Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Tuscany
Their hands are unyielding as they hold me down to the mattress. My body thrashes to fight them off—the faceless nurses.
“This is how you broke your hymen in the first place,” the nurse to my left says. “You are always crawling under your bed and thrashing around when we try to help you.”
“A queen should have soft, smooth movements,” one on the right advises as another, a third faceless nurse, straps my left leg to a bracket.
I’m breathing; I can feel it in my chest, lungs squeezing in and out, but it’s too fast. I get dizzy, panicking.
“After this surgery, you will feel pure and empowered. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
My right leg is strapped.
“Sire is away for several weeks, and when he returns, he will see how wholesome this surgery has made you,” the nurse on the left says. “How you will have to walk slower to not tear it again.”
“Graceful,” the other agrees.
“Queenly,” the nurse to my right adds with a smile—a painful, secret smile that crumbles my chest into my lungs. Can they see? I am not breathing. I am not breathing!
“I think she is having a panic attack,” the nurse on the left states, voice unaffected.
“I’ve got it.” The one on the right puts a mask over my lips and nose, her bright, cutting smile hovering over me, somehow severing my fight on the sharp edges of it.
“A hymenoplasty is a routine surgery in The Cradle,” she says.
“Simple. We will reconstruct your hymen for you with only a small opening.”
I gape at them over the mask, eyes flowing with tears, head filling with gas, body fastened now to the mattress.
“So pretty,” the nurse on the left says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Just the prettiest queen to ever exist.”
The fumes make my eyes close.
Voices come at me from every direction—left and right, sounds circling me. Their tones are kind and soft, but the words are blades that peel.
Left.
“You won’t break it again, will you?”
Right.
“You don’t want us to have to do this a second time.”
Left.
“Walk with your chin higher than level from now on so that you can’t see the floor. You will be afraid of tripping. That way you will always walk slowly and posed, and you will not break it again.”
Right.
“Graceful.”
My body jerks upright with enough force to snap the restraints, mouth agape as I heave, the nightmare—memory—too real.
I remember…
I remember it.
After that surgery, they gave me ECT, and I… forgot. I knew I had a wound inside my vagina, but I didn’t understand what it was. I walked straight-backed and slowly, with my chin slightly elevated, from that day on.
Eyes popping open, I let the present soak into every piece of me. I’m not in The Estate. I’m at the Lower-tower.
What day is it?
Have I been sleeping?
It’s nearly black as pitch. When I sit up and see Kong sitting by my door with his brows furrowed and his lips parted just a slice, I exhale, dark terror leaving me.
He is so stunning. So male, so powerful. My dark, formidable knight sitting on the floor, blocking the exit, his thick inked muscles at his abdomen bunched, large arms folded over his chest, accentuating his biceps in a gloriously virile display.
Something takes over inside me. Did drowning her mean something? What was I trying to do? She isn’t the enemy… I want to protect little Tuscany. We don't want to keep our vows to The Trade. We need it to be over. I need it to end because it hurts. It hurts so much; the vows are choking me.
Need. To. Break them.
Starting with my hymen.
Because I can feel it—feel its presence akin to a limb. I forgot before, but now… I. Feel. It. A seal stitched with the words ‘I will take no man.’
Break it!
I imagine using something—anything—to ruin it. I should use my own fingers and mercilessly thrust.
I stand, pulling off my gorgeous birthday gown—the gold, the white, the cape—and remove my underwear. Grabbing a blanket, I drag it along the floor. I travel slowly across to the door, Kong’s eyes snapping open almost immediately.
“Little queen—” His gaze drips down my naked body, heating. His dark, intense possessiveness grips me. "What do you think you’re doing?"
"Shhh." I drop the blanket on his lap. “Cover the gap under the door so no one hears us talking.”
His brows furrow, but he does as I command, twisting and stuffing the blanket in the slit between the wooden door and the carpet.
I step to hover over his outstretched legs before sitting on his thick thighs, resting my bare pussy right over his lap. “Kong the Unbreakable, I command you to fuck me."
