Page 58 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

T imothy

The cabin door clicks behind us.

The day has been a blessing and a curse. Ceremonies like the Black Wedding bind more than man to wife. They bind the Barons, new and old, back to our ancestors. To our creators.

To death.

It's a reminder about sacrifice, about arrangements for the betterment of our organization. It’s about obligation.

An obligation that now stands uncertain in the center of the small room.

Exquisite in that shimmery black dress–a vision any man should want.

I’m not any man, which is why I gave her the drug at the reception.

I can almost see it pulsing through her bloodstream, doing its job to loosen her up, to shake away the tedious procedures of the last few days.

But as we stand in this confined space, away from the party and her protective Barons, it isn’t enough to take away her nerves.

Good.

She should be nervous.

She gave herself to me at the altar, and the sooner she accepts what that means, the better.

I strip off my gloves as I approach, dropping them to the table by the door. Then my mask– the outer one –not the soft felt one underneath. This one covers my eyes and nose, leaving my mouth free. It’s a relief to get it off and I fantasize about removing it entirely.

Not tonight.

A fire burns in the stone fireplace and candles flicker on the mantle.

A small suitcase sits against the wall. I assume it’s filled with lace and silk, sexy little things packed to thrill a new husband.

It’s been years since I’ve been with a woman outside ceremonial duties, including my wife.

The idea of this fresh little thing should have me begging.

A king doesn’t beg.

She stiffens when I reach her, but she doesn’t move away. Brave. With a hand beneath her chin I tilt her face up, forcing her eyes to meet mine. The collar shifts as she swallows.

“I made your Barons save two things for me,” I look into her eyes. It’s not fear I see–I’m not convinced this girl knows fear. Wildness is more accurate. Wild, defiant, feral. Who else could escape from her captors? Who else could so easily kill one of my chosen men? “Your mouth and your pussy.”

I crush my lips against hers, swallowing her gasp. No soft coaxing. No gentle invitation. I dominate her mouth, demanding she open for me. When she hesitates, I bite her lower lip, just enough to sting, to draw blood. Her lips part instinctively, and I deepen the kiss, rough and possessive.

When I finally pull back she’s breathless, dazed.

I press two fingers to her swollen mouth, smearing her red blood across them.

"Lick," I command.

Shaking, she obeys, her tongue flicking warm against my skin.

Ah, there’s that good girl hidden under the wild-eyed gaze.

I grab her by the arms and turn her roughly, tugging at the laces of her corset.

Each pull is deliberate, stripping away her armor.

When the final lace gives, I let the dress fall, until she stands in body-hugging, virginal , white lace.

Her breasts pushed together, her waist thin. That fucking collar around her neck.

Trembling. Vulnerable.

I lick my bottom lip and sit on the cushioned bench at the end of the bed.

"Undress for me," I order, wanting to see her–wanting her to show herself to me .

She hesitates, then reaches behind her back to unclasp the bra.

It falls and I take a long, deliberate look at her, at her dark flesh, scarred here and there with the story of her life.

Her full breasts, perky with youth, bedazzled with hard little bars DK pierced into her. They glint in the firelight. Teasing.

My mouth waters, and my cock swells tight and throbbing against my thigh.

“Come,” I tell her, spreading my legs. Once she’s close enough I reach out, grabbing her by the hips, pulling her between my knees.

I hook my fingers into the thin lace strap of her panties, pulling them down.

Her pussy is nearly bare, the thatch of hair I’d seen the night before waxed clean.

In the crotch of her panties the spot of blood has dried, a signal of our arrangement, as valid–as binding–as a signature on a contract.

I could get away without all of this. Spare the girl the violation, but I’m not that strong.

I earned Arianette, my wretched Daughter of Darkness, and I’m going to take her.

But first.

“Kneel.”

Slowly, she lowers herself to her knees.

I have no doubt she’s been in this position before, my Barons would have had her there, filling her mouth with their greedy little cocks.

Wide-eyed, she licks her lips, readying herself for me, but I reach for the slim column of her throat, thumb grazing over that leather strap.

“Tonight is between us.” I unbuckle the collar and set it on the bench. “Your uncle and the ghosts of your family aren’t invited.”

