Lying on my wedding dress naked with some leftover cum on my tits, I turn my head towards the window to see hundreds of people waving at the carriage.

I look back to find Anton, tucking his cock back in his pants, staring out towards the crowd.

This is perfect. I revel in this moment.

Both amazed at what I’m looking at and shocked that I’m here. Truly, never in a million years could I have seen this coming.

I’ve never been so fucking in love with this man—and myself—as I am right now.

Naked in a royal fucking carriage while millions of people stare, eagerly waiting to see me. It’s insane—beautifully insane.

I can’t believe it’s happening—no, I can’t believe it’s happened.

I’m married. And to a fucking Prince. To fucking Anton.

To the man I’ve loved for—I don’t even know how long.

Really, I don’t.

And now, I’m his Queen.

Well, really a princess, but Queen has a nicer ring to it. It’ll only be a matter of time anyway before that old lady croaks.

I smile at the thought of one day being a real Queen.

Ex-party girl turned European monarch. Admittedly, it has a nice ring to it.

The old hag will definitely be rolling in her grave as I put on her shoes. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Her style is terrible. Her actual shoes, we’ll burn.

Reeling from a powerful afterglow, I continue to lie there. Maybe one day I’ll be able to soak it all in, but certainly not today.

I toy with the beading of my dress and sigh, feeling completely satisfied—well, almost.

The ache in my core starts to build again as I mull over everything that just happened. My cunt pulsates as the thought of being Queen, standing next to Anton, my King.

It’s so fucking hot.

I look back at him, and my tension grows. Him in that tuxedo with sex hair sends daggers straight to my cunt. And knowing that there are people out there waiting, watching as I fuck him in the carriage, intensifies my craving.

Before he finishes zipping his pants, I straddle him once again.

“Your Queen needs an encore,” I say, eagerly.

His gaze turns from sated to sensual in seconds.

God, I love this man. Always willing and ready to please me…as many times as I ask.

I’ve avoided this for as long as possible. Not wanting to admit to him or to myself that I do love him. The thought alone pissed me off.

And now we’re here.

I’m here. Straddling him, wearing his ring and a wedding dress, calling him my King.

I grind on his dick, feeling it grow underneath me. My body tingles, and my cunt aches at his movement. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of his cock.

And luckily, I can die trying to.

It looks like there are some benefits to marriage after all. His hands grab the sides of my head, pulling my lips to him. He kisses me.

It’s gentle at first—he’s taunting me—making me wait for it.

I kiss him back, firmly and passionately, pleading for more.

I reach for his dick, freeing it from the briefs he just tucked it into, and pump it hard.

My need for him is insatiable. He lays me back down on my Reem Acra royal wedding dress, fingering my clit before he plunges into me.

I gasp, not prepared for his fullness. But naturally, the wetness of my cunt lubes around him, easing him into me, and I stretch, holding on to him firmly.

“God, you’re so fucking tight.”

I push against him, forcing his dick deeper into me, guiding him to that euphoric spot.

“Fuck me, harder,” I direct, moaning as he moves more quickly.

Staring down at me, he cups my jaw and kisses me forcefully.

“You’re the hottest damn Queen, Percy.”

Fuck yes, I am!

I kiss him back, matching his desire.

He pounds into me, hard. My head hits the back of the carriage, and I reach up to steady myself. The dress helps to cushion the blow somewhat, and I find myself thanking marriage, once again.

I smile, realizing that sex in a carriage—in a royal carriage—is a first for me.

I’ve fucked in a lot places, in a lot of cities with many people…but never a carriage.

And to think, out of all of the powerful men who’ve fallen in love me, a prince is the one who takes me down with him.

I never saw that one coming. Or I did, I just didn’t want it or know it…yet.

A girl’s gotta learn for herself what she wants and what she doesn’t want. And for me, that takes fucking time.

I could’ve been arm candy for many CEO’s or Governor’s, or I could’ve been a football or basketball wife. I really had my pick of the litter, after such a long and illustrious career of being a sugar baby.

But none of those men—all attractive and powerful as they might be—had the ability to handle me. Not like Anton. They never made me feel the way I do with him.

He makes me feel good about myself, not just by supporting me, as he has done many times—and in many places—but by giving me the freedom to be myself.

He lets me run wild and free. And is always there to catch me if and when I fall.

The other men—or daddies—never had the capability of putting me in my place…if I get out of line, which is rare.

They would try, but it was pitiful. Honestly, they never had a chance in hell.

But with Anton, he knows exactly what to do and say to bring me back to him and down to earth.

Who would’ve thought that a royal prince, with a bitch of mother—snotty and trite—could handle me? And make me fall in love with him?

I grab his face and kiss him, passionately, adoringly.

Some would call it sweet, but not me.

He breaks away from me and smirks, not expecting that type of kiss as he’s fucking me hard on top of my wedding dress, against the wall of a carriage.

I shrug, not giving a fuck what he thinks, but happy I can still surprise him.

I wrap my arms around him, ignoring the bruise forming on my head, and buck my hips against him.

I need a fucking release…now!

He thrusts harder and faster, hitting my spot each time.

“Fuck, Anton. Harder. I need it, harder.”

My nerves wind up, and I’m almost there, about to explode. I feel the ache gnawing at my core, and my cunt begins to vibrate.

His muscles tense, and he steadies his grip, pounding into me like a fucking jack rabbit.

“Fuck! I’m coming!” I scream, his dick igniting and unraveling my nerves.

He grunts, and then he releases as well, spilling into me. Filling me with his cum.

My ears ring, my vision grows fuzzy. The force of our combined orgasms tears through me in waves, reality blurring at the edges.

Regaining consciousness, I silently thank God for the galloping horses and the loose gravel. If not for them, this carriage would be on its side by now.

I loosen my hold on him, and run my fingers up and down his spine, occasionally pinching his ass.

His eyes meet mine, and a charming smile forms on his face.

He’s quite the Silver Fox.

I laugh. “Is my King satisfied?”

“Barely.”

I tilt my head, my curiosity piqued.

“I’ll never get enough of you, my Queen.”

“You’re fucking cheesy as hell, my King.”

“Comes with age and wisdom.”

He kisses me.

He puts his head on my chest, slowly steadying his breath as I cradle his head, playing with his silver hair.

My damn fucking Silver Fox—my King.

I sigh, yet again sated from my second organism in a royal carriage and the feeling of him on top of me.

To be Queen…I think I can get used to that.

All of the other roles—side pieces, arm candy and bleak supporting parts—never fit me. Always too tight or boring.

But Queen—a role with its own lines, story, and freedom—slides on seamlessly, looking damn good on me.

And having Anton as King, by my side will compliment it perfectly.