His eyes widen. "No, little queen.”
I press my finger to his firm, warm lips. "Stop, please. I need this.”
He leans backward. “What happened? You need to tell me first. I’ve got to know everything. Each detail. What you heard, where you went—”
“After,” I whisper. “Please.”
“You have been in and out of sleep for nearly two days—"
Stop—I kiss his lips, sliding my tongue in to silence him, dragging groans from his throat, provoking his hands to feed up into my hair and cradle my head. Claim my mouth. Claim my kiss. Claim my breath. Claim me. Break my hymen. Carve me.
Rocking on his lap, my entrance weeping over the solid bulge beneath his pants, I beg him. "Please, do it." I speak against his dominant kiss. "Do what you want. Fuck me like you don't care about the consequences."
He growls into my mouth. "You have to promise me something, little queen."
I grip his thick shoulders, chest heaving as I pull away to gaze at his beautiful face. "What is it?"
"If I defile the king's virgin sister,” he murmurs, voice guttural. “The people's symbol of purity. If I fuck you, little queen, swear something to me."
Heat rushes from him, his body huge beneath me, in front of me, like a fort of warm muscles. I want them tensing, taking, claiming. "Anything."
"If anyone finds out, say that I forced you."
My breath catches, his words striking every cell in my body. "No."
"Yes. If the king discovers this betrayal, you will tell him I came into your room at night, pinned you down, and fucked you. You begged me to stop, but I'm too blindly obsessed."
My lips wobble. "No."
"Yes, swear it, or I cannot ignore the consequences. Your brother trusts me with you, in your room, alone at night. I am honoured by that level of trust. He respects me alongside the Royal Collective, trusts me, little queen. I told him the only hands I lay on you are for protection, and a man like Rome will not handle such a betrayal elegantly. It will infect him, and he will behave irrationally. The consequences will be harsh and final.”
“I will not let him hurt yo—
He cups my face, warm palms soothing my cheeks. “I would hang for eternity for you. Flay me. Gut me. It’s what he will do to you, how he will behave, that I can’t bear. He will lock you up and throw away the key. And Cairo… I can’t ignore those consequences, little queen. I won’t.”
I’ll be executed?
My titles taken?
I don’t know…
His need to protect me fans the gut-wrenching reality of what I am asking into a full-blown fire. A fire capable of devastation. "But I don't want to say it.”
"I know, little queen.” He leans forward and runs his nose up my throat. “Swear it for me anyway, and I’ll ignore every consequence. I’ll fuck you like I own you.”
My core clenches, and my heart aches. The place between my legs is screaming at me—the phantom stitches. I feel them. "I—” my voice trembles. “I swear it.”
"Are you feeling strong or little?"
I need this. “Strong.”
“As you wish, little queen.” He goes to stand, but I put my hands on the plain of his hard chest. "No.” I roll my hips. “Like this. We can be quiet. I want to fuck the man by my door. I want to be eye to eye with you. You're so big, Kong, I won't be able to kiss you if we lie down."
His eyes stay fixed on mine as he undoes his belt and denim pants.
I lift to my knees so he can slide them down and kick them from his feet.
His dick springs free between us, long, veined, and dripping.
He strokes himself with a firm grip, up and down, humming.
Then he takes my hip with one hand while the other holds his huge, pulsing dick. He moves me, steering me onto the tip.
My pulse goes wild.
We both stare down as my wet entrance slides over the plush slit on the tip of his length. Pre-cum smears across my lips, while my channel weeps as he rubs the hot, round crown up and down.
My eyes flutter at the feeling.
"Breathe for me. Good girl.”
My thighs tremble.
"Do you need me to stop?"
I shake my head, determined to take him, to take my dark knight deep inside me. After I’m agonising wet and wanting, I lower myself, and Kong circles my body over him, churning my hips to work his dick inside.
My entrance swallows his warm crown, and no muscle inside me escapes the shuddering attack of pleasure and rebellion.
