Chapter 2
Zogar
My queen’s bravery and curiosity astound me. As we enter the more densely populated section of the city, her tiny hand, held in mine, does not even shake. Instead of fear, awe radiates from her eyes, and yet she’s fighting to disguise her shock, so we don’t draw undue attention.
How can we not draw attention? Rosomon is not only spectacularly beautiful, she radiates joy and goodness. All things in short supply here.
I greatly admire how she looks in the garments I chose. When last here, I obtained a selection of clothing options for us both, and the others are stashed in the leather duffel bags I carry, along with the walking shoes she wore earlier.
Her shiny silver dress matches her complexion—in tone, if not sheen—and under the thin dress, my wife is fully naked.
The shimmering fabric clings to her natural shape that requires no restrictive undergarments to mold it.
Her shoes, also silver, lift her heels high off the ground.
She quickly learned to adapt her gait, and I have slowed mine, so she has no need to run.
With every step, her perfect breasts bounce, their rounded tops exposed above the garment’s low neckline, and the tight points of her nipples rub against the fabric.
Tempted by this sight, it takes every ounce of my will to refrain from pushing her against one of these buildings and thrusting my cock inside her while holding those soft orbs.
Such a thing would not draw attention here.
We pass a vampyre, viciously railing a young woman against the glass front of a building. His fangs are deep in her throat and she’s screaming—but it’s not clear whether it’s from pain or pleasure.
Rosomon tugs on my hand. “We should help her.” She appeals to me with her eyes.
I bend down to whisper. “We can’t right every wrong we’ll encounter here.”
Rosomon nods, but her displeasure is clear in her eyes, only adding to the displeasure I know she feels about me right now. Based on her thoughts as we flew here, she remains angry with me.
And I do feel regret. I did need to fuck her—urgently—but didn’t need to do it so roughly and in view of her lovers. At the time, I told her that my motivations didn’t include jealousy, but that was perhaps the first time I’ve outright lied to my wife. I also lied to myself.
When I entered that room and saw not one, but both of those men’s cocks inside her, a fierce possessiveness seized me, and an urge to force them to bear witness to my superiority. My cock turned instantly solid, even as my pride was crushed.
Her immense fulfillment with her lovers both shocked and hurt me.
I knew she must enjoy their cocks, given she allows them entrance, but I didn’t expect the level of pleasure I saw reflected in her face, in her moans, in her flushed skin.
And I certainly didn’t expect the thoughts of love I overheard from her while we were flying here.
I’m glad I didn’t know the depths of her feelings then. The result may have been worse—so much worse. In a jealous rage, I might have relieved the men of their cocks.
But nothing excuses the actions I did take. I should have shown more restraint. I should have buried my wounded pride. The fact that she still let me fuck her, after my regrettable display, is yet another reason I’m grateful for my choice of queen.
And I’m grateful that she’s controlling her negative emotions toward me right now. Highly pragmatic.
She may not comprehend the gravity of my quest here, but she understands that it’s more important than our marital harmony.
I considered apologizing to her, while we walked to the city, but we filled that time with her questions, and my attempts to share as many of the new words and inventions I learned and saw here.
Further impressing me, Rosomon quickly memorized every new word I recounted, and I explained every invention I remembered and warned her again of the depravity she’d witness.
Beside me, my wife tenses, and I shift my attention away from the perfect bounce of her breasts.
On the sidewalk, a werewolf is striding toward us, although she might assume that he’s simply a very large and unshaved human.
Lusty hunger consumes the wolf’s expression, and it confirms that my wife’s beauty is not just in my eyes.
Dropping her hand, I lift her high into my arms and kiss her, swallowing her gasp of shock. Overcome by my own lust, I press her back against the glass pane of a building to deepen our kiss, and my stiffness grinds against her soft body.
My sanity claimed by urgent need, I slide up her dress, raising one of her legs so I can stroke her ass and rub her damp sex against me.
She pushes against my shoulder, as her lips fight to escape.
Gasping, I cease crushing her mouth, and look into her eyes, trying to catch my breath and tame my raging need.
“He’s gone.” Her cheeks are flushed and her words come through kiss-bruised lips. “He walked past us.”
Again, my admiration for her expands. She understood the reasons for my actions, just as I hope she did back in Lymbo. And while she doesn’t look fully appreciative at this moment, she trusts me to protect her.
“No one touches you but me,” I say deeply. “No one.”
Her eyes widen.
“No one in this city,” I clarify, as jealousy stabs at my chest. I detest how quickly she thought of her lovers, needing to verify that I won’t object to her continued copulation with those men.
When we wed, I vowed she could keep her lovers, and I won’t break our sacred covenant. No matter how badly it pummels my pride.
Rosomon nods and a smile brushes her lips. I also took a vow to make her happy—always—and it’s clear that she requires the cocks of those two other men to be happy.
Someday she’ll tire of them, and we’ll still be married. Until then, I must become better at controlling my inexplicable jealousy. I don’t own this woman. And I certainly don’t love her. These infernal stabs of jealousy will pass.
Here, while we’re separated from her lovers for a time, she’ll soon realize my rod is the only one she needs and desires.
“Can you let me down?” she asks.
I blink. While I’ve stared into her magical eyes, I’ve kept her pinned to the wall, my cock pulsing against her flesh, for what may have been a very long time.
Nodding, I set her feet on the ground and watch as she tugs down the dress that barely covers her backside and upper thighs.
“There are many dangers in this city,” I remind her, as if giving a lesson. “But no one will harm you with me at your side.”
She nods, but her lips are squeezed tightly together, almost as if she’s fighting to trap words inside.
“Let’s discuss this, when we’re alone.” Her voice is tight, but she lets me retake her hand.
“Agreed. As soon as we are alone, we will talk.” And after that, we will fuck.
I desire—I require—more physical interaction with my wife, and if her reaction while we kissed is any indication, she desires the same from me.
My wife has barely scraped the surface, in terms of learning all the ways I can please her.
For a moment, I almost forgot why we came to the Darkness, and I’m shocked to discover how easily my priorities can shift—at least when it comes to pleasing my queen.