King's Virgin (4 page)

Cordova hesitated.
“I just never…”

“…
Thought
that I sang? I am not surprised, Miss. Thomas.” He laughed
bitterly. “To you I am just a lout, a petty tyrant who revels
in war and suffering. Of course in your mind it shouldn’t be
possible for me to have an appreciation for the finer, more delicate
things in life. And I shouldn’t, not when my grandfather worked
so hard to beat it out of me at such a young age.”

“
I’m
sorry…” An image of him being caned by his grandfather
flashed through her mind, and she shook her head. Oh no. She was not
going to let him cultivate sympathy for him inside her heart. He
could easily be spinning a tale—though for what purpose, she
did not know. Still, his words tugged at her heartstrings despite her
cynical mind.

“
Never mind.”
He circled his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
“I did not come down here to speak of a distant past. I came
here for you.”

Heart pounding,
Cordova tilted her head up to meet his lips at the same time King
Lyon bent his head. She fisted her hands in his doublet as his tongue
slid sensually against hers, stoking the embers smoldering in her
womb into a full-fledged flame, and moaned into his mouth.

Reaching out with
one hand, Lyon pulled the wooden cover over the piano keys, then
stood and placed Cordova on top of it so that her hips were level
with his. His shaft was already aching, and he rucked up her dress
around her hips so he could press his thickness against her core,
still kissing her.

Cordova moaned as
the King began to grind himself against her, pressing up hard against
her sweet spot. He thrust his tongue in and out of her mouth in
rhythm with his hips; a prelude to what she wanted him to do to her.
How was it possible that such a strong desire could overtake her body
so quickly, so furiously? Whimpering, she buried her fingers in his
curly mass of hair, rubbing herself shamelessly against him until she
was crying out in pleasure, trembling as an orgasm swept through her.

Lyon pulled away,
and Cordova was surprised when he knelt before her instead of pushing
down his hose and thrusting inside her like she thought he would. He
spread her legs wide, his hungry gaze fixed on the most private part
of her body.

“
Oh, your
Majesty,” she gasped, realizing his intentions. He was going to
lick her
there
?
“You can’t!”

“
Oh, but I
can,” he growled, leaning in, and Cordova screamed as he ran
his tongue over her center. “Mmm. You taste so sweet.” He
licked her again, his tongue burrowing through her silky folds until
he found that secret spot. Cordova’s hips bucked, and he
gripped them with his large hands, forcing her to take what he gave
her, when he gave it to her. His tongue flicked and circled,
alternating the pressure so that he forced her to the edge, and then
backed off. Her knees clamped tight around his head, her nails dug
painfully into his scalp, and he didn’t care. It was worth it,
to hear her shrieks as he gorged himself on her scent and taste.

“
Please!”
she finally cried. “Please, please, Lyon!”

He liked the sound
of his name on her lips, even if she’d forgotten his title. As
a reward for pleasing him, he sucked hard on her pleasure nub, and
smiled as she stiffened around his head, screaming her release. He
lapped up the sweet cream that gushed out of her until she was limp.

“
That was,”
she gasped, not caring that she sounded desperately inexperienced. “I
have no words.”

Lyon smiled. “You
need none.” He pushed his hose down, hooked Cordova’s
ankles around his shoulders, and plunged inside her. They gasped
simultaneously, and then Lyon began thrusting, not nearly as gentle
as he’d been before. He could feel her inner walls gripping his
shaft tightly, trying to hold him as he moved inside her, creating
the most delicious friction between them.

Cordova’s
nails dug into the wood beneath her, her long hair spread out across
the piano, her head tilted back to expose the white column of her
throat. She was utterly helpless in this position, and could do
nothing but lie back and let him pound his shaft into her.

No, that wasn’t
true. Lifting her head, she slid her hand down to where they were
joined and made a
“V”
with her middle and forefingers over her softness so she could feel
his shaft sliding against her fingers as he worked it inside of her.
Watching the hard length of him move in and out, in and out, was one
of the most erotic things she’d ever seen. She circled her
fingers around him lightly, enjoying the feel of his hot, hard shaft
pulsing wetly against her palm.

Lyon groaned at the
feel of her hand around him, and knew he needed more. Pulling out, he
gripped Cordova by the hips and pulled her off the piano, then pushed
her to her knees.

Eyes impossibly
wide, Cordova stared at his glistening shaft, which bobbed hungrily
in front of her face. “What am I to do?”

Lyon’s fingers
threaded through her hair. “Take it,” he commanded,
pushing his hips toward her. “In your mouth.”

Cordova swallowed
nervously, licking her lips as she gripped the base of his shaft with
her hand. He was so big. Would he be able to fit in her mouth? She’d
heard rumors about men demanding this sort of thing from their women,
and all of the stories had sounded so very distasteful.

But he had knelt
between her legs and given her pleasure, so it seemed only fair that
she return the favor. Not that she had a choice in the matter. She
was his mistress, fated to do all that pleased him.

A drop of seed
glistened at the slit, and Cordova licked the mushroom head, tasting
his creamy saltiness. She smiled as he gave a full-body shudder,
realizing suddenly that she held an enormous amount of power in her
hand. She could make him beg just as he had made her do so.

She licked the
underside of his shaft, dragging her tongue from base to tip, then
swirling it around the mushroom head. His fingers tightened in her
hair, urging her forward, but she resisted, continuing to tongue him
relentlessly without actually taking him into her mouth.

“
Woman,”
Lyon finally growled. “If you don’t cease this torment, I
will pull you over my knee and spank you.”

