King and Northern Beauty
Copyright© 2025 by Laxu
Chapter 3
‘Oh gods, where was he?’ The shimmer of the cymbals muffled any noise that may have been made by footsteps on the thick floor rugs. The lack of footfalls seemed to press upon her, the knowledge of his presence, without knowing exactly where he stood, and Cassandra squirmed slightly, easing upright, squeezing her thighs together against the faint ache between her legs.
A soft chuckle came from in front of her – not at all far in front – and she gasped, sitting bolt upright. Abruptly she was sliding helplessly forward, fingers clutching unavailing at the smooth sheet, when she heard two swift steps and strong hands clasped her waist and lifted her to steady her, placing her back on the bed. A knee nudged between her own, twisted, and before she knew how, Cassandra’s thighs were open beneath her skirt, and the King had advanced between them, up against the edge of the mattress, spreading them further.
Shocked by the sudden advance, she recoiled backwards, but was restrained by the hands holding her waist, and found herself bent, bow-shaped, over his firm clasp, breasts thrust upwards toward his face. Before she could react and jerk upright, he muttered something husky in his own language, and she sensed his body leaning closer over hers. One arm swiftly shifted to support her lumber, and he entwined the fingers of the other in her hair, holding her still in the arch. Aurther then pushed against her back, lifting her belly and breasts further towards him, perfecting the curve as he bent her over his arm. He watched the ripe, perfect globes heaving repeatedly against the fabric to the time of those short, panting breaths and could feel his swelling, surging cock aching with the need to pound into her, to make those breasts bounce to a new rhythm, set by him.
Zjama, Aurther cursed himself, he should have taken Bezella before he came in, he was going to split this girl in two with his lust. But for once the dancer hadn’t interested him. He wanted this one. Zjama!, but he wanted this one. A slight, twisted smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Half the world wanted this one. And he was going to have her.
His fingers tightened in her hair as he tried to ignore the enticing rhythm of those breasts, to remember that she needed arousing, that she was new to this, and untrained, and she would be sore for weeks if he did what his body was urging and just pushed up the skirt, freed himself, and took her. Now.
Angrily, and a little fearful, Cassandra squirmed to escape the tightened hold on her hair, and heard the sharp intake of breath above her as her movement caused her breasts to bounce free from the encasing fabric, the intense arch of her spine curving them from the top of the stiff bodice cups. Aurther cursed something, and barked out a bitter laugh, before bending forwards to fasten his lips fiercely on the delicate skin of her neck, suckling hard as he yanked her up towards him, hauling her hips in to cradle his while he surged urgently against her.
‘Slowly. Slowly’, he cursed himself, struggling against the pulse of lust that washed over his senses as the girl whimpered, a mixture of fear and fervour. ‘Control measures the man.’ Quoting proverbs at himself was not helping.
But he gentled, his fingers brushing delicately over the aching peaks of her breasts as his lips explored her neck and shoulders, nipping and licking over her sensistive flesh. Cassandra could feel the shiver of his fingers over her nipples causing sensation to ripple down into her belly, to tighten and tease the molten ache within her. The shiver of apprehension at being touched so intimately, awareness of the barely leased fierceness, was swiftly followed by an ripple of pure want.
Separate, sensual touches teased at her skin, and she had a feeling of being tugged slowly into a vortex, her senses beginning to spin out of her control. Lips against her pulse; teeth grazing her jawline; fingers plucking at a taut nipple as his other hand caressed her naked back. Gods, he was good at this. ‘He should be, the number of times he’s so-called married’, Al reminded herself, trying desperately to hold onto some vestige of herself, of dignity, against this onslaught. She was a Kjeldahl. She would remain a proud Kjeldahl, and he would return her in a year.
She gasped and arched involuntarily as his nails grazed an aching peak, but then she stubbornly dragged her thoughts back from the edge she could feel looming. He had had her brought here only to be a plaything in his bed and she was damned if she was going to act the part to his satisfaction, she reminded herself faintly, trying to ignore the intoxicating tingle of his fingers on her skin, pulse leaping at his touch. He had even had her blindfolded so she wouldn’t be reminded how ugl...
His skilled lips whispered down her collarbone toward the valley between her breasts, and her breathing hitched, heartbeat staccato thundering in her chest, as her defiance was shrouded in a shimmer of blind heat. She was surrounded by the musky scent of him, the sense of him, and no longer noticed that she could not see, as her other senses were slowly overwhelmed.
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