9. Cora
Cora
That night, I stand at the doors to my balcony and let the warm, summer air blow my thin silk nightgown around my legs. It falls to the floor and yet it still seems that it does not cover me nearly enough.
I think about closing the balcony doors.
I think about giving the man in the shadows a clear signal that he is no longer wanted here.
It would feel good to slam them, but the sound would bring the guards running, and I would have to explain to them that I only shut them too hard.
I would have to explain that it was an accident.
I would be lying. I don’t wish to lie any longer.
None of this has been an accident. I am the one who sought out the man in the shadows. I am the one who took his silence for an invitation and told him—in the most flippant manner—what I wanted.
I didn’t protest when he came to me.
And now I am standing here, in full view of whoever might be out in the night. This is all my doing. And I don’t know how to find my way out. The only thought that consumes me is to find my way into his arms.
It will not be any kind of signal if I shut the doors. I have not felt him watching, and I have not felt him near, so it is possible he is not in the castle at all, and then the only person I will be closing the doors to is myself.
In the end, I leave them open and take myself to bed, feeling quite sorry for myself.
Because if he is here, and if he plans to come to me, I want to see him. I want to scream at him. I have many questions to ask of him, and I will have answers.
If he doesn’t, my rooms will be more comfortable with the outside air moving freely in.
It is not easy to fall asleep, with my mind so full of conflicted thoughts and feelings.
I find myself listening for any sign that someone is approaching.
The only footsteps I hear are the occasional crossings of the guards outside my bedroom doors.
They patrol more often in the early part of the night, when an audience is more likely to be up and about in the castle, though not so often that I could not slip out unnoticed.
There is a longer gap, signaling the later hours of the night, and that’s when my mind finally begins to drift.
I do what I can to help sleep along. I breathe evenly and do not try to rush it. I think of the stream near the pavilion and imagine following it at a slow, stately pace, taking time to notice the plants growing along the stream bed and the curves in the water.
I’m very close to sleep pulling me in—so close that I can hear the stream trickling in my dream—when someone moves on the balcony. With a deep inhale, I refuse to breathe until I hear it again.
Creak. My eyes close in a relief that I’ve never felt before. One of being found. One of being wanted.
He takes only a few soft steps, but my whole body becomes alert at once.
My heart pounds and yet I stay as still as can be.
Until he steps again and I can no longer play these games.
After all, I am no little girl. I have a kingdom I will inherit.
The bed dips as I sit up and prepare myself to turn to him.
“I have—” I start, but he covers my mouth with his broad hand, silencing me and stopping me from turning at the same time. I slightly struggle in his embrace and find his hard chest to my back. His hand hot on my skin and my pulse rages. I writhe slightly for him to unhand me but he doesn’t.
“Shh,” he attempts to hush me. The bastard!
I lift my hands to pry at his, but he does not seem to care. I realize too late that he is ignoring my attempts to struggle because he is trying to force a blindfold over my eyes. It’s only when the silk touches my skin, bringing back the memory that I still.
His strength floods me with heat. It gathers between my legs in a mortifying burst of desire.
I should not want this, but I do—I want a man who is strong enough and confident enough to take me even when I pretend to want to free myself.
My initial desires overwhelm me and for a moment I consider fighting, and then submitting, and then I question my sanity.
When the blindfold is tight around my eyes, he kisses me, stealing every thought away from me. His hands pin my wrists to my back and once he’s gathered both in one of his, he cups my chin. It’s a gentle hold of my chin, turning my face toward his, while my body is captive to him.
It is a hot, deep kiss. Does he taste the same as the first time he came?
That first kiss was not nearly so deep or passionate, and I cannot remember.
I cannot remember. I am too swept up in his touch.
He is kissing me harder now, biting at my lip, careful not to let his teeth go beyond my mouth.
The sensation is overpowering. My breathing staggers from his passion.
I twist in his arms so that he can kiss me deeper, and he releases my wrists so that I can cling to him in return. I whimper into his mouth. He does not reply, but I hear him start to make a sound, then stop himself.
I wish I could hear his voice. I wish I could have something to identify him by.
But then he is lowering me to the pillows, and I cannot think of anything but what he will do next.
My heart pounds against his and our beat is the same.
Just as he did the first time, he pushes my nightgown up above my breasts, but doesn’t take it all the way off.
