King's Virgin (3 page)

Standing, she
wrapped the blanket around her and walked out of the bedroom and into
the drawing room, where she remembered seeing a clock. Sure enough,
one rested on the mantle, and she found that it was morning, though
she would never have known otherwise since there were no windows in
her quarters.

Fire crackled in the
hearth, and she wondered who had come to light it while she’d
been sleeping. She wandered into the bathing room and found a large
tub filled with fragrant, steaming water. Lowering herself into it,
she sighed as the warm water soothed her sore muscles and tiny aches,
enveloping her with delicious comfort. She grabbed the washcloth and
bar of soap and began to clean herself off.

“
Did you sleep
well, Miss Thomas?”

She jumped,
swiveling her head toward the sound of King Lyon’s voice, and
saw him standing in the doorway. He looked regal and magnificent,
dressed in blue and gold and white, his bearing erect and proud. A
flush washed over her cheeks—she told herself it was ridiculous
to be self-conscious as he’d already seen her naked last night,
but she couldn’t help herself.

“
I did, your
Majesty.” She inclined her head, unwilling to leave the comfort
of the water for a more formal greeting—in any case; it was
impossible to curtsey without a skirt to hold.

Her jaw dropped as
he stripped off his clothing, revealing his body to her once more. “I
brought you a present,” he said, approaching with a small
drawstring bag.

“
W-what are
you doing?” she asked as he stepped into the tub.

He arched a brow.
“Joining you, of course. Is there a problem?”

“
No.”
She mustn’t complain. He was being fairly lenient with her,
after all.

“
Good.”
He pulled open the drawstring bag and upended it, pouring a stream of
crystals into the water—bathing salts, she realized. The scent
of jasmine filled the air, and she sighed. Bathing salts were a
luxury she had never been able to afford.

She barely protested
when he took the washcloth and soap from her hands and took over the
job of cleaning her. His hands were gentle as he ran the soapy cloth
over her back, shoulders, arms, and she shivered as he lathered her
breasts. The washcloth moved down her abdomen, then between her
thighs, and she whimpered.

“
Does that
feel good?” he murmured in her ear, replacing the washcloth
with his fingers.

“
Oh, yes,”
she breathed, gripping his bare shoulders as her head fell back.

He traced the shell
of her ear with his tongue. “Do you want more?”

“
I…”
she had promised herself not to beg him. “If you so desire.”

Chuckling, he pushed
a long finger inside her, and she cried out in shock and pleasure. “I
will
make
you beg, Miss Thomas.”

Cordova gasped as he
slowly worked his finger in and out, in and out. She would not beg.
She would
not
.

He shrugged. “Don’t
fight it,” he mocked, inserting another finger and coercing
another cry from her. She bucked her hips, trying to grind herself
against his fingers, but he gripped her hips tightly with his free
hand, having none of it. Inserting another finger, he stretched her
fully, but kept up his slow, torturous pace until she was trembling
all over, tears threatening.

“
Is something
wrong?” he asked innocently, nibbling at her jawline.

“
N-no…”
Cordova stammered, then bit her lip to keep from crying out as he
flicked his thumb across her sweet spot, lightning fast.

“
You are
sure?” he asked, lips twitching. “There is not anything
you… need?”

“
I…”
she gasped as he ducked his head and swirled his tongue around her
left nipple, tonguing the areola. “No. Nothing.” Her hips
bucked instinctively as he flicked his thumb across the nub between
her legs again, bellying her words, and he laughed.

“
Rest assured,
woman, I could do this all day.” It was perfectly true. He
loved to watch her face—it was so open, expressive, and
currently flushed with passion. “If you want release, you will
have to tell me what you want.”

Cordova bit down on
her lower lip to keep another moan from escaping as he continued to
torture her with his fingers. She knew he wasn’t going to let
her go, but surely he couldn’t let this go on forever. He would
take pity on her. He had to.

“
Well, if
there’s nothing you need, I suppose I will just be on my way.”
He started to withdraw his fingers, and arched his brow when her hand
shot out to grip his wrist.

“
Please,”
she panted. “Don’t leave me like this.”

“
Like what?”
he asked. “I thought you were fine.”

She wanted to scream
in frustration. “You know I’m not.”

“
Then what is
it you want?” he brushed his fingers gently against her folds,
and her hips bucked.

“
I want…”
She swallowed. “I want you inside me.”

“
Hmm.”
He shifted to bring his shaft into contact with her core, and she
moaned. “Do you now?”

“
Yes!”
she sobbed as he rubbed the head of his cock back and forth across
her entrance. “Please! I… please!”

“
You had but
to ask,” he assured her, surging inside her with one smooth
thrust, and they moaned simultaneously. Gripping her hips, he lifted
her up, and then slammed her back down onto his shaft, repeating the
motion over and over again, sending arcs of pleasure racing through
both of them. Her breasts bounced wildly as she mewled her pleasure
and he caught a nipple between his teeth, nipping and suckling the
taut, rosy bud. Gods, she tasted sweet. And those curves… he
gripped her bottom in his hands, kneading the flesh with his fingers.

Cordova didn’t
think it was possible, but the pleasure was even greater than it had
been last time. Every time his shaft moved inside her it brushed
against that sweet spot, heightening the pleasure further. Planting
her knees firmly onto the bottom of the tub she rode him, undulating
her hips to match his pace, delighted when his eyes darkened and
another deep groan rumbled up from his chest. The orgasm slammed into
her suddenly, sweeping her away so that she saw a blanket of stars,
and her screams echoed off the walls.

