Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance) (50 page)

So
good
.

My legs splay out and my eyes roll back as I tumble over the edge, carried away on a tide of pleasure. The surging climax squeezes my body tight and lets go, only to come again, each one more intense than the last, until I’m quivering and whimpering and can barely breathe. When he finally explodes inside me I jerk and shudder, too exhausted to do more than lie there and moan.

Kristoff wraps his arms around me. He pulls me onto my side with him, so his cock is still inside me. I wriggle my hips and press against him, my sweaty back sticking to his chest. He flicks my nipple and my whole body jerks, and he starts laughing, wild and free, like a young man. I feel young, too. I start giggling and it turns into a gale of laughter and I wiggle my butt against him, using my pussy to tweak his still-sensitive cock. Payback for my nipple, you jerk.

He wraps the covers around us and sets my crown on the bed next to me, turning and fiddling with it with his fingers.

“You look glorious in your crown, my lady.”

I think addressing him as
my lord husband
is a little silly, but it’s too cute not to. Unfortunately all I can manage is an
mmmm
. It’s going to be a few minutes before I can summon my voice.

He finally draws out of me and I turn around to face him, lying in his arms. I like sniffing him after he fucks me. I bury my face in his armpit and breathe in, and he playfully pushes at me and tickles my ribs, trying to stop me. We end up rolling around on the bed until we’re wrapped in the covers and I’m leaning on his chest, my chin propped on my hand as I admire him.

Like an overexcited boy, he can’t keep his hands from my chest. It’s like every time he puts his hands there he’s shocked to discover that I have boobs, and he squeezes them like it’s the first time he’s ever touched them. I slip my legs around him and bend down to kiss him and his hands wrap around my back.

He doesn’t have to tell me, I just know. He likes the feeling of the soft weight of my breasts on his chest, and he likes it when I tense my stomach and grind on him, rubbing myself against his stomach. My ginger-red pubes absolutely fascinate him, as do my freckles.

He starts licking my shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“I wonder, can I rub the spots off?”

“That tickles, quit it.”

Telling him it tickles only makes it worse. Soon he’s hard again and I’m wet and pulsing, and I take him inside me. I stay on top this time and ride slowly, savoring him. I’m not going to stop until
he’s
too sore to continue.

“Come for me,” I beg him softly. “Come, my prince.”

He does, his body jerking sharply as instinct takes over and his thrust lifts me up. I roll my hips forward and back, urging him to give me every drop.

He pulls me down on top of him, panting, and I lie there for a while, rising and falling as he breathes.

I don’t care about my nakedness anymore. The firelight casts a healthy glow on my pale skin, slick with a sweaty sheen. I feel like I’ve been sitting in a sauna, I’m so sweaty.

He holds me tight and whispers to me and strokes me and pets me, and I forgive him when he falls asleep after a while.

I bite my lip and slip out of the bed. He stirs and his eyes flutter open, and he turns to watch me pad bare-assed naked across the room to the cabinet on the far side.

“What are you doing?”

I grab the little bottle of lube I asked my handmaid (by the way, I have handmaids now) to tuck away for me and hide it in my hand, pressed to my chest, as I saunter back to the bed, swaying my hips in an exaggerated motion as I bite my lip and lock gazes with him.

Gently I push on his legs and he spreads them, his face a mix of anticipation and curiosity. I squeeze lube into my palm and start stroking his cock, slowly and patiently, feeling every pulse of his heart as he comes to full hardness in my hands.

I settle my crown on my head and kneel before his slicked-up cock, and smile.

“I want to give you my wedding gift, my prince,” I purr, inwardly amazed that I’m pulling this off the way I planned it without turning into a stuttering idiot. “Your princess belongs to you. All of her.”

I slick his cock up with even more lube and turn around, kneeling. I arch my back and push my butt out and give it a little wiggle, grinning at him over my shoulder as I kneel between his legs.

Sitting back, I take him in my hand. His cock glides naturally between my ass cheeks and presses at my rosebud, the pressure building as I ease back into him. I feel his whole body going tense as I sit back and then all of a sudden he glides inside me.

