Royal Sentence (Steamy Historical)

Chapter 13: In Full

While his bride lay on the day bed, catching her breath, Roland extricated himself from the clasp of her thighs and rinsed his face and mouth. He doubted she would like tasting herself.

Off with the starters, on with the pièce de résistance. He hoped she was ready. He certainly was.

He sat behind her and brought her head into his lap, his hand brushing her hair, offering her a few moments to recover.

Why did he smell so good? Sabine craned her neck out of the courtier's tender hold, reeling against the comfort it brought her. For all his pretense of kindness, this man was her enemy. She might disregard it for the sake of surviving the night, but it didn't change the facts.

Unlike her body, still sluggish from the wine, Sabine's mind had regained a level of clarity. She forced herself to sit up and confront him.

"What now? Have you more plans of whoring me out for the benefit of your friends?" They had watched her writhe and succumb under his spell, ogling her exposed flesh, soiling her with their eyes. She felt filthy.

Her nemesis didn't answer. He hauled up his shirt and threw it aside, appearing in front of her in all his glory. And what a glorious sight he was!

Before she could stop herself, Sabine's gaze traveled from his fashionable goatee to his broad shoulders, wide chest, long limbs, and flat stomach. He didn't have the heavy, sturdy frame of a peasant, but the lean and flexible muscles of a fencer, built for speed and endurance rather than brute strength. His skin was golden down to his waist, lighter on his legs under a dusting of hair. He must have exercised shirtless quite often.

Her eyes followed the darker trail below his navel, widening as they landed on his erect manhood.

Sabine paled and skittered back, but Roland caught her wrist.

"This particular beast wishes you no harm," he stated, dragging her hand towards the root of her nightmares.

She squeezed her eyes shut and squeaked when her palm came into contact with something warm and smooth, hard and flexible all at once.

"See, no teeth or spikes here. There's no reason for it to hurt you."

She had expected a coarse surface, sharp and abrasive. How could the pain and damage she had suffered be explained otherwise?

"Explore it, don't be afraid."

Sabine's cheeks reddened, yet her fingers complied, shyly wandering over the blade of flesh.

She wasn't demonstrating any skill or enthusiasm, but she was doing it. Progress.

Roland waited stoically for her to quench her curiosity, biting the inside of his cheek to defuse the forthcoming explosion.

She removed her hand in the nick of time.

The air came out as a hiss as his lungs finally released it. And she thought HE was torturing HER!

Sabine stared at him, unsure of what came next. She rubbed her palm on the blanket, as if to erase the feel of him. Her fear had abated, fractionally, yet she was nowhere near at ease.

Roland smiled and nodded at her.

"Get on your knees," he directed, helping her rise into position when she got tangled in the fabric.

"Straddle me."

He secured her as she threw her bent limb over his with precarious balance.

Sabine ended up flush against his torso, thighs flanking his hips, wide open by the bulk of his legs. His shaft tilted menacingly towards her belly. Before she could scoot away, her chemise was bunched up.