“
Cordova!”
Lyon shouted as he spurt his seed, this time inside her. Gods, he’d
meant to pull out, but she felt so good that he couldn’t bring
himself to leave her body. She slumped on top of him and he cradled
her head against his chest.

Cordova curled into
his lap, content to listen to his heartbeat gradually slowing. She
knew they couldn’t stay this way forever—the water would
cool eventually—but she didn’t want him to leave just
yet. He was her only company, after all.

“
I chose to
make you my mistress because I like your honesty.”

“
What?”
she looked up at him. Where had this come from?

“
You asked me
why I spared you yesterday.” He arched his brows. “The
majority of the ladies at court are greedy, conniving creatures—they
will do anything to get into my bed because they want the wealth I
can provide them should I choose, and the prestige of having lain
with the King. But you dared to speak what was on your mind,
regardless of the consequences, and I find that refreshing.” He
stroked her cheek gently. “And despite that hideous dress you
were brought before me wearing, I could already see that none of
those women could hold a candle to your beauty. You are exquisite.”

“
I still think
you are a tyrant,” she reminded him, doing the best to ignore
the flush of pleasure his words caused. “No amount of
flattering is going to change that.”

His eyes cooled, the
tenderness leaving them. “That is your choice.” He stood,
water sluicing off his body, and stepped from the tub. “Just
remember that you would do well to remind yourself that you are still
at my mercy. And that for as long as I choose to keep you, your body
is mine to do with as I wish.”

Cordova watched him
leave, barely refraining from heaving the bar of soap at him. She
wanted to cry in frustration at the hand that fate dealt her, but she
would not. Be strong, she reminded herself. Strong women did not cry
at the drop of a hat.

****

The King did not
return, and Cordova spent the rest of the day in peaceful, if not
lonely solitude. She’d donned her grey dress again, both in
defiance of the King and because she was not yet willing to try on
any of the fine clothes in her new wardrobe, no matter how soft and
wonderful the material looked and felt. The suite had a pantry of
sorts, and she’d helped herself to the dried meats and fruit
within.

Aside from the guard
who came to deliver her luncheon and supper, she saw no one. The
drawing room had a piano, and so after supper she spent a long while
relearning the keys and practicing the pieces she’d learned in
childhood. Her parents had never been able to afford a piano or a
tutor, but an elderly neighbor who’d owned one had taught her a
few things in her spare time.

The music relaxed
her, so that she did not notice the King had entered the drawing room
and now stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb as he
watched her play. Her hands flew over the keys with the same depth of
precision that another woman’s might handle a loom—the
difference being that one wove threads, while the other wove sounds
into a tapestry of delight.

He stood there for a
long time, simply content to listen to her play—which surprised
him. After all, he’d only come down for a quick tumble, to
relieve some of his pent up frustration that the day’s
proceedings had left him with. He knew she didn’t like him,
didn’t approve of his ways, and since he wasn’t going to
try and change that there was no point in cultivating a real
relationship.

Yet there he stood,
making no move to interrupt her, simply enjoying her as she was.

Cordova’s
hands stilled as she finished the piece, and then stiffened when she
heard someone clapping. Turning slowly, she saw King Lyon, and a
flush crept over her face that wasn’t entirely due to
embarrassment.

“
How long have
you been standing there?” she demanded, forgetting that she’d
decided to subdue herself so as not to get into any more trouble.

“
Long enough
to know that with proper training, you could be an extraordinary
pianist.” He smiled, the expression at odds with the hungry
look in his eyes. Did he always have to look at her in quite that
way? Didn’t it know that it turned her brains to mush, her
knees to jelly?

“
Be that as it
may, it is very rude to intrude unannounced. Surely you knew I was
not expecting an audience.”

“
I don’t
recall the necessity of asking your permission,” the King
replied smoothly, and there was annoyance in his eyes now. He crossed
the distance between them and Cordova stiffened further, unsure as to
his intentions. She was surprised when, rather than kissing her or
laying a hand on her as his behavior suggested he wanted to do, he
sat down beside her on the piano bench.

“
Play
something,” he demanded.

Cordova sucked in a
breath. She wanted to retort, but found his proximity robbed her of
speech—his powerful thigh muscles brushed against hers,
inciting more shivers along with a quivering in her womb. Knowing it
would be unwise to refuse, she flexed her fingers to stop their
trembling, then placed her hands on the keys and allowed the first
melody that came to mind to flow through her fingers—a ballad.

She nearly missed a
note when the King began to sing, and had to make a conscious effort
to keep her eyes focused on the keys instead of turning to look at
him like she so desperately wanted. His voice was wonderful, rich and
flowing and masculine, like sound spun into heavy silk. What
surprised her most was that he knew the lyrics; it was a song about
forgiveness, passion, and tender words between lovers. To be able to
sing it with such a depth of emotion indicated that he empathized,
even understood, and that was not something she expected. Or could
easily accept.

When the last
strains of the melody faded away, she forced herself to meet his
gaze. “You have a lovely voice.”

His eyes were intent
on hers; unreadable. “Taking the frown on your face into
consideration, I am not sure that I believe you.”