The Virgin

“It is.”

“Are you a real king?”

“Yes,” he answered. He was. He had a kingdom. He had dominions. He had a court who served him. Yes. He was a real king.

“Then let me serve you, mon roi.”

She kissed her way down the front of his body, taking her time as she kissed every inch of him except the inches that most craved her kisses. As she neared his cock she blew softly on his penis. The cool air from her mouth washed over him. Then she breathed hot air and set his blood boiling again. With her tongue and lips she teased his lower stomach, his hips, his inner thighs. When he reached the point of desperation, she wrapped a hand around his length. He’d come only minutes ago, but he was already hard again. She’d got in his blood, made it burn, made it boil. He was lost in his lust for her.

“Tell me if you don’t like this,” Juliette said.

“Like what?”

She didn’t answer with words. Her mouth was too occupied to speak. She’d cupped the head of his penis and pulled the foreskin to the tip, making a sort of halo with it. Then she licked around the center with her hot wet tongue. Kingsley died. The visual coupled with the sensation—that glorious carnal salacious voluptuous sensation—nearly did him in. He saw stars and he saw the heavens and he might have seen God but only if God looked like Juliette. Every part of him throbbed.

“I’ve never seen a more beautiful man,” she said, looking up at him as she cradled his testicles gently in the palm of her hand. “You’re so beautiful I wish I’d never seen you.”

He would have answered her, but she brought her mouth down onto him again and his words were gone. She went deep, taking him all the way into her throat. Her full lips on his cock sent him straight to the edge and left him there, tense, taut, his body one pulsing nerve of need. Juliette worshipped him with her mouth, showering him with hot wet kisses, licks, hard strokes of her hand that made him gasp wide-eyed with the shock of pleasure. She lavished every inch of him endlessly with her tongue. She stretched out over him and rested her hands on his chest as she buried her face into his hips, sucking him all the way into her mouth. He’d never been so fully taken before for so long, so deep, so much. Too much. He grasped her wrists in his hands and came so hard his shoulders rolled off the bed, his stomach bowed. Somewhere he heard a cry, almost a shout, and knew it had to have come from him.

She swallowed his semen, even licking the last drops off the tip. When he winced, she stopped.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Take it all.”

“It hurts?” she asked, dipping her lips to lick him again.

“Yes.”

She asked no more questions. She obeyed him as if she’d been born to obey him. And he wanted to believe she had. Was this what Søren had felt the day he met Elle? That he’d found the one woman created for him? Designed for him? If his desire for her had burned anything like Kingsley’s for Juliette, it wasn’t a surprise the priest had waited four years to fuck her. It was a miracle.

“Arrête,” he said. Stop. Juliette stopped.

Kingsley closed his eyes and merely rested. Juliette slid up his body and lay next to him on the bed.

“I want to beat you,” he said.

“We can’t. He’ll see the marks.”

“But you want that?”

“I do,” Juliette said. “I want everything from you.”

“One night isn’t enough.”

“How many nights would be enough?”

Kingsley opened his eyes and gazed at her face, met her eyes.

“All your nights.”

“You’re drunk on sex.” She started to roll up. “On pleasure. You found a new girl to fuck, and you’ve convinced yourself she’s different from all the other girls you’ve fucked. You don’t mean what you say.”

“I’m not a teenage boy in love for the first time. I’ve been with hundreds of women.”

“Congratulations. I’m sure your parents are very proud.”

“My parents are dead.”

“Is it because they heard what a whore you are?” she asked.

He grabbed her by the back of the neck and dragged her back down to the bed.

“Behave,” he said, sliding on top of her. “And keep a civil tongue with me.”

She glared up at him.

“You want to pretend you don’t feel the same,” Kingsley said. “You want to pretend this was just sex so it won’t hurt as much when you never see me again.”

“Tell me more about what I feel. Tell me more what I think. Tell me what it is I want, since you think I don’t know.”

“This,” he said, and grabbed her hair, pulling it hard enough to force her back into a bend. He dropped his mouth to her breast and sucked deeply on her nipple.

“He gives this to me. He gives everything to me.”

“If that were true, I wouldn’t be here,” he whispered against her skin. “Or here.”

He pushed four fingers deep into her wetness.

“I’d never been with anyone but him,” she panted as he opened her body with his fingers. He felt her inner muscles pushing against him, fluttering with pleasure, pulsing with need.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you want me to fall in love with you?” Kingsley asked.