King Lyon laughed. “You are provided with a King’s ransom of clothing that the women of my court would swoon over, and you call them garish?”
Cordova bit her lower lip, unsure if she had upset him or not. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, your Majesty,” she amended, trying for a less petulant approach. It wouldn’t do to make her life more difficult than it was already going to be. “But I simply can’t bring myself to wear those fashions.”
The King lifted an eyebrow. “They are what you have been provided with, and until you have earned the right to ask for more, you will wear them. Either that, or you can go nak*d.”
Cordova gasped, her cheeks coloring. “I beg your pardon?”
King Lyon grinned. “Now that I think of it, I may just order you to forgo clothes completely. After all, you are all alone down here, so no one other than I will be able to see you. And it would be so much more convenient for me.”
Cordova’s flush deepened, rage joining her mortification. “I refuse.”
“Suit yourself.” Lyon stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Cordova felt her skin tingle in anticipation. “In any case, your garments offend me. It’s time we take them off.”
“W-what?” Now?
Lyon’s eyes sparked hungrily, and her entire body heated. “I’m not the type of man who is content with tossing up a woman’s skirts and taking his pleasure. I want to see your body. All of it.”
“Yes,” she breathed, her cheeks heating again. It sounded as though she were agreeing with him rather than simply acknowledging him. Her fingers trembled as she lifted them to the row of buttons trailing down her front, and she fumbled, trying to loosen them.
“I…” her breathing hitched. “I cannot.” She’d never stripped in front of a man before, and King Lyon’s hot gaze made it impossible for her to concentrate.
Lyon softened at the panic in her eyes and the stiffness in her spine. “Let me help you,” he murmured huskily, brushing her hands away so he could undo the buttons himself. He could practically feel the innocence rolling off her in waves. It had been awhile since had last taken a virgin. He was going to have to be gentle, this first time.
Popping the last button, he released his hands and let the dress pool around her ankles, then sucked in a breath as he studied her. Clad only in a thin chemise, her curves were exposed to his gaze, and they were even lusher than he’d expected. Her br**sts were ripe melons, the n**ples straining against the thin, white material. Her waist was tiny, her h*ps flared—a body made for childbearing. Her calves looked silky, her ankles dainty and graceful.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely, running his large, callused palms up and down her bare arms.
Cordova shivered, leaning into the King’s warm hands—not that she was cold. Far from it. She was sure that if she looked down her entire skin would be pink from the heat coursing through her body. But her eyes were riveted to King Lyon’s gaze—dark, hungry, commanding.
“Why are you doing this?” she murmured, trembling all over from the chills his touch incited. “Why do you choose to spare me?”
“Because I can,” he retorted harshly, yanking her against his big, hard body. His lips crashed down to claim hers, and Cordova moaned—she couldn’t help it. Her body loved the proximity between them, craved it, wanted more. Her n**ples tingled as they scraped against his doublet, and moisture pooled between her thighs.
Lyon plundered her mouth with his tongue, dominating her utterly as he reveled in her sweetness. He loved the little sound she made when he’d pulled her against him—soft and passionate, just like her body felt against him. Without breaking the kiss he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, where he set her upon the large bed that dominated the room.
Stepping back, he took a moment to study her again, admiring the way her chemise contrasted against the gilt and garnet coverlet. Her green eyes were smoky with desire, her cheeks flushed, her heavy bosom heaving, n**ples straining against the material of her undergarment.
“Your Majesty?” she asked hesitantly, unsure as to what he wanted from her. From the stories she heard, men tended to fall on their mistresses like slavering dogs, taking their pleasure and then moving on with their business. But the King spent an awfully long time just simply looking at her, as though she were a feast he was about to savor.
“This needs to come off,” he growled, tugging her shoulders so that she rose up. His fingers curled around the straps of her chemise, and then it was pulled over her head and tossed aside, to flutter to the floor like a butterfly wing.
“Oh, yes,” he murmured, drinking in her creamy, nak*d flesh with his eyes. Her ran his hands down her sides, enjoying the feel of her smooth, unmarred skin, and the way her curves fit so perfectly into his palms. She arched into his touch, offering her dusky rose n**ples to him, and he took greedily, cupping her br**sts before leaning down and suckling gently on her right one.
“Oh!” A cry flew from Cordova’s lips, filled with surprise and pleasure. Exquisite sensation rippled through her with each suck, each tug, as he pleasured her n**ples with his mouth and hands. His teeth nipped, his tongue licked, his fingers pinched and rolled, until she was wrapping her legs around his waist and rubbing her core shamelessly against his erection, mindlessly seeking relief.
