in surrender. Yet she collapsed as if she had no strength in her limbs. She simply couldn’t help it.
Fixing her gaze on the ceiling and frantically trying to figure out which myth the fresco up there depicted, Sofia grappled for control. But his fingers were too clever, his mouth tormenting everywhere it landed, and despairingly, she knew it was a battle she was losing. She wanted him too much. Her defences lay in ruins. She had no protection. She’d been naïve to think she did.
She shattered beneath him with embarrassing speed, the pleasure spinning through her like the fireworks she’d imagined, only faster, higher, stronger. Trembling, catching her breath as the stars behind her eyes faded, she filled with fury, directed at herself for being so weak and him for being so good. And she vowed then that if she was going down, she was taking him with her.
So when, as the clock began to chime midnight, he pushed into her, filling her so fully she could feel him everywhere, she resisted his attempts to take charge of the situation by holding her still. Just about managing to stave off both the stunning disbelief and the blissful delirium of actually having him inside her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs round his hips, angling her pelvis to take him in deeper.
He emitted a harsh groan and began to move. She ran her hands all over his shoulders, his back, his buttocks, pulling him in even further, and met every one of his powerful thrusts with demands of her own. She needed him to lose control the way she had. She had to level the playing field and prevent herself from confessing she loved him by focusing on the physical.
So she told him how good he felt and how good what he was doing to her was. She did nothing to hold back the sighs and the moans that emerged instinctively from her mouth. She kissed him as fiercely as he kissed her and clenched her inner muscles around him with all her strength, until his movements lost their restraint.
He pounded into her with increasing intensity. He started to shake. His muscles strained. There was a wildness about him, a sense of desperation that triggered in her a sharp surge of triumph and a wave of relief. And then, as she flew headlong into heart-stopping oblivion once again, he let out a roar, buried himself as deep inside her as he could get and erupted.
CHAPTER SIX
Royal Tour in Trouble?
Less than forty-eight hours after an unnecessarily lavish event, which cost the country millions that would have been better spent elsewhere, it looks as though the honeymoon is over for King Ivo and his brand-new consort, Queen Sofia.
Tension was high during today’s visit to Livigno, where Their Majesties were treated to a spectacular show in the town square involving towering human pyramids and death-defying acrobatics. Despite bestowing many a smile upon those who had gathered to hand them flowers and wish them well, they had none for each other. Barely even able to look at one another, the impression they gave was one of newly wedded blues rather than newly wedded bliss.
Is this fair to anyone? Is there really a place for an absolute monarchy in today’s world? To paraphrase Winston Churchill, democracy is the worst form of government but it’s the best there is, and we, the citizens of Montemare, deserve the best. So isn’t it time to lay this antiquated, out-of-touch institution to rest once and for all?
ON BOARD THERoyal Train as it meandered south among the towering pines of the Great Forest, Ivo scrolled through the rest of the blog post, his frown as deep as the valley they’d just traversed.
Ninety-nine percent of the press coverage of this tour so far had been positive, and so it should be when the royal correspondents, the photographers and camera crews had been carefully selected for their favourable opinion of the monarchy.
The remaining 1 percent, however, concerned him. This report—and others in the same vein—were few and far between, but every ‘like’ they attracted was one too many for his comfort. These days, the smallest wave of dissent could gain momentum before anyone was even aware of it. From there it could spiral out of control in the blink of an eye. It had taken six months for the anti-monarchy movement to galvanise sixty years ago. Today, it would take weeks, possibly even less.
He’d dedicated his entire life to maintaining the stability and security of his country, and he’d vowed long ago that nothing would ever jeopardise that, least of all himself. Yet, if what he’d just read was to be believed, that was precisely what was happening. Those who lived to brief against him had spied an opportunity to further their agenda. And because he’d taken his eye off the ball, which had allowed the opportunity to arise in the first place, he only had himself to blame.
