Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
Kong
At The Estate.
It’s first-light, a slow luminous clarity lifting from The Crust.
I stop outside her door, and glance at her Room Guard. “Move further down,” I order, before opening the door to her suite and stepping into the haunting space that roils with her darkest memories.
There she is.
On her bed.
My cock thickens at the sight of her, so peaceful, naked and on her stomach. A House Girl once told me—back when I fucked freely and wasn’t obsessed with the Queen of The Cradle—that when a woman sleeps on their stomach, she feels safe.
I smile at that.
Over the past few days, we’ve had no alone time. Between Trade interrogations and viewing the new heir, I’ve been vibrating to hold her properly, touch her, make her feel good and safe.
We travelled separately back to The Estate. While I was being reprimanded by the King of The Cradle in the head tank, my little queen drifted off to sleep in the central one.
Our relationship must remain concealed from the public, yet I can't shake the feeling that rumours will inevitably emerge. She is mine, yet I’m doomed to live with the gnawing teeth of my possessive inner creature, never truly satiating it, never satisfying my fierce claim to her.
At least not yet. For her safety. For her reputation.
I will vibrate with jealousy and possessiveness, bear the heat of it under my skin, but place her reputation ahead of my primitive needs.
At the very least, Rome, Sire, the boy I helped raise, has acknowledged that his sister's private life belongs to her—and me. His acceptance came with anger, threats of death that I encouraged should I ever hurt her, and a final grunt of acknowledgement, but it came.
He made it clear he doesn't want to know or see anything—at least not yet, and perhaps not for a long time.
My gaze sweeps down her body. My little queen. This is when I will allow myself to feel possessive. She has been sleeping off the cellar, the execution, the fire, and the intensity of what we discovered in the Trade-tower.
A baby with her DNA.
A baby in her womb.
I will protect him.
Like I did Rome, I’ll do everything I can to prepare him to think critically, morally, and with meticulous care.
I’m certain Cairo planned this so his heir would be safe after his death.
Blood of the Royal Collective—smart. The prick probably even knew I’d be the one to protect the boy, because he is hers.
So, he is mine. I know I’m playing into Cairo’s hand, but this boy will not know his biological father.
Will not be like him. I will make sure of it.
I don’t know what a moral Trade Master looks like…
I guess we’ll see what changes are to come.
With Rome’s son Athens, and now this baby… I have hope for the future of The Cradle. Nothing evil can come from parts of my little queen… nothing bad.
I drink her in. My Meaning. My Purpose. My life. Breath. My exhausted, aching soul.
My everything.
My little queen is half-asleep, barely aware of my presence. The only tell is in the way she wriggles once, as if stirring, a part of her consciousness begging for me to join her. "Would you like to know what the man at your door will do to you when he sneaks inside your room at night?”
She hums. "Yes."
"Even while you’re asleep, dreaming of sweet things, like chocolates and strawberries.”
"Yes."
I drag my gaze over her, biding my time, absorbing every detail of her soft, feminine form. From the gentle slope of her lower back to the small curves of her hips, landing on the soft gap between her thighs that exposes her supple, closed folds.
I lick my lips.
Her back is blanketed with long, honey-coloured hair. She sighs and squirms in her half-slumber, somehow sensing my intense gaze, and the intent within it.
I approach her. Pause at her bedside. "Are you feeling strong or little?” I ask, combing my fingers through the silky strands cascading down her back.
"Strong," she whispers.
Planting my prosthetic, black-gloved hand by her head, I lean over her and slip my fingers between her thighs.
"Oh…" she breathes as I explore her delicate pussy lips. So puffy. So tight.
When she wriggles and moans, responding to my touch, I press two fingers together and dip deeper.
She gasps and moans.
Pressing my lips to her shoulder, I talk against her skin. “Bury your face in the pillow, little queen. We don’t want your Room Guard listening to what I do to you.”
I taste her skin.
"Kong…"
“Yes, little queen. I am here.” She deserves better than me, but I’m never going to stop. I crave her entirely—would consume her if I could.
My fingers work inside her while my mouth traces the bones across her shoulders. Heat coils tight within me. I could stay like this forever, watching her mewl as I finger her in the dark.
But my cock aches.
Withdrawing my wet fingers, I quickly undress, then crawl over her, positioning myself above her. Over her.
She turns her cheek, gazing up at me.
“My queen.” I bow my head.
“My Guardian,” she whispers.
The delicate beads of sweat along the bridge of her nose, those parted lips—the sight pulls a wider smile from me. “You’re beautiful when you feel safe.”
I secure her thighs between mine, balance on my prosthetic arm, and return my hand to the slick warmth between her thighs.
She is soaking wet and pulsing with heat. “Oh, little queen. You’re a wet girl. So nice and warm for my cock.”
I align the tip of my cock with the cleft below her arse cheeks, rubbing the sensitive outer lips.
I groan, needing to fuck, to feel her squeeze me, but I'm so intensely aroused that if I move too fast or forcefully, I'll lose control.
Pinning her flat to the mattress with my body, I enter her, using slow, shallow thrusts that cause a clash of groans and panting.
She buries her face in the pillow, lifting her backside into me, her eager pussy demanding more.
I growl, unable to resist her silent plea. I give her what she wants, pushing in until I reach her depths and then applying more pressure. She trembles beneath me.
