Chapter Six #3
Even when she’d been his concubine, she hadn’t been allowed into his private rooms, relegated to the chambers adjacent to the consort’s apartment. Her presence here was an affront to the Crown—and to Iver.
“I’ve come to visit,” Beatrice said, her crimson lips parting in a smile that was meant to be seductive but turned his stomach.
“You need to leave.”
“I don’t think so.” Her steps ate up the final feet separating them.
Goosebumps covered her flesh—she had to be freezing in that skimpy dress.
Beatrice clasped his hips, trapping him against the door, and looked up at him from underneath her dark lashes.
“I’ve missed you.” Her body aligned with his, her soft curves pressing into him.
It should’ve roused him, but it didn’t. Her proximity left William cold, provoking not the slightest twitch in his breeches.
He wanted to push her off but didn’t trust his new strength.
What if he pushed too hard, smacked her against the opposite wall and cracked her skull?
He wanted to get rid of her, not kill her.
They’d spent good years together, and while she was behaving inappropriately, he also had fond memories of her.
“How did you get into the castle?” William asked. “Did you not leave with the others?”
Beatrice leaned in, her long, dark waves tickling his throat as he whispered into his ear. “Don’t marry him. He’s so cold. I can keep you warm at night.” She chuckled, and the once charming sound couldn’t have been more grating.
Her lips pressed against his jaw, and she inserted her thigh between his legs. The pressure against his soft cock did nothing but irritate him.
“Let me make you feel good,” Beatrice purred.
It was too much. She had to go, and William didn’t care anymore if he’d hurt her. Who did she think she was? He was her king, a married man no less, and she dared to visit him in his chambers and proposition him? He had to put an end to it. He clutched her waist to push her off.
On the other side of the chamber, the door swung open and Iver strode inside—and stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened, then narrowed. William knew what this looked like: Beatrice pressing against him, his hands on her waist.
Iver crossed the room in a blur. He yanked Beatrice off him, tossing her onto the floor like a discarded piece of clothing. Cold, hard eyes bore into William. “Get out before I break your neck.” He wasn’t talking to William. A vein at Iver’s temple pulsed.
With panic in her eyes, Beatrice scrambled to her feet and hurried from the room, the door falling shut with a deafening bang. Her heels clacked on the marble floor in the hallway as she ran.
The fury in Iver’s gaze didn’t soften. His breath ghosted William’s skin, his chest heaving.
“It’s not what it looks like,” William said lamely. Standing this close to an angry Iver had his mind spinning, his heart hammering. He, too, was suddenly struggling to catch his breath.
“No?” Iver brushed his thumb over William’s jaw, the same spot Beatrice had kissed. He showed William his thumb pad, stained red from Beatrice’s lip paint. “Tell me, my sweet husband, what does this look like to you?”
William squeezed his eyes shut. His shoulders sagged. “It looks like infidelity, but I swear it’s not.”
“Too bad humans lie so much.” Iver shoved his body against William’s, the door groaning under the force as he pressed him against it.
“Look, she was already here when I returned from lunch. I kicked her and the other concubines out of Silverlight before your arrival. I have no idea how she got back in.”
“Oh, but you weren’t too unhappy when she showed up, were you? The two of you looked rather…” Iver swallowed thickly, pushing down some powerful emotion before his anger returned, eyes blazing with naked rage. “You had your hands on her.”
“To push her off!”
Iver snorted derisively. He tilted his head.
“Let me tell you something. If I ever find you like this again, and I don’t care who they are, I will break their neck.
I will hang their cold, dead body from the castle walls to let the world know what I do to those who dare touch my husband. Is that understood?”
Why was Iver so angry? This was no love marriage. Was it because William had agreed to get rid of his concubines, and now it looked like he’d gone back on his word? That had to be it. Why else would Iver act like a jealous lover?
William burned to make him see the truth. That he’d been faithful, that he wouldn’t betray Iver’s trust. He didn’t know where this need to prove himself came from, but it was undeniably there. Their alliance was important to him.
“Iver…” William wouldn’t calm him down with words, and so he let his body speak. He cupped Iver’s hips and rested his brow against his. “I signed a contract saying I would take no other lovers. If my words are worthless to you, then perhaps my signature and my honor as king can sway you.”
