15. SOREN
Fifteen
SOREN
The palace library is my favorite room. Three stories of books, a fireplace big enough to stand in, windows overlooking the fjord. It’s where I come when I need to think.
Today, I’m not alone.
I look up from the treaty I’m reviewing and there she is.
Layla. Standing on the top rung of the rolling ladder, reaching for a book on the highest shelf.
She’s wearing one of my shirts, white linen that hangs to her thighs, nothing underneath.
Her dark legs are bare, her hair loose and wild.
When she stretches, the shirt rides up and I can see the curve of her ass.
My cock is instantly hard.
“Find what you’re looking for?” I ask, voice rough.
She startles, almost losing her balance. I move fast, catching her around the waist and lifting her down. She lands against my chest, her hands on my shoulders.
“Soren! You scared me.”
“You shouldn’t be climbing ladders in my shirt.” I grip her hips, pulling her closer. “You could have fallen.”
“I was looking for a book.”
“I have a better idea.” I lift her on the nearest table, scattering papers and quills. “Let me show you something more interesting than a book.”
“Soren, the servants…”
“Are on the other side of the palace.” I push her knees apart, stepping between her thighs. “And this door locks.”
I reach behind me and turn the key. The click echoes.
“You’re insatiable,” she says, but she’s already wet. I can smell it.
“Only for you.” I push the shirt up, exposing her pussy. No panties. She never does anymore. Says it’s easier since I’m always inside her.
I drop to my knees and bury my face between her thighs. She gasps, her fingers gripping the edge of the table.
“Soren, fuck, someone will hear…”
“Let them hear.” I lick her from hole to clit, slow and deliberate. “Let them know their king is worshiping his queen.”
She moans, her hips rolling against my mouth. I suck her clit, push two fingers inside her, curl them to find that spot that makes her scream. She comes hard, her pussy clenching around my fingers.
I stand, free my cock, and push inside her in one thrust. The table creaks. Books fall from the shelves.
“Look at me,” I command, gripping her chin. “Look at me while I fuck you in my library.”
She does. Her dark eyes are glazed, her lips parted. I pound into her, the table scraping against the stone floor.
“Gonna fill you up, wife. Gonna pump this tight cunt full of my cum while surrounded by five hundred years of history.”
“Yes,” she sobs, wrapping her legs around my waist. “Breed me. Fill me. Make me yours.”
“You already are.” I slam into her one last time, burying myself to the hilt, and come with a roar. I flood her, thick ropes painting her insides.
After, I hold her on the table, both panting, surrounded by fallen books.
“I found the book I was looking for,” she says weakly, pointing to the floor.
I look. It’s a history of northern warfare. I chuckle, lifting her into my arms. “I’ll read it to you. In bed. While you’re full of my cum.”
“You just want an excuse to keep me naked.”
“I don’t need an excuse. You’re my wife. Keeping you naked is my right.”
She laughs, burying her face in my neck. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love me.”
“I do.” She kisses my jaw. “I really, really do.”
I carry her back to our chambers, her legs wrapped around my waist, my cock still half-hard inside her. The servants scatter. I don’t care.
Their king is whipped. And he doesn’t give a single fuck.