When I really move—roll and thrust and fuck—her muffled cries become intense and beautiful.
She can’t lift anymore, can barely respond—I am in control.
I am fucking and taking. I take her fast and deep, pressing against her relaxed arse until she is full, then withdrawing to feel every one of her internal muscles begging me to stay deep.
The bed starts to jerk beneath me.
Her pussy responds, ripples and clings, and fuck… I’m out of my mind with sensation.
Fucking her hard.
In and out.
I want to be inside every part of her. Immerse myself in her body.
She clutches the sheets and whimpers into the pillow; her lovely sounds send heat surging into my abdomen. Fuck. Too good. Resisting the urge to blow inside her, I tense my stomach muscles. "Is this what you want, little queen? To be desired to the point of volatility?”
A long, deep moan leaves her as she comes, clawing at the sheets, taking my thrusts, surrendering to me.
"Tuscany," I whisper, her sacred name playing on my lips. “My sweet queen.”
My thrusts become more urgent, each faster, deeper, than the last.
Sensation rushes my little queen, her pussy clutching at me as she comes again.
And the sound of her release finishes me completely. Wild, primal heat courses through my veins. My savage need to come inside the Queen of The Cradle consumes me.
Stars dot my vision.
Muscles bulk.
Balls tighten.
Then I come, fucking her through my release, making sure every drop of my cum is inside my little queen, her sacred pussy claimed and full.
I hold her still, groaning.
As I slow down, pulsing gently within her clinging inner muscles, her soft moans trail to sweet hums.
She melts into the mattress. I’m hovering over her on my elbow, breathing hard. Fuck, I’m in love. I drop my forehead to the back of her head, my nose in her hair, inhaling the scent that is exclusively hers.
Oranges and honey.
"Go back to sleep," I murmur, lifting my head and staring down at her.
She turns her cheek, her skin blotchy red and lips flushed—her complexion is the vision of a well-fucked woman. A drowsy smile graces her lips. "I love you."
My heart thumps. "I love you more."
She sighs through a smile, the soft curve deepening, and she drifts back to sleep.
Beautiful…
I climb to my feet and get dressed.
Stalling beside the bed, I linger on that smile, feeling a sense of warmth and contentment. She is finally mine.
Something vile and savage inside me hopes she is dripping with my cum when she stands up. Hopes that, while no one knows I fuck her each night, she feels the echo of me inside her every moment of the day.
Quietly, I make my way to the door, careful not to wake her. She can sleep the day away if she needs to. I’ll prepare everything for our relocation.
I leave her room.
Three steps into the corridor, and a sound hits me—a thud of bodies against the wall, followed by harsh whispers.
I freeze and look down the passage. Ten meters away, her Room Guard has another guard pinned, his fist twisted in the fabric at the man’s throat. Their faces are so close I can see spittle fly between clenched teeth.
“What is the meaning of this?” I boom, striding toward them, watching them separate like shrapnel.
I position myself between them, eyes cutting from one to the other. Her Room Guard stands tall, level gaze drilling holes into the wall opposite him.
“Well?” I press.
His jaw muscles pulse.
I stare at the other, who seems to cower, his shirt and brown hair dishevelled from the altercation. I wait—I wait too fucking long for my liking. “Someone better answer me, or I’ll be punishing you both!”
“I heard—” the nameless Guard mutters fast, eyes seeking refuge on the floor.
I glare at him, walking him into the wall, crowding his smaller body against it. “You. Think. You. Heard. What?”
My snarl practically grazes his ear, the threat of a bite literal. He recoils with his head pressed to the wall and closes his eyes. “Nothing! I heard nothing!”
“You heard nothing,” I repeat. “You heard nothing.” I don’t release him from my encroaching form, not for a long time, holding him against the wall like waiting prey. A single sob leaves his lips. He is physically sweating when I ease off.
I step backward.
He nods dutifully, and continues down the corridor, feet taking him fast, body vibrating with adrenaline.
He disappears around the corner, and I turn to her Room Guard.
I look straight at him. Stare. Why the fuck was he fighting him? He is the same Room Guard my little queen has had for more than a decade—rotates with another—never a word leaves his mouth, never steps out of line.
Interesting.
“What happened?” I ask.
He lifts his chin. “He smirked.”
A smile touches my lips. “He smirked?”
“Yes.” He nods, still looking straight ahead with respect for my station. Is he about to admit he heard us fucking? That they heard. That he knows what is going on. I wonder… No, he’s too honourable. “So, I threatened to kill him,” he adds. “For my queen.”
I like this boy—this man. I believe his name is Hitter, though there are thousands of men in the Royal Guard. “What is your name?”
“Hitter,” he says proudly, and I study his face for the first time. He appears close to my age—fine lines etched outward from the outer corners of his eyes—perhaps in his fifties. Strong. Fit.
And loyal.
I measure him up, gaze hunting his physique for tells. “Any Xin De in you?”
“Not much.” He shakes his head. “Half, maybe. I’ve never been tested.”
I lift a dark brow at him. “How do you feel about relocating to the Lower-tower?” Not that he has a choice. I’m taking him with us. Hitter and Blunt; two men I can trust.
To stand at her door.
While I am finally inside.