Page 11 of Bred By The King

I arch into his touch. “Jealous already?”

“Possessive.” He yanks my pants down and spins me around, bending me over a sturdy table. “This ass is mine. This pussy is mine.”

He pushes in deep in one thrust. I moan, gripping the edge of the table. He fucks me hard, one big hand on my hip, the other fisted in my hair.

“Fuck, Layla. Still so tight even after I filled you this morning.” His hips slap against my ass. “Gonna keep you like this. Bent over and dripping my cum every day until your belly starts rounding out.”

The dirty words hit me hard. I push back to meet him.

“Tell me,” he demands, pounding deeper. “Tell me you’re going to take my baby.”

“I’m going to take it,” I gasp. “Fill me up, Soren. Breed me.”

He groans like an animal and comes hard, flooding me again. He stays inside me after, grinding slow.

Later that evening we eat in his private dining room. Roasted meats, root vegetables, dark bread. I tease him about the lack of spice.

“You northerners eat like you’re punishing yourselves,” I say, grinning.

He leans back, watching me with those icy blue eyes. “We save our heat for other things.”

I laugh. The sound surprises me. This giant, grumpy king is starting to feel less like an enemy and more like… mine.

That night he takes his time. He spreads me out on his massive bed, eats my pussy until I’m shaking, then fucks me slow and deep while we face each other. His huge body covers mine completely. Every thrust feels like a claim.

“Getting addicted to this,” he mutters against my mouth. “To you. Not just the contract anymore.”

I don’t answer with words. I just kiss him harder and wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

Outside, snow starts to fall. Inside, I’m burning up.

Ten

LAYLA

I’ve been in Vinterfjord for two weeks, and I am losing my mind.

Not because of the cold. Not because of the food. Because of Soren.

He fucks me every morning. Every night. Sometimes in the afternoon when he “accidentally” finds me in the library or the kitchens or the goddamn linen closet. His hands are constantly on my body. His mouth is constantly on my skin. His voice is constantly in my ear, telling me I’m his, I’m his, I’m his.

And I am. God, I am. My body is his. My pussy is his. I come for him like my orgasms belong to him now.

But my heart… my heart is terrified.

Because this was supposed to be a contract. A political arrangement. Fuck the king, make the peace-baby, live separate lives in the same palace. That’s how these things work.

But Soren doesn’t do separate. Soren does obsessive. Possessive. All-consuming. He looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. He touches me like he’ll die if he stops. He tells me he loves me, not with words, but with his body, his actions, the way he memorizes every inch of me.

And I’m falling. I’m falling so hard I can’t breathe. I’m falling for a man who was my enemy three weeks ago. A man whose ancestors killed mine.

So I run.

Not far. Just to the old guest wing on the east side. I tell myself I need space. Air. Time to think without his scent all around me.

I curl up on a narrow bed and stare at the ceiling. My body aches for him already. My pussy is wet just from thinking about him. I’m pathetic.

“Your Majesty.”