3. SOREN
Three
SOREN
Layla of MeliTar in the flesh is… fuck. I don’t even have words.
Curvy every-fucking-where my eyes land, her gorgeous skin glowing in the sun, brown eyes looking like they want to fucking stab me.
Her hand in mine was warm and… not soft, not the feel of a delicate flower.
It was a warrior’s hand. And her perfume…
fuck. She smells sweet, spicy, and something else that makes my cock hard enough to pound nails.
I adjust myself in the car while she stares out the window, pretending she doesn’t feel the tension between us. But I know she feels it. And it’s driving me fucking insane.
* * *
The royal palace of MeliTar is bright and open, nothing like our stone fortresses back home. White walls, wide, carved arches, and light coming from everywhere: the tile, the water beyond the terrace, the stone under my feet.
They give me a suite with a balcony overlooking the sea. The view is gorgeous. The marine air, the clear sky, and bright water… I can understand why my ancestors never wanted to let go of this land.
I change out of my formal uniform and into a fresh dress shirt and slacks, and head in the direction they pointed on the way to my rooms.
Tariq and his advisors are already in the spacious meeting room. With Layla sitting at her father’s right, arms crossed, looking pissed and gorgeous.
I take the seat opposite her.
The lawyers go on and on as I read every clause for myself. The key parts are straightforward: marriage, public union, and an heir expected within a reasonable time to bind our bloodlines. Fuck me…
“The heir clause is non-negotiable,” Tariq insists, looking between Layla and me.
Layla sign the contract with a grip so tight that her knuckles show. And I imagine her hands on my cock…
* * *
After that, there’s a formal dinner. I’m seated next to Layla, and I bring my chair so close to hers that every shift of my body brushes against hers. She smells of something lush and exquisite that makes me want to bury my face between her thighs…
And because I can’t stand the silence between us, the emptiness in my mind that’s filled with nothing but thoughts of her. How she looks, smells, the heat coming from her body… I can’t help but poke at her. “You always this quiet?”
She turns a thunderous look my way and shoots back, “You always this annoying?”
I bark out a laugh. “I’m an acquired taste.”
“Must be why your ancestors thought they could keep coming back.”
“Well, yours never learned to let shit go.”
We glare at each other. I want to grab her, pull her on my lap, see how her curvy body would fit against my hard one. But instead, I grab my drink and keep my face blank.
The rest of the dinner is pure torture.
* * *
When I return to my suite, I strip and stand on the balcony. The warm air moves over my skin but does nothing to calm the heat inside me. My mind won’t leave her alone. Her lush thighs, wide hips, thick, round ass, the way her full tits pressed against the fabric of her dress.
I’m hard as fuck.
I wrap a hand around my fat cock and stroke.
Slow.
I picture Layla on her knees, looking up at me with that defiant stare in her beautiful eyes while I feed her every inch of me. Her full lips stretching wide. Tears running down her cheeks. Fucking choking on me.
I stroke faster.
Now I’m bending her over the meeting table, with her dress yanked up, shoving inside her tight cunt in one thrust. I watch her belly bulge every time I bottom out. Grip her hips and pound into her tight, wet heat until she’s fucking creaming all over my cock.
“Take it, princess,” I mutter, jerking myself harder. “Gonna fill this pussy every day until it fucking catches. Put my fucking baby in you. Watch your belly swell with my heir while you walk around knowing exactly who fucking owns you.”
The thought of her pregnant, her tits heavier, her belly round, hips wider, carrying my goddamn kid, sends me over. I come hard, thick ropes of cum spilling over my fist on the balcony tiles, jaw locked tight to hold in my grunts.