I suck a sharp breath in when he presses on my hymen. "Please, Kong. I want to feel you deep inside. Take me from The Trade, carve me into your woman.”
“Fuck. I shouldn’t do this.” He growls, the sound savage and low. His hands bite at my hips to hold me still even as his dick throbs with obvious urge and need. "I'm going to open you, little queen. Are you ready?"
"Yes." I inhale, and when I exhale through my lips, he forces me down, notching me over the bulbous head, dragging me down the throbbing hard length of his shaft.
A shuddered whimper breaks my lips as he splits me apart. The sting is truly intense, a nail hammering into my nerves—immensely satisfying.
By the time I'm halfway down his dick, I'm holding cries of sensation in my throat. Pleasure and pain are riding my blood, rushing in different directions, lapping my limbs, and crashing together at where he stretches me open.
His head drops back to the door as I mewl on his lap like a speared little animal. It’s perfect—to be by the door. Symbolic. It’s where we spent so much time, sitting by a door, a physical barrier to our affections, unable to open it.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he groans, but I need more reassurance, more direction.
“Do I feel good?” I pant, my hot breath pluming against his. Am I a woman? Do I feel like a woman? A whole woman?
“So good, little queen. Too good." Leaning forward, he brushes a soft kiss against my mouth before leaning back to look at me. "I've wanted to be inside you for so long.”
“I’ve wanted that, too.”
“I’ve been suffering with this obsession for so long.” His hips pulse, shallow thrusts that add an inch and draw it out again. He does this teasing motion over and over, slowly, staring between our bodies to watch until I swear I can feel him in my ears, red heat bursting everywhere.
I gasp. "You're too big."
He chuckles, dark and wonderful. "My tiny queen with her tight little pussy and her demanding mouth."
I can’t think. "Kong..."
One of his hands reaches around to support my back, palm spanning out, while the other stirs my hips on him. "Ready to take more of me?”
Sweat slides between my breasts, but I nod. I want all of him. "Yes.”
Blood pools at my core as I take him almost to his lap. “Oh.” A sudden gasp bursts from my lips when he thumps against something deep inside me, something covered in nerve-endings that warns me of his dangerous presence.
“There we go. Good girl.”
I moan, and he swallows the sound, meshing our bodies, covering mine in his arms. He wraps me up, lips to mine, and starts to thrust upward. I squeeze my eyes shut, taking his relentless drives.
“F-fuck, little queen.”
“Tuscany,” I correct.
“Tuscany. Oh, fuck. My Tuscany.” Kong’s long, rasping groans mingle with my vulnerable whimpers. My real name on his lips throws me into pleasure’s reach.
I tremble like a leaf on his lap. My release, my freedom, sweet rebellion, pummels through my veins, swelling my muscles around him. I squeeze his dick as I climax, and it’s both profoundly wonderful and agonising.
He bites out a savage sound, the urge to release yelps and cries assaults me when he pumps upward, bucking me on him, pounding into me with unrestrained force, treating me like I am strong, not fragile, not little—but like a woman.
His shoulders tense beneath my fingers, each thick muscle bulking and hot. I feel him come undone. Feel his thick dick pulse between my sensitive flesh. Groans shudder out of him, the low, restrained sounds of his release punctured by each powerful spurt inside me.
I drop my head onto his shoulder, overwhelmed, exhausted, panting for fresh air. He took me. I am his. He broke my hymen, enjoyed me, filled me, and changed my entire existence—
My lower lip wobbles.
It’s too much…
I start to weep into the crook of his neck—soft, fitful sobs that cause him to cradle the back of my head.
He soothes. “Shh.” He holds me to him. “Fuck, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I choke quickly. I don’t want him to think that’s why I’m crying. I don’t know why I’m crying. So, I clutch at him tighter, conveying my need for him, for his tenderness and strength. It’s not him; it’s me.
I’m a woman.
“I’m a w-woman,” I get out between sobs. We are connected physically and emotionally, but I still want to be closer.