I stop, shuddering and gasping. Holy hell, this feels
weird
.

“
My princess…”

“I like it,” I groan, taking him deeper. “Just go slow for me, okay? Really slow, it’s…
fuck,
you’re huge.”

I lean forward as he sits up, piling pillows and covers under myself, hugging them as he takes control, entering me deeper. As he takes me it feels like I’ve forgotten how fucking enormous he is, and feel more than a twinge of fear at the thought of him putting that monster all the way in my body.

That is the hottest thing, the way I feel
at his mercy
. I’ve given myself completely to him, he owns me now and there’s nothing left.

Do it, own me.

His thrusts are gentler and slower than usual but longer, and I feel every tiny movement and twitch of his cock inside me, touching places I didn’t know could be touched. It feels too good to even groan. He strokes my back with his hand as he holds my hip, not breaking the slow, steady rhythm he’s established.

“Does it please you?” he says.

“Y…yes, does it please my prince?”

“Yes.”

“Please come for me. Come in my ass, my prince. Make me yours.”

“As you have made me yours,” he says, moving ever so slightly faster.

He reads my every movement, every clench and quiver, every little moan and movement of my head, the way my back and legs tense when he pushes into me all the way and I feel his balls pressed against my pussy. God, I wish he had two cocks.

He knows. He gently, very gently and slowly, takes me onto my side, spooning into my back, and his finger enters me, moving in time with his cock in my ass.

I just lie there in a haze, my muscles relaxing one by one until I forget what it’s like to move. I close my eyes as my pussy grips his finger and my asshole tightens in spasms, growing closer and closer to the grand finale.

“Oh
Goooood
,”
I moan, shuddering.

He doesn’t say anything, he just grunts and comes inside me, his body shaking with restraint. He doesn’t give me his usual punishing thrust as he breaks. He impales me
so slowly
and holds it there throbbing while he comes.

“Fuck,” I chirp out, and then lose it.

It hurts to have him in my ass while I lose control but I don’t care. I lie there and thrash, pulsing around him, and he holds me still and rides it out.

I nearly pass out from the intensity of it then lie there groaning. He pulls out of me slowly, and for some reason when he leaves me completely it’s the only time it’s truly painful, as my body adjusts to the absence.

I flop onto my back and stare at his dick.

That
was in my
butt
,
and I
liked
it.

For some reason I find that incredibly funny and break out into a gale of laughter.

My prince looks at me like I’ve gone mad. Then he joins me.

After I lie there long enough to catch my breath, he picks me up from the bed and carries me into the shower. I sit on the little bench in a daze, hugging myself while he washes my hair and scrubs my back, then stands me up and cleans my legs and under my arms, lifting my limbs like I’m a doll.

He doesn’t ask me to return the favor. He washes himself down then swaddles me in a robe and towels and lays me in the bed before drying himself off.

He gives me a glass of water first and I chug it lustily, gripping the big glass in both hands. Then we each take a glass of fruity wine that starts getting me drunk after a few sips.

“You have never been so beautiful as you are now.”

“Oh, stop it,” I say.

He doesn’t, not ever.

That becomes one of his favorite things to say to me.

T
he spring air
pours in through the open window, rustling the papers on my desk. In the seventh month of my pregnancy, even moving to adjust myself in my padded chair can be a chore. This isn’t my first rodeo but it’s the heaviest burden I’ve ever borne.

My youngest, little Elsa, is absolutely fascinated by Mommy’s belly. Unlike her brothers and sister, she’s never experienced a pregnancy before, and at six years old understands just enough to comprehend that there are three little babies in Mommy’s belly, but not much more. She pads quietly into my study on bare, grubby feet, mud flecked from running in the woods with her brothers, and sets her tiny hands on my stomach.

“Hello, babies,” she says, before saying, “Hi, Mommy.”

I pat her head. “Go clean up, sweetie. You’re tracking mud all over the house.”

She rubs her cheek on my stomach and runs back out of the room, shedding more mud on the way out than she did as she came in. My instruction to clean up is apparently forgotten as she runs back outside, whooping, and hurls herself at her eldest brother.