Lyon groaned at the feel of Cordova’s warm center rubbing along the length of his shaft—the pleasure was incredible, and he hadn’t even removed his clothes yet. How much more pleasurable would it be to rub himself against her bare flesh? To sink his shaft deep inside her?
Impatient, he pulled back and yanked at the buttons of his doublet. In short order it joined the chemise on the floor along with the linen shirt he wore underneath. Cordova caught her breath as she watched him stand—his chest muscles rippled in the candlelight, dusted lightly with curls the same color as the hair atop his head. He kicked off his boots, and then tore off his hose, freeing his shaft, and she gasped.
Lyon chuckled at the shock in his new mistress’s eyes. “Have you never seen one before?” he asked, boldly curling his fingers around the hard length.
Cordova gulped as her pulse kicked up a notch—she should have found such an action lewd, but instead she wanted to knock his hand aside and replace it with her fingers. “I… you’re just so large.”
“Don’t worry,” Lyon assured her as he returned to the bed. “I will fit.” Crouching before her, he slid his hands underneath the backs of her thighs and drew her knees up before spreading her legs. “Beautiful,” he murmured again, staring at the glistening pink folds between her legs, crowned with a thatch of silky black curls. He ran his fingers through them, then down her nether lips, coating them in her moisture. She was wet already, so wet.
Cordova whimpered, arching her h*ps against his hand. With each brush of his fingers, pleasure stabbed, and she wanted more of it. His fingers tunneled through her folds, and she cried out as he hit a spot that sent arcs of pleasure shooting through her.
Lyon grinned as her head fell back on the mattress, and continued to stimulate the little nub, rubbing it back and forth between his fingers until she was bucking mindlessly against his hand.
“Oh, oh, oh!” she screamed as something inside her burst, following by crushing waves of pleasure that wiped her mind of all thought. It was good. So, so, good. She’d never experienced anything like this before.
Lyon rose up and positioned his shaft near Cordova’s entrance, the mushroom tip rubbing gently at the folds, coating him in her creamy wetness. He pushed in while she was still in the throes of her orgasm, tearing through her hymen, which provided minimal resistance. Cordova stiffened, uttering a low moan, and he went utterly still. When he felt her relax, he eased into her slowly.
“By the Gods,” he gasped. “You’re so tight.” Her inner walls gave inch by inch, stretching and wrapping around him as they frantically worked to accommodate his size. Torture, sweet, sweet torture.
Cordova gasped as he finally filled her to the hilt, squirming slightly as she became accustomed to the feel of having a man inside her. She… liked it, she decided. Liked the way his thick, hard shaft felt, filling her up, pulsing hungrily inside her.
“I… I am alright,” she whispered.
“Good,” he rumbled, leaning down and burying his face in the crook of her neck in a surprisingly tender move. His tongue darted out to flick across the pulse hammering at her throat, and she shivered, a tiny little moan slipping past her lips. “Mmm. You taste good, woman.”
Gradually, he began to move inside her, working up a steady rhythm. Cordova dug her fingernails into the coverlet as he worked his shaft inside her, gasping with each wonderful, pleasure-filled stroke. King Lyon hauled her legs up so she could wrap them around his waist, and then dug his fingers into her h*ps so he could control the pace. He looked magnificent, like a warrior, muscular and golden, his eyes hot as he stared down at her, h*ps pumping.
Soon, the languorous pace was not enough, and Cordova began moving her h*ps frantically, trying to get him to increase the speed. He refused at first, but when, out of desperate inspiration, she reached between them and cupped his sac in her hand he relented with a groan. Sliding his hands from her hips, he gripped each of her buttocks and lifted, then pounded into her for all he was worth.
“Gods,” he muttered hoarsely. “Good. So good.” He knew he wasn’t going to last very long at this pace and so reached down, thumbing that sweet spot between her legs as he continued to slam his shaft inside her. He felt her stiffen, then scream as the orgasm washed through her and pulled out, spilling his seed across her belly. Spent, he collapsed on the bed next to her, breathing heavily.
Exhausted from lovemaking and a long, stressful day, Cordova slipped into sleep.
****
When Cordova woke, King Lyon was gone. He’d tucked a blanket around her, but she still shivered—she did not sleep nak*d, and was not used to the lack of layers.
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 nak*d last night, but she couldn’t help herself.