Page 31 of Making the King

Holy fucking shit. Is she serious?

“Who told you an orgasm was just for men?”

For the first time since picking her up from prison, she looks as young as her nineteen years as her eyes drop to her outstretched legs.

“Mom said a wife’s duty is to please her husband and make sure that he is hard and feels good, and has an orgasm every time he wants one. Otherwise I’m not doing my job properly. She said there was no pleasure for me to have, and suffering through the pain of it every time was how I would get my satisfaction.”

“Fuck, Cara. She lied to you. That’s not how it’s meant to be.”

Her gray eyes dart up to meet mine again, and her lower lip trembles and tears well in her eyes.

She’s never looked more vulnerable than in this moment.

“It’s not?” she asks quietly, and I shake my head.

“Fuck, no. Yes, the first time or two will hurt for you, but if the man is doing his job properly, the pain will subside and be replaced with pleasure. Ecstasy.”

She shakes her head, confusion contorting her beautiful features.

“But my sister… she never felt good. It was always so… brutal.”

What the fuck!

“Cara, is that why you hurt yourself on me this morning?” I ask, not able to hide the concern in my voice.

“Well… Yes. It had to be done. You’re my husband, and I…” She trails off, and I can see that there’s more she wants to say, but she’s not ready to reveal it to me.

“If you had let me know what you were doing instead of just… doing it, I could have shown you how it’s meant to be. Especially for your first time. You must be so sore.”

Her cheeks flush crimson, and her eyes drop so I can’t see them, telling me without even saying the words that she is.

“I’m a little sore too.” I admit, hoping it will make her feel better.

Her gray gaze shoots back up through the fan of her dark lashes.

“You are?”

“Yes. Even though you think you were ready to take my cock, you weren’t. I could have helped with that. Made you feel good so your… insides were ready.”

Fuck, right now I feel like I’m talking to the sixteen-year-old girl that I married three years ago. How has she not learned this stuff, even in prison?

“But isn’t it wrong for me to feel good? Isn’t it meant to hurt?” she asks on a whisper and my heart fucking aches for her. For the lies she’s been told by her own fucking parents.

“Fuck no.” I rush out, quickly kneeling on the end of the bed at her feet. “Let me show you that it can be the complete opposite.”

“W-what? How?”

“Let me touch you. Give me permission to pleasure you.”

Shaking her head frantically, Cara shuffles up the bed more until her back hits the headboard.

“Okay,” I say, holding my hands up. “Let’s try something different. How about you touch yourself?”

Her eyes widen. “No. I can’t. That’s not allowed. It’s dirty.”

“You can. It’s normal. Trust me, everyone masturbates. It’s as natural as the act of sex itself.”

Still, she shakes her head.

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