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  Cordova whimpered, arching her hips 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 hips so he could control the pace. He looked magnificent, like a warrior, muscular and golden, his eyes hot as he stared down at her, hips pumping.

  Soon, the languorous pace was not enough, and Cordova began moving her hips 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 naked, 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 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 co
ntact 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.”

  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 doubl
et 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.