Chapter 8

Gwen

Could I marry Edward?

I certainly want to.

He’s the king, and he’s my brother’s best friend, and he’s so hot.

I’ve always thought of it. Ever since I was younger, I’ve had a crush on him, but I used to just assume that it was because he was my brother’s friend.

But I don’t just like him for his body or his title or his relationship with my family. Edward is kind, and he’s clever, and he’s funny. He knows what he wants, and he’s not afraid to go after it.

And right now, it seems he wants me.

And I think…I think I want him, too.

“You’ll like being my queen,” Edward parrots as he places his hand on my thigh. “Does that mean you want to continue the proposal?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

His eyes light up and sparkle like the stars overhead. He looks hopeful, happier than I’ve seen him whenever he’s been beside his other fiancée—

His other fiancée.

I sigh.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Edward lifts my chin with his finger to look into his eyes.

His fingers stroke at my cheek and pull my face closer to his. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, and I lean in a little further.

He kisses me and draws his other hand up to my face, holding my cheeks as his lips press against mine. Edward is so gentle and yet so passionate, slowly exploring my lips with his tongue until he can’t help himself and he deepens the kiss.

It’s a kiss that leaves me breathless.

“Say yes, Gwen…be my queen.”

“I want to, Edward. I do. But…”

“But what?”

“But we’re engaged to other people!”

Edward takes my hand and begins kissing up my arm.

“I’m the king,” he states matter-of-factly and kisses my arm some more. “Which means that I can do whatever I want.”

“Within reason.”

“And it is completely unreasonable if I don’t marry you.”

“That’s all well and good for you,” I remind him and place my hand on his arm as he tries to slide his fingers up my thigh, pushing at the hem of my dress. I want this—I want him—but I can’t let myself give in…not yet.

“Why can’t it be well and good for you?”

“Because I’m not a queen—I’m a princess.”

“But you could be a queen—you could be my queen…” he says, changing his voice to be smooth and tempting. He traces the structure of my cheek with his finger, staring into my eyes and soaking in the picture of my face.

He’s imagining us together, I think, instantly loving the idea as well.

“If you were my queen, you could do whatever you want—you’d be free. You could sit on a throne.” He smiles, referring to my excitement earlier. “And I’d serve you and my people—but always you.”

Edward traces his fingertip across my collarbone and then down my chest. He moves to once again take one of my tits in his hand, squeezing it and toying with me through my dress. I gasp and arch my back toward his touch.

“If you were my queen, I would support you,” he whispers into my ear as his hand strokes over my nipple through the fabric. I whimper softly at the friction, and his other hand moves to hold onto my thigh, squeezing at the flesh and pinning me to the bench in front of him.

“If you were my queen,” Edward traces the curve of my ear with his tongue and then begins to kiss down my neck, “you could wear all the finest jewelry. And then, when we’re all alone, you’d only be wearing the finest jewelry.”

I shiver at the image—me, naked, but dripping in jewels, with Edward wanting to do nothing but pleasure me.

I feel the arousal start to build, and, from Edward’s teasing, my nipples begin to show through my dress. One hand grips at the stone bench, the feeling of the cold rock beneath my fingers keeping me grounded.

The other hand slides up Edward’s leg, finding another rock-hard thing to take hold of. I feel the bulge beneath his trousers, and Edward groans as I work my hand over it.

“If I was your queen, would there be a lot of work? Or would we still find time to play?”

“If you were my queen, I’d make time to play with you.”

He gently pinches my nipples through my dress, and I moan into his touch. I rub his cock through his trousers more eagerly.

“When we’re married, we could do whatever we want, whenever we want.”

The hand that isn’t teasing my tits slips beneath my skirt. Fingers brush against the soft fabric of my panties, which are already beginning to get wet from his touch.

“Wherever we want.”

He’s right. If we were married, we could do this as often as we like, with a whole palace of locations to pick from. We could start here, tonight in the rose gardens, and carry on until we’ve deflowered every room in the palace, so to speak.

The idea of going back to the throne room and finishing what we started, coupled with Edward’s fingers as he rubs circles against my clit, sends a jolt of pleasure through me.

My eyes flutter as I moan, but I catch myself and quickly silence it. Edward kisses me softly.

“Why would you stop?” he whispers. “Let yourself enjoy this.”

“What if someone catches us?” I ask, but I don’t move my hand away from his trousers. I continue to stroke him through the fabric, and I can see how much Edward is enjoying it.

“Let them catch us,” Edward whispers, kissing my neck again. “No one would blame me for not being able to help myself. No one would blame the royal couple for wanting some alone time.”

“But we’re not the royal couple,” I whisper, but Edward silences my protests by kissing me.

He takes his hand from my breast and holds my cheek, but his fingers still work at teasing me under my dress.

“We could be, Gwen. If you want to be, we could be the royal couple…you could be my wife…you could be the queen.”

Edward begins to press up against me. He gently pushes me back until I’m lying with my back against the stone beneath me. His fingers push my dress up higher until it’s barely covering my thighs and panties.

Edward lays himself just above me, holding himself over me so that I can feel his cock straining through his trousers. It brushes against my wet panties, and I whimper and arch my hips up to meet him.

If being married to Edward is like this, then I want to say yes. Fuck Marquis de Roach—not literally, because I imagine sleeping with him would be the most boring sex ever—if Edward wants me, who I am to say no? Who am I to refuse a king?

Laid out beneath him like this, Edward is free to do anything he wants to me. Yet it feels as though he’s savoring me. If he wanted to take me right here on this bench, I’d want him to.

But instead, his hands travel up to my dress again, gently pinching at my erect nipples as they push through my dress, determined to be noticed.

I gasp and writhe underneath him. Edward kisses down my neck, gently nibbling and biting with every other kiss.

I push my chest up to meet him as he reaches the neckline of my dress. His hands grasp at my breasts, squeezing and kneading them beneath his hands.

A wave of desire overcomes us both, and I moan again—louder this time—as Edward pulls down my dress so that my tits spill out over the top. The cool air hits my nipples and somehow makes them even harder.

Edward’s mouth instantly descends upon them, licking and sucking at the soft flesh. My hand trails up the side of his face, and I weave my fingers through his hair as I pull him up towards me.

I kiss him this time, our chests pressed together. The fabric of his shirt brushes against my nipples, causing me to shudder and whimper. I love the friction, and I’m starting to soak through my panties with how much I want him—how much I want to be with him.

“My queen?” Edward asks innocently as his hand dips back between my legs to find my panties. He strokes my slit through the soaked fabric, and I push myself towards him desperately.

“Yes?”

I can barely get the words out as Edward’s constant teasing takes all the air out of my lungs.

“Do you want this? Do you want me?” He kisses my ear, his tongue tracing the shape of my earlobe before he captures it between his teeth. “Do you want to be my queen?”

“Fuck,” I whisper, my back beginning to arch.

“Pardon?”

“Edward…Fuck yes.”