John is fourteen years old and nearly as tall as his father, a slender, strapping youth who has the eye of all the village girls. I can’t help but grin when he gets awkward around one girl he has a little crush on, a slender redhead named Elaine. She’s out there now, sitting beside him along the stream as he studiously ignores the fishing pole he’s propped up.

His father stands farther down the riverbank, my second youngest, David, standing beside him. Nine years old, he swings his fishing rod with the kind of serious intensity only a child imitating his father can muster. I lean on the windowsill and watch, smiling when I catch Kristoff’s eye. He smiles back, only to be startled when our son bellows,

“
I got one! I got one!
”

The little perch he heroically struggles to drag out of the stream isn’t much of a catch, and Kristoff doesn’t bother whacking its head on a rock and tossing it in the creel. Now that his son has finally caught a fish, they can stop for the day. He carries the big basket himself, lugging it into the kitchen where he’ll clean his catch.

I’ve never taken much to a life of servants and pomp and circumstance, but when it comes to gutting and cleaning fish, I turn up my nose and inform my husband, very curtly, that I am, after all, a princess, and such things are beneath me.

Elsa gloms on to her sister Emma, who at eight years old is still running around in short pants along with her sister. I shout at them not to go too far as they run into the woods, and John of course volunteers to take his
friend
with him into the woods to make sure the girls don’t run afoul of a bear or break a leg.

I give him a look of warning, my stomach churning up as I spot him grabbing her hand when he thinks I’m not looking anymore.

With a deep sigh I turn back to my work. I push my computer aside and read over the latest letter from Melissa. After her parents came to Kosztyla (and attended the wedding, of course, though it was too much for Melissa to handle) they took her home to Wisconsin, where she originally hailed from.

Enclosed in her letter is a picture of her with her husband, a tall, grinning man who bears a strong resemblance to their two children. He’s a minister and they run a mission together, though it’s to feed their local hungry; Melissa no longer travels outside the country. I tuck the picture into one of my books, meaning to show it to John soon. He keeps asking me how it came to be that I married his father, and there are some details I haven’t shared with him yet. Some I won’t.

Melissa herself is the head of a rape crisis center and moonlights as a volunteer coordinator for a battered women’s shelter.

Danielle survived her gunshot wounds, barely. She suffered damage to her spine, a collapsed lung, and several broken bones, but the bullets miraculously missed her heart, and she lives to this day with her boyfriend, a fellow former journalist. She can walk on crutches and they have an active life together, most recently forming a foundation to raise awareness of the danger faced by reporters in hostile countries.

My mother and father both eventually remarried (to other people) and he moved to Ohio with his company while my mom went back to school and eventually became an artist-in-residence, traveling to various kindergarten classes to play the guitar and teach music.

After Cassandra’s death, the resistance, which was never much of one at all, collapsed. Kristoff never participated in any more military operations and after the reforms I championed, he doesn’t need to.

One year to the day after our wedding, while I was still carrying baby John in my arms, my prince demolished the assembly line under the mountain and destroyed the remaining armor suits, along with the schematics and all his father’s and grandfather’s and great grandfather’s research and notes. No one will ever build one of those
things
again.

He saved the battery technology, however. Last year, with international investment and partnership, Kosztyla opened a factory building all-electric cars using the battery technology that powered the suits, and a team of scientists is working with my husband to find peaceful medical, environmental, and commercial uses for the dozens of technological advances that made the armor suits possible in the first place.

I should say he destroyed all of them but one. The very last of the advanced prototypes is locked away, just in case he ever needs it. It was my idea to save it, even though he argued with me for days that not even one of them could be permitted to exist, that if it fell into the wrong hands it would start all over again.

Lastly, the government of Kosztyla entered into an economic development partnership with Solkovia, and the two states have approached the other countries in the immediate region to discuss forming a regional defense and economic agreement, kind of a miniature European Union. One day my son—presiding over a democratically elected parliament and impartial court system—will lead this union to even greater heights. My prince is content knowing that he has stopped the cycle of madness and oppression that made his land known throughout the world as a hell on earth.