Somehow that is filthier than if he had stripped me.
He lowers his mouth to one of my nipples and licks it, then teases it with his teeth, and I arch on the mattress.
Heat envelopes my body. It is a much stronger sensation than I ever could have given myself, and when he repeats it on my other nipple, my thighs fly apart.
I’m not even conscious of what I am asking for, but this man does not need for me to tell him.
He licks down my body until he has buried his face in the curls at the peak of my legs, then shoulders my thighs a bit farther apart and applies his tongue to my folds. My God the goosebumps he leaves in his wake are everything. The chill only adds to the heated sensation.
I have to cover my mouth with both hands to keep the noises from escaping.
I did not know a man could do such things with his teeth and tongue, and I had no idea the sensation would be such ecstasy on my clit.
An orgasm moves through me like a wave, and he keeps his tongue between my legs to taste it.
I am not ready for the second one, but it seems the man is, because he is prepared to hold my legs apart and make me shake all the pleasure out before he stops.
He throws one of my legs over his shoulder and starts in on me with his fingers. He fucks me with one at first, not harshly, but not as gently as the first time. I’m no longer sore, and every touch of his is intense and needed. It’s a memory and yet new all the same.
He hooks his finger inside me and strokes at some hidden spot until I come again. My back bows at the sudden sensation and my thighs tremble. I’m weak beneath him.
Then he seems to become enraptured with his fingers inside me, because he adds another, fucks me with them, then pulls them out. He switches to one finger, then goes to three. He fucks me fast, letting out harsh breaths as I get wetter and the noise of my pleasure gets louder.
My heart hammers, and I muffle my pleasure in the pillow beside me. I do not know if I can speak when he pulls his fingers out of me at last. I try to form the word please, but I do not know if I succeed.
My lover blows out a longer breath, the heat of it landing on the inside of my thigh.
Then he hooks his hands behind my knees and pushes them up to my chest. I feel far more exposed in this position.
There is no way to hide my face in the pillow, and I have already taken so much pleasure that I know I am not in control of my expression or indeed the rest of my body.
I grab for the sheets as he arranges himself between my legs and drags his cock through my folds again.
He likes this. I do not need to see his face to know it. I can tell from how he lingers, coating himself in my arousal before he notches himself to my entrance.
My legs shake in preparation of him taking me like this.
Roughly. Please. Take me as if I am your whore.
My lips part. I wonder if he is watching my face, or if he does not care. The front of my body flushes from the knowledge that once again he can see everything, but he is hidden from me.
That thought also turns me on.
He makes a soft hissing sound as if he wants to speak but is stopping himself. I cannot find the words to order him to say something, because he drags his fingers through my folds, and then there is a pop as he must put them in his mouth to lick off the mess I’ve made.
Oh fuck. I find myself in a heady mix of want and need. Intoxicated by every elicit sensation he gives me.
He adjusts his crown again, rocking his hips slowly as if to test whether I can take it. With my knees at my chest, I can do very little to encourage him, so I whine again, desperate.
Then he pushes in.
It is much faster and harder than before.
He’s more savage. More in need. He fucks me into the mattress, the breath going out of me each time he thrusts.
I come again, clenching on him, from the sensation of being filled like this and from the sensation of being used.
I strain not to cry out in pleasure. He is not cruel, but the way he fucks me feels as if it has little to do with me and more to do with his own pleasure.
The bed creaks softly over and over as he ruthlessly fucks me. Taking and taking which pushes me to the edge all the more.
It’s forbidden to find pleasure in being taken like that. I know what the ladies at court would say if they knew I was letting a man fuck me like this. If they knew I was enjoying it.
It doesn’t matter to me now. They will never know, save the fact that I am not a virgin.
And I would guess that they will never know pleasure like this.
I do not have to command it, or order it, or see that it is done.
All I need to do is let myself melt into the mattress and take his cock over and over again however he wishes.
I didn’t know I could come—twice—from one bedding.
I dig my fingers into the sheets even harder after the next orgasm, my thighs trembling and my breathing shallow.
The man swipes his thumb across my jaw, but it seems only to be a sign of acknowledgment.
He does not intend to slow down and comfort me.
I do not need to be comforted.
I only need to be taken.
It’s then that he grips my throat and ruthlessly devours me over and over again.