I do, and my heart thrashes.

It all happens dream-like. I shiver when he trails his coarse hand up and down my spine, my pulse rushes between my ears when his hot, hard body closes in on me, and I freeze entirely when his fingers touch the place… I blink fast.

“Rome?”

“Are you ready to take your king deep inside your body, little creature? So deep you will struggle to know where I finish, and you begin.”

He grips my hip with one hand and uses his cock on my weeping lips, coating the solid, throbbing length in my slick arousal. “I told you that I would introduce you to all the parts of your pretty body that will make you moan for me.”

Controlled and slow, he pushes into my other hole, and my eyes pop open with only the stretch of his crown.

I squeeze the wooden board. “My king?” I beg, scared, nervous—everything. All at once.

“Reach your hand back. Claw my thigh.”

I intend to when suddenly warmth gathers low in my belly like a soothing whirlpool. A mesmerising presence that brings something pleasantly numbing and…

Am I floating?

“My King…” I wriggle. “I feel strange.”

A coarse palm moves around my smooth waist, stilling at my swollen abdomen. “It is safe for the heir, but will help you with your first time taking me in your tight arsehole. Numb the pain and loosen your pretty rim for me.”

His fingers descend, dipping to my clit where he massages the bead just as he pushes inside me from behind.

I moan for him—hard. Long.

“That’s my girl.”

There is no air.

And too much.

No space.

Yet, I’m swollen.

I cannot do anything but feel him. There is no sting; he made sure of that. Only the feeling of being full, so utterly full—everywhere. And the stretch, the stretch is… exquisite.

Needing more control, he releases my hip and possesses my throat, his arm supporting the front of my torso as he presses me forward with his hips and sinks his throbbing length in until he is flush with my backside. It is as if stones have been set on the base of my pelvis—the weight is otherworldly.

I could crack open.

In half—down the centre.

“You’re doing so good, my sweet creature. No need to ever feel jealous. You have taken all of me. Every inch of my manhood. Every possessive cell in my veins. The dustings of my humanity. All of your king. Yours.”

The sounds from my throat are endless. My pussy spasms with longing, working the empty space he usually fills. As if he understands, two fingers feed between my wet folds to satiate the needy clenching.

He lifts me from my pussy, two fingers deep, his palm a cradle for my pelvis, his cock taking my weight.

I am suspended by him.

The primal groans thundering against my spine encourage me to rock my hips forward along his attentive fingers and roll backward to welcome his firm, thick length as it impales me.

He starts to move.

Really, really move.

My moans become short like a punch while his grunts match the pounding of his hips as he sets a brutal pace, hard enough to beat sounds through my panting lips.

Fuck,” he growls, almost a roar, taking me hard with real desperation, with the beast on the surface. “Look how well you take me. So relaxed for my cock.”

My frantic palms climb the wall behind the bedhead, being lifted beyond the reach of the wooden frame, but it makes no difference. All I can do is brace myself while he dominates me so entirely. I close my eyes and pleasure my king with my willing body, letting him take what he needs, letting him claim. Thrust.

“I love you, my king,” I whimper, my voice breaking, my body plummeting into another bottomless abyss of pleasure just as he loses his pace.

“I need you, little creature.” He comes inside me, groaning and working his length in and out. “Don’t make me jealous! It is unbearable. It is torture.”

Ardent hands paw my body, roaming, exploring as he finds his centre and strength.

Steadily, he pulls out excruciatingly slow, and I moan through the thick of my throat, emptied. Lighter. Exhausted.

I struggle to inhale, exhale—to do anything for a long pause while I regain my thoughts. But my ears tingle. So, I know his eyes are on me.

I finally take a big breath.

“Yes,” he gushes, “that’s very pretty. You are coated in cum, mine, yours.”

I don’t see how that is pretty.

“Flowers are pretty,” I murmur.

I hear his smile as he says, “This is my favourite flower. Like the ones you pick, this is mine, too. Mine.” His fingers slide around. “I do not share, understand? Nothing. Not your body. Your scent. Your flowers. Your smiles. Say it?”

Unreasonable…

I must smile at people.

Too fatigued to argue, I mutter, “I am yours,” and slump in his hold, exhaustion clinging to my limbs, pulling me down to the mattress, begging me to relent. Sleep.

He lays on the bed with me on his torso.

Curling to the side, I lift my knees and snuggle into his chest. With my mind satiated, my body heavy under fatigue’s weight, I inhale him as my eyes finally close…

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Chapter Eight

Aster

I sit with my knees tucked to the side on his sofa.

Watching my huge, magnificent king sprawled out naked in bed, thick arm slung over his eyes, round bicep framing his chiselled face, is one of my new favourite things to do.

Shuffling in place, I gaze down to study his long, thick cock, lying heavily over his thigh.

It pulses, fills. Expands.

“I can feel the heat of your pretty eyes in my cock, little creature.” He doesn’t move, only talks through a husky first-light tone as his length thickens and rises to attention. “Why are you awake? The fire is barely orange.”

“I have something to ask you,” I whisper honestly, sitting higher and squaring my shoulders.

I had the same dream last night. The one with the little boy, but this time it was a girl with honey-coloured hair. She was lost in the tunnel with the flickering lights, cradling my upside-down bird.

And she looked just like Tuscany…

“Anything,” he mutters.

I smile. “The queen⁠—”

A disapproving growl rattles the room before I can finish my sentence. “Don’t talk about my sister right now⁠—”

“Now is the perfect time, my king. We have both had an excellent sleep.” I watch his cock deflate and find the entire appendage wildly interesting. So… autonomous.

“Please?” I add.

He stretches out like a great beast, awakening his muscles in a lazy yet powerful way. “What is it?”

“She wishes to see the Redwind and⁠—”

“Absolutely not!”

Words bunch on my tongue. “Rome. Please. I—” I pause, shaking my head; he is utterly unreasonable. Fur men and women, Common communities, and hundreds of people living outside gated sanctuaries still survive.

I press, “This may be the last time I am able to leave The Estate for quite some time. I am getting bigger. Please.”

“It is not safe. For either of you.”

I find a small growl in my jaw, letting it loose.

He sits up and stares at me. “Did you just growl at me? That was somewhat of a kitten call, sweet creature.”

I huff. “I do not believe in quarrelling with you. So, yes, maybe it is not entirely safe. But I do not wish to live in a glass dome. I grew up in one. And Tuscan—” I clear my throat when his brows furrow. “The queen will adore the journey. Please. We could see the never-ending Windmill Forest.”

“No.” He rises from the bed, tension a tangible presence rolling across his muscular back. Walking to the drink cabinet, he manifests his dominance and authority with each heavy step. “You don’t know what you are asking of me. What if something happens to you? Or to her?”