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My princess. My wife.
“I’ll give you everything you ever want, Bellamy. But your body . . .”—I slide my hand down and cup her sex—“your cunt, is mine. And I’m going to take my time with you.”
“Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.” A beautiful, sex-drunk smile slides into place on her face. One I put there. One I plan on keeping there. “I don’t think I could move if I tried.” “Well, that’s enough to make me feel like a king.”
Today, I’ll take care of him because I’m not sure anyone else will see Rhys Windsor, the man today, or if they’ll just see their new king. Holy. Shit. The. King.
In the short time I’ve known him, quiet has never been his MO. Bossy, yes. Grumpy, maybe. Incredibly sexy . . . well apparently, I married the man, so that about sums that one up.
Standing there, under the hot spray in his arms, I realize I have a choice to make. Take control or let circumstances control me. Guess it’s a good thing I’ve never been one to be controlled.
The only thing I’m sure of right now, in this insane moment, is that this man is staring at me like I’m the last string of sanity he has to cling to, and I refuse to rip that away from him too.
“Long live the king.” “I could have gone another fifty years without hearing that, and it still would have been too soon,”
“We both are. How are you? Really?” How am I supposed to tell him I feel fucked? Like my free will just vanished and my future is set in stone. Like I’m living the first line of my eulogy. Like the last choice I ever made for myself was made last night. Now every choice I make will be for my country first and my family second. I don’t tell him any of that though. This is the life I always knew would eventually come. “Ask me again tomorrow.”
Hockey season be damned, I wouldn’t put it past Cross and Ares to fly across the Atlantic Ocean to get me the hell out of here at the first mention of me being married to—well hell—the king.
“You’ve got to understand this is my world, Bellamy. Curtseying to the queen is as natural as breathing for me.” The color drains from my face. “I’m not . . .” “Oh, sweetie . .
Consider me your fairy godmother with much better fashion sense and far fewer woodland creatures at her disposal.”
“I could get you color-coordinated note cards, love.” I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cry at this point.
“I’m telling you that as of about thirteen hours ago, I became head of the Church of Mornea, and it doesn’t recognize divorce.”
“Yes, I remember darts. I remember everything. I didn’t have amnesia. I had a hangover and then sex-induced brain fog without the payoff of sex.”
“Drunk. Not concussed. Though concussed would have been a way better excuse than drunk, horny, and impulsive.”
“No. You touch me with your stupidly sexy hands, and I do dumb things.” His lips tilt just a touch on one side, and his eyes crinkle. “My hands are sexy?” That voice . . . After everything today, that voice shouldn’t sound like that. It shouldn’t affect me that way. But damn it, it does. “You’re missing the point,”
everything happens for a reason, and sometimes you just have to lean into it and follow where the wave takes you.
“I can handle your brothers, love.” “But I can’t. More accurately, I don’t want
“It leads to my room.” “Oh. Well, that seems . . . conveniently placed.”
“You have your condition, are you ready to hear mine?” “Probably not,” I whisper against his lips. “But I’m not good at waiting.” “I want you in my bed every night.” “Is that a good idea, Your Royal Highness?” “Pretty sure it’s the best damn one I’ve ever had, love.”
“My problem is the time until your queen pops out an heir. I’m now next in line to the throne, and I’d rather burn it down than sit on it. So how about you go upstairs and start working on that?”
“Am I supposed to bow to you now?” “Do I look like I fucking care if you bow?”
“Our father is going to be here any minute. Just don’t be a dick in front of him.” “In front of him or to him?”
“Sleep, my queen.” “I could get used to that,” she whispers. “Being my queen?” Bellamy doesn’t answer right away, and I think she’s fallen back asleep until she presses her lips to my heart. “No. To being yours.”
Apparently, the royal crowd is a bunch of cunts.
The entire world. Because I married the king. When I was drunk . . . My mother will be so proud.
Great. I married a reformed manwhore.
“You want to know what I thought the first time we met?” “Ouch would be my first guess,”
You took my breath away before you nearly knocked me out.”
“I had Joss buy you every imaginable piece of lingerie, but I swear to God, you in my clothes, even three sizes too big, is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I wasn’t going to attack you in your sleep, love.” “I’m not asleep now.” I pop another button on his shirt. “Thank fucking God.”
She’s fucking flawless, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, one taste will never be enough.
“You make it so hard to be a gentleman, Bellamy.”
“I’m not a porcelain princess, Rhys. I won’t break,”
“I’ve never been with anyone without a condom. Be sure, wife.” She licks her lips and nods. “There should be at least one perk to being married.”
He’s controlling me. My body. My breathing. My pleasure. Giving me exactly what I didn’t know I needed. And asking me for only one thing in return. Trust him. And I do.
He looks like a god. Not a god. He looks like a king. One I fear I’ll follow to my destruction, but what a beautiful death it will be.
One day, she’ll understand what having her here has done for me this week. One day, I’ll pay back the favor.
I didn’t want to give him any chance to upset Lennon or give her husband any more of a chance to kill him.
One day, my family will walk behind my coffin, and I hope when that day comes, I will have lived a life they can be proud of.
He told me it was okay to be scared. Fear was healthy. If a man didn’t fear the kind of power I’d one day hold in my hand, he’d be a terrible leader. I was seven.
Fear was relative. It grew with me for years before I eventually learned to control it and ultimately accept it.
sit down, side by side, with my father behind us. It’s a statement. A powerful one. The three Windsor siblings united.
What a fucking year this week has been.
Are you really in Mornea or have you been taken prisoner by a band of pirates and they’re faking these texts so I don’t alert the police? Or even worse – my dad! Has Maddox left yet? I’m going to need better proof of life than a text this time, or I’ll send him to the authorities to find you. Lennon loves me. She’ll help.
Looks like it’s time to bite the Caitlin-Beneventi-Sinclair-sized bullet. Lucky for me, she’s tiny.
I’ve got maybe fifteen minutes before he comes in here hoping for a boob shot.
“Okay, I guess I underestimated his desire for boobs.” “Not just any boobs, Cait. Your boobs. Go flash your husband and get a good orgasm out of it.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever dated anyone who’s willing to take ownership when he’s wrong. Guess that’s the difference between dating boys and dating a man.