Iver clutched William’s chin, his grip hard enough to bruise. “I swear, if you’re lying to me…” He pushed William’s head against the door. His thumb dragged over William’s bottom lip, bunching the plump flesh.
William’s stomach fluttered. Sweat slicked his palms. He panted through his parted lips, and when Iver’s expression hardened, William lost control. His tongue darted out and licked across the pad of Iver’s thumb.
Before William had eaten the apple, he was sure it would’ve felt like licking ice. But now that he was immune to the cold, it was just skin, delicious, soft skin, and he looked Iver in the eye as he nudged it again.
William might not be a shrewd politician, but he knew how to play his bed partners. He would learn how to handle his husband in no time.
Iver’s eyes darkened, and William knew he had him. He’d pacified the big, white wolf that’d been ready to tear out his throat.
Iver pressed closer, aligning his body with William’s.
God, he felt so damn good. So different from Beatrice.
Where she’d been soft, Iver was firm. His unyielding body trapped William against the door.
No escape. William shivered. Was this how it’d feel later if Iver managed to overpower him in the ring?
Iver leaned in, grazing his teeth over the spot Beatrice had kissed before gently biting down.
William, flooding with lust, helplessly arched into Iver’s powerful frame and whined, that little, pathetic noise slipping out against his will.
He wanted to swallow it back down, but it was too late.
Iver had heard, his mouth spreading into a smile against his jaw.
“I should’ve known that this was what I’d get for marrying such a whore,” Iver said, dipping lower, his lips brushing that sensitive spot under William’s ear.
“You can’t go a day without your breeches around your ankles, can you?
Is this misbehavior my punishment for refusing to touch you last night? ”
Heat rolled through William, part anger, part lust. Iver had called him a whore.
He talked about misbehavior as if William were some insolent child.
And for heaven’s sake, he hadn’t wanted Beatrice.
But no matter what he said, Iver wouldn’t believe him.
William’s hands balled into fists, scrunching the silk of Iver’s robe where he was holding onto him.
Iver pushed his thumb past William’s lips, sliding it onto his tongue.
William had half a mind to bite down, but his bodily instincts took over.
His eyes closed, and he sucked the digit into his mouth.
Iver’s thigh pushed between his legs, and this time, William was undeniably hard, his erect cock pressing into Iver.
It took all of his willpower not to rock against him and chase the pleasure the friction would inevitably grant him.
“Oh,” Iver said, “you like this. What a slut you are. You and I, we’re going to have a lot of fun once I’ve claimed you.”
William whimpered. He hadn’t seen this coming, hadn’t counted on this side of Iver’s.
The tip of his cock wept a drop of precum, the liquid soaking into the fabric of his breeches.
Out of his mind with need, he sucked on Iver’s thumb, circling it with his tongue, nudging and stroking the tip.
Iver growled, and his erection, firm and unmistakable, pressed against William’s hip.
Oh, the sweet taste of victory. He had an effect on Iver. William grinned around that damn thumb.
“You little bitch,” Iver muttered, “you need it badly, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you,” he said and pulled away, yanking free of William, “later, when everybody is watching.”
The fucking bastard, leaving him high and dry. William leaned against the door, fighting to control his breathing. Iver had wrecked him. William watched him through half-closed eyes—at least Iver was just as affected, his chest rising and falling, cheeks flushed.
“Don’t be so sure,” William said, pushing off the door. “Maybe I’ll get you under me and let the Winter Court see how you lose it for my cock.”
Iver looked him up and down like one would check a possession for damage. “Be ready.”
“What were you doing here anyway? I thought you went to see the officiant.”
Iver rummaged through one of his chests. “I was getting the oil and the plugs.”
William almost choked. The plugs? Oil would be needed to facilitate the wrestling, slicking their bodies. But plugs?
It dawned on William. During their match, there’d be no time to lubricate and stretch the loser, who’d be trying to get away until the last moment. To secure victory, penetration needed to happen quickly, and for that, everyone had to be oiled and stretched.
“Don’t bother wearing more than a loose robe when you join me for the ceremony,” Iver said, not looking at him. “We’re required to take off all clothing before we step into the ring, so put on something that’s easy to remove.”