Page 29 of The Royal Curse

He hadn’t even turned me over, though, so how could he—but then his cock pressed into me, not just the head but more and more, irresistible, deeper and deeper.

My breath caught in my chest and my hands flailed and landed on his shoulders, fingers digging in. Andreas knelt between my legs, my ass practically in his lap, and when I craned my neck to look, I could see his thatch of auburn hair around the thick base of his cock, with inches more still pushing in.

“It’s too big,” I gasped. “I need to—Andreas, don’t I need to be on my knees? Men don’t do it like this!”

He looked up sharply, lips parted, cheeks flushed. “I beg your par—where the hell did you get your information from? We absolutely fucking do. And it’s not too big.” Andreas swooped down and pressed his lips to mine, swallowing my protests. I whimpered into his mouth as he sank in another inch, the inside of me strained to the limit, it had to be. There wasn’t room for him, how could anyone take this much stuffing without ripping apart, I’d—and oh, gods, he’d stopped at last, hips pressed firmly against my ass and the very thickest part of his cock wrenching my hole open.

A tentative squirm around the massive intrusion earned me a groan from Andreas and a thrust that had me making a sound I hadn’t known I could make, a helpless, pitiful whine.

Andreas lifted his head, with one last nip to my lower lip that left it throbbing. He gazed down at me, wild-eyed and flushed.

“Listen to me,” he said, low and tight. “This,” and he thrust, and I clutched his shoulders and cried out, but I couldn’t look away from those eyes, “would be worth,” another thrust, so deep it punched the air from my lungs, and I felt the tears gathering at the corner of my eyes, “any form of royal punishment you could think of.”

He leaned down again and softly kissed the corner of my mouth. Under my death grip, his shoulders felt like hot stones, so tense and rigid. Restraining himself? Gods, because of me, because he wanted to pleaseme…

“I was fairly certain being assigned as my personal guard was already your punishment,” I gasped, arching up to try to ease the weighty ache in my lower body.

Andreas laughed against my cheek, and said, “Then I ought to commit much more treason on your lovely royal person. Am I hurting you?”

“No, it’s—a little bit.” He’d stopped moving, letting me get used to him, and it didn’t really hurt, it more…made my head spin, left me confused and needing something I couldn’t define, edgy and needy and impaled. “I don’t know what I want,” I finished miserably.

“Mmm. I do. You want this.” He pulled back, the slide of his heavy cock halfway out of me horribly strange and slick and wrong-feeling. “Tell me when it feels good.”

I opened my mouth to tell him it wouldn’t, that I was terrified and stuffed and too hot and sweaty and still utterly bewildered—and then he thrust, a long smooth glide that rubbed every inch of him over some sensitive places within me that I’d never known about until he touched them, and every nerve in my body lit up at once like a chain of fireworks.

“Oh gods,” I moaned, and clenched around him, and it happenedagain.

“No, just me,” Andreas growled in my ear.

He wrapped an arm under my waist, scooped me up like I weighed nothing at all, and slammed into me, over and over, the most delicious friction on every inch of me on the inside, until I teetered between coming again and crying out from the pain of how tightly he’d wound me.

Andreas lifted me higher and pressed me against his body, and now he wasn’t withdrawing between strokes so much as forcing himself deeper with every motion of his hips. It trapped my cock between the rough trail of hair down the center of his abdomen and my own sweat-slick skin. Almost, almost but not quite—

“Fuck, Niko—Your High—fuck,” Andreas groaned, and his whole body stiffened, the hand at my waist clamping down bruisingly hard. His hips juddered to a halt. The head of his cock twitched inside me, and he finished like that, pressing me to his heart with his face buried in my hair.

So close, even closer with the heat of his seed flooding me, and I squirmed there, pinned and helpless and almost sobbing in frustration.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he gasped, and dropped me to the bed. I bounced, yelped, tried to get my bearings, and then cried out in shock as he pulled out of me all at once, heavy and thick, leaving me jarringly empty.

I managed to push up on my elbows just in time to see him bend over me and put his mouth around the head of my cock. The sudden wet heat had me curling in, breathless, my limbs gone rigid.

And then he tightened his lips, slid down, and sucked.

Dromos and Ennolu could’ve manifested in unison and danced a jig at the foot of the bed and I wouldn’t have noticed. Everything in the world grayed out into a haze except for the exquisite, unbearable perfection of Andreas’s beautiful mouth.

A choked-off moan was all the warning I gave him before I spent down his throat, feeling him swallow around me, his tongue flicking my oversensitive glans until I writhed and tried to push him off, fingers slipping through his too-short hair.

At last he had some mercy, letting my cock slide out of his mouth and rest limp against my hip, the cool air on my wet flesh sending a momentary shudder up and down my spine.

I let myself drift for a while after that, my mind light and floaty, my body humming with more satisfaction than it’d known for…ever.

No, nothing had ever or probably could ever equal this bliss. More than anything, I’d always feared the loss of control that my flawed magic would inflict on me if I went without my potion. But instead of agonizing, the night had been more wonderful than I could’ve imagined.

And now I feared it more than ever. I could easily come to crave being drenched in pleasure, fizzing with contentment, savoring the warmth and intimacy of a lover’s touch.

But if that lover grew bored with me? If he turned against me, didn’t want me anymore, or worse, wanted to punish me for some fault or other? He could keep me suspended in agony for as long as he chose to draw it out simply by refusing to take me. I could find another man, but not easily, not while I was incapacitated with the effects of my magic—and not at all if my lover, someone stronger and more physically capable than I was, chose to prevent it. Being a royal prince meant nothing at all when you reduced a relationship to its crudest essentials: who was the stronger, who the more ruthless.

That would probably never be me.

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