The image those
words conjured was evocative rather than threatening, and Cordova had
to fight back a giggle at the note of desperation in his voice. He
didn’t quite beg, but then he was the King. She would take what
she could get.

Smiling, she gave
one last lick to the head, and then slid him into her mouth whole.
Lyon’s deep groan was so filled with lust that she shivered
involuntarily. His shaft pulsed hotly inside her mouth, and she began
sucking, dragging her lips up and down his full length, delighting in
the flavor of not only him, but herself.

“
Gods, yes.”
Lyon fisted her long, dark hair as he watched her suck his shaft
hungrily. He was riveted by her jewel-bright eyes that watched him
with a mixture of amusement and desire as she worked her tongue, lips
and teeth on him. Soon he was gripping her temples and pumping his
hips, thrusting into her mouth. She took him without complaint,
fondling his sac with one hand as she pleasured him, and soon he was
shouting her name, spewing his hot seed into her mouth.

Cordova swallowed
every last drop, then sat back on her heels and wiped her lips from
her fingertips. The look of pure rapture on the King’s face
swelled her with desire. She’d never thought to feel so smug or
accomplished about bringing a man to such pleasure. Was this why
mistresses were so willing to lie between the sheets with a man they
could not marry? No, surely not. Some of the men she’d seen at
court were homely as sin— they had nothing to offer a woman
besides their vast coffers.

“
For a
virgin,” Lyon said as he pulled his hose up. “You are
remarkably skilled.”

Cordova lifted a
shoulder. “When one lives in the country, the innocence of the
mind is quickly lost. I have heard enough about the act to get an
idea of how it is done.”

Lyon chuckled. “Such
a… clinical way of putting it. Were you not writhing in my
arms a scant few minutes ago, begging for me to give you release?”

Cordova blushed, and
said nothing, rising to her feet and smoothing her dress around her
hips, obscuring her lovely body once again. He frowned.

“
Will you
really refuse the garments I have provided you?” he inquired.
“I really do loathe that dress.”

Cordova lifted a
shoulder. “I might consider wearing them… under one
condition.”

Lyon raised a brow.
“And that would be?” Normally he wouldn’t consider
her demands, but he was in good spirits just now.

“
I…
there is not very much to do here,” Cordova admitted. “I
should like some books to read, or some cloth and a needle and thread
to embroider with. Anything to alleviate the tedium during your
absences.

The King frowned. He
certainly did not want her to be idle—unoccupied women could
become dangerous. “I will arrange something for you.”

****

The next morning,
after Cordova had dressed and broken her fast, she entered the
drawing room to discover a pleasant surprise—an entire shelf
had been installed next to the piano, crammed full of books. Her
heart swelled with joy as she rushed over to inspect them—there
was some of everything, from philosophical texts to encyclopedias to
poetry.

“
Oh, this is
wonderful,” she breathed, pulling out a leather bound with
gilded pages. She took several books from the shelf and brought them
with her to the settee, where she was greeted by another surprise—a
large, cloth bag. Setting the books aside, she pulled out balls of
yarn, spools of thread, cloth, and needles.

“
How
generous,” she murmured, running her hands over a particularly
vibrant ball of yarn—the green was the exact shade of her eyes.
The King hadn’t made any excuses when she’d hurled her
accusations at him, but his behavior belied them all the same. She
hadn’t expected him to be so… tender? She wasn’t
sure that was the right word. But he was certainly being very kind to
her considering that this was supposed to be her punishment. When
he’d first declared that she was to be his mistress, she’d
envisioned being locked away in some dark chamber, perhaps even
chained and at his mercy. But although she was locked away, her
chambers were spacious, and she was allowed to live in comfort.

And
she
didn’t have to deal with the obnoxious Lady Grey anymore. Oh,
what a boon this was turning out to be!

****

Weeks passed, in
which King Lyon made love to her regularly, saturating her life with
pleasure. Often she would spend the waning hours of the afternoon in
a state of lustful anticipation, awaiting his arrival. He had become
an addiction to her—she loved the feel of his hands and mouth
on her, the way his calluses scraped against her smooth skin, his
husky groans of pleasure.

Even more, he made
her feel cherished. Oh, there were no words of love from him, and she
expected none. But he lavished her with gifts—a jeweled comb
here, a ruby necklace there, a gilt rose. He still refused to provide
her with a more modest wardrobe, but she’d grown used to
wearing the low-cut, form fitting gowns. It wasn’t as though
anyone else ever saw her, and the hot, hungry look that fired his
eyes when they alighted on her cleavage was worth it. She loved it
when he looked at her like that.

Nevertheless, she
still missed her family. Often she would wake in the middle of the
night after having a particularly lovely dream about them, and the
reality of her situation would crash down upon her shoulders. She
couldn’t stop the tears from coming during those times, and it
was worse if Lyon happened to be abed with her. He would offer her
wordless comfort, never once asking as to what troubled her, and it
was awful because she both cared for him and despised him for keeping
her from those she loved most.

Lyon knew all this,
of course, and every day that passed the guilt grew stronger within
him. For he had come to care for her deeply as well, and it was not
easy for him to see her suffer. He’d intercepted a letter from
her mother, and upon opening it was surprised at the warmth in the
greeting—the words were infused with love and gratitude,
certainly nothing he’d ever received from his grandfather. And
there had been no hint of deception, no evidence to suggest that
either of them were plotting against the Crown. It was petty of him
to continue to hold her, and though he was no stranger to committing
petty acts, this one nagged at his conscious.