“For it is better that we slay a coward than through a coward be all slain.”—The legends of King Arthur and his Knights
Del
“We should get up, do something with our lives,” I say, with King lying across me, his muscled body still heaving with exertion while wetness trickles down my legs.
I’ve never felt like this, both embarrassed and satisfied, hungry, yet sated. I lay there as he crawls up my body again like he wants more, and part of me thinks yes, yes, more, more, as if we have no time left.
And maybe it’s because we don’t?
I smirk at him, then swat his hand as it grabs my right boob.
“What?” He smiles. “I like it.”
“Shocker, you like a good nipple.”
“A great nipple.” He lowers his head and sucks between his lips until his teeth give a little tug until my body’s ready to go; yeah okay, good idea, let’s never leave this bed. “A fantastic nipple, but we don’t want this one to be jealous.” He moves to the other and does the same thing.
I can’t keep my moan in.
“I bet I can do it,” he says.
I’m confused because I’m feeling too many things, so I do the dumb thing and say, “Huh?”
“Another orgasm, I can do it.” His grin is almost evil as he presses a hand against my thigh and says. “I want to make you drip.”
I squeeze my thighs tighter. “Um, actually you can’t because now that playtime is over, you know things don’t work like that—”
Both hands move between my thighs and jerk them apart, and then his fingers are working me in a way that’s insane; he almost goes too deep with one before pulling back, squeezing; his breath is hot on my neck. “You want it?”
No. Yes. What the hell is happening?
I moan. “King…”
I try to sound annoyed.
He takes it as a challenge.
And literally takes his hand from between my legs and rubs every sin I’ve ever committed with him on himself and on me. Why does this feel like a cleansing? Why does this feel okay? So real?
“Y-you are my husband,” I say.
“Yes.” He presses a deep kiss to my mouth; he tastes so good like champagne and coffee and all the dark secrets we’ll never be allowed to tell. His body moves across mine; slides is more like it. He grips me by the hips then pulls me to a sitting position. “Stay with me.”
“Wh-what?”
He picks me up with him as he rises from the bed and walks toward the outside balcony with me in his arms. Oh no.
“King,” I try to hit his chest.
He just chuckles. “Let them see.”
“King!”
“Let them see us,” he says again, and then I’m getting pressed against the balcony, and he shoves his cock inside me again so hard I let out such a loud scream he has to cup his hand over my mouth as he moves.
Don’t stop, I think, don’t, he can’t, will he? Would he?
His hips jerk while my body presses painfully against the balcony, while my head lolls to the side as his lips tug my ear.
And that’s when I see it.
Roman.
Downstairs, looking out, only to look up and see my husband take what’s his to take.
And me as I enjoy it.