“Tristan,” Sara moans. “The people are waiting.”
“So let them wait,” I whisper in her ear.
She’s pushed up against the hallway wall, her skirt around her waist, my cock bobbing free as it slides between her creamy, pale thighs, making me crazy with the need to sink inside of her. And I do, I drive myself deep into her warm, wet hole and start thrusting, desperate to fuck her harder.
Arousal spreads through my nerves until I can’t see straight, love and lust exploding through my pores as my dick spears between her legs, glistening with her every time I pull out.
“Your pussy is a thirsty girl, isn’t she?” I rasp against her, my hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing. “When I don’t have to rule this place anymore, I’m going to spend every single second of the day buried deep inside her, feeding her what she craves.”
Sara moans again, her hands falling to the wall as she pushes back against me, grinding herself on my shaft, as she works to get herself off.
“That’s right, filthy girl.” My hand cracks against her ass cheek, the sound reverberating off the high archways of the hall. “Work that pussy on my dick until you come.”
Her walls flutter around my length, milking my every ridge until my orgasm tears through me, shooting deep inside her, and she—the wretched witch that she is—spins around midway through, my cock pulsing into the air as I groan at the loss of heat. But then she drops to her knees, her perfect little mouth opening wide, and her warm hand wrapping around my thickness, stroking until she drains every drop onto the flat of her tongue.
She smiles and swallows, stuffing me back into my pants and righting her skirts.
Winking, she stands up, running her hand over the jeweled tiara on her head. “Come on, we’re late. Marisol’s going to murder you if my outfit is a mess.”
She moves to walk in front of me, but I reach out, gripping her by her hair and pulling her back until her body slams into mine. I dive down, claiming her mouth, our tongues swirling together and my hands grabbing any part of her they can reach.
Years later, and it never changes. This need for her never goes away.
We’ve rebuilt Saxum from the ground up. New buildings and a new castle we’ve called home for the past three years. And we’ve spread the wealth throughout Gloria Terra, ensuring there aren’t people struggling for food while others have feasts.
I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished.
But I would burn it all down again in a heartbeat at the first threat of losing her.
My need to prove my place in this world has shifted and changed over the years, but the one constant has always been her.
We walk down the hall of our home and open up the double-paned doors, stepping outside onto the large balcony and staring down at our people.
Cheers rise from the crowd, and Sara bounces on her toes, her smile lighting up with the biggest grin I’ve seen in months.
“Are you excited, little doe?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Ma petite menteuse.” I grin. “You still think I don’t know you?” I pull her to me, not caring that we’re in front of thousands of eyes. They all know their king is wild for his queen, let them see just how much.
“I know what your every breath feels like as though it is my own.” Her eyes flutter, and I trail my fingertips down her collarbone. “I know what every heartbeat sounds like because I’ve caused them all under my hand.” I slip my touch even farther down, pressing between her thighs, right against that tattoo I promised I would give her. Tristan’s Property written on her for the rest of our days.
And when we die, I’ll hunt her down in the afterlife and figure out a way to brand her soul.
“It’s okay to be excited, little doe.” I kiss her forehead and slip my hand into hers, tangling our fingers and turning to face our people.
The sun is shining bright today and I glance around the balcony, Edward and Sheina off to the side, their three-year-old son beaming up at me from where he’s locked in Edward’s hold. And then to the other side, to two newcomers, ones that Sara goes to stand next to while I turn and speak.
Blowing out a deep breath, I stare out at all the faces, reminiscing once more of all the things we’ve accomplished the past several years, and all the ways it turned out to be better than even my wildest dreams. A deep sense of contentment settles in my chest, and I glance behind me, soaking in Sara’s gaze, letting her infuse me with the strength to say what needs to be said.
This is all for her, anyway.
She is my past, present, and future. She’s the only thing I see.
And this is what she wants, so I’ll give it to her.
Because if I’m honest, it’s what Gloria Terra deserves.
“Friends,” I start, twisting back around to stare out at all the adoring faces beneath us. “It has been my greatest honor serving as your king. Of rebuilding our home and fixing what has been broken for far too long.”
Cheers surge through the crowd and whisk through my body, electrifying me from the inside out. I’ll miss this part the most.
“But today is a joyous day!”
I wave my arm to the side, toward where Sara is beaming at the two newcomers as though they’re her long-lost friends.
And I guess, technically, they are.
Paul Wartherg, aged and smiling, prods at the back of the person next to him, pushing him forward with tears in his eyes.
Simon walks