I touch her, feel her body tremble under my fingertips. Feel her pussy quiver. My fingers come back slick, likely from DK and Hunter’s attention outside. I’d enjoyed watching them, pleased that my little family is finding unity. She’ll need them once this is done.

Standing, I lift her body off the ground and carry her to the bed, throwing her across the mattress.

There’s no gentleness when I spread her thighs with my hands, wanting to see the woman I’ve claimed.

The first time I touched her was too quick, too exposed with her uncle leering over my shoulder.

The second was too sacred, a moment less about me and more about ceremony.

But now… I can take my time. I kneel between her thighs, breathing in her scent. There’s copper mingled with oily florals. There’s something deeper, a musk that belongs only to her. I inhale and run my nose along the smooth skin of her inner thigh. Her legs tremble, and her hips shift.

When I finally taste her, I don't go slow, devouring her, licking, sucking, punishing her with pleasure. She squirms and whimpers under my mouth, grabbing at her sides, desperate and overwhelmed.

“ More ,” she whispers.

I lower my mouth to her again, dragging my tongue up the seam of her sex, slow and filthy. I don't stop at her clit. I tease every part of her: the soaked folds, the tight, sensitive entrance that's been forced open by my mouth, the little fluttering pulse just above her slit.

She gasps my name– no, not my name, I correct, my title –a whisper of something else torn from her lips like a prayer. Then…

“Daddy.”

It makes me both furious and aroused, my cock throbs painfully against the tight press of my pants.

It stills me, because that is not who I am.

I am her husband. Her King , but it also ignites something in me that electrifies me from limb to limb.

I hear myself murmur against her soaked cunt, "That's it. Beg for me."

I seal my mouth over her clit and suck hard.

Not tender, not gentle.

Relentless.

Her whole body arches up off the bed, her fingers digging into the covers like she's trying to anchor herself to the earth. She's never been touched like this before, never been undone by a man who knows exactly how to wreck a woman.

I flick my tongue over her swollen clit, again and again, punishing her with pleasure until her legs quake and her cries turn desperate.

I feel the moment she shatters for me: her thighs clamp around my head, her hips buck against my mouth, and she sobs out a broken, shivering moan that ends in a whimper.

Her orgasm floods my mouth, hot, sweet and utterly innocent.

I lap it up, groaning into her pussy like a starving man given a feast. When she finally slumps back against the bed, spent and wrecked, I lift my head. My mouth is slick with her juices, my face wet from the force of her climax.

I lick my lips, savoring every drop of her.

She blinks up at me through heavy lashes, stunned and dazed.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and smile darkly at her slick thighs, still spread open, her chest heaving, those little bars winking back.

She watches as I undress, peeling layer after layer, until I stand over her, hard and muscled. Her eyes drop down to my fisted cock. I feel like a teenager, like one of the young men over in the dorms. Like I could pop off in two seconds, humiliating myself and leaving her unsatisfied.

Fortunately for the both of us, restraint is something I know well. She's still panting, wrecked and shining with sweat, when I rise up over her.

For a moment, I just stare at the swollen flush of her cunt, glistening with her pleasure and the faint trace of blood. At the way her parted lips tremble. At the dazed, blown apart look in her wide brown eyes.

My cock twitches.

Whatever sweet little fantasy she thought she was stepping into–a wedding night of gentle kisses and tender promises–she's about to learn the truth about who I am and what I’m made of, but I’ll wait until I’m buried inside her and feel the tight grip of her innocence around me.

“The ceremony, the bloodletting, the oaths and toasts… that is between me and the men of Forsyth. Chess pieces on the board between kings and their pawns. This…” I reach between our bodies, finding that shiny metal bar and tweaking it hard.

“ This is the truth between the two of us. The spoils of all of those arrangements. The reward for hard work and perseverance. For sacrifice. What I just gave you is a gift, one that I hope makes what comes next a little more bearable.” I exhale. “Do you understand?”

She nods, too fast, too eager to please.

I grab her jaw, forcing her to look at me, pressing my thumb against her lower lip until she parts her mouth.

"I asked, " I drag the head of my cock against the soaked seam of her pussy, " do you understand?"

Her breath hitches.

Goosebumps rush down her throat, her chest, to the tips of those pretty little nipples.

"Y-Yes," she whispers, voice shaking. “I understand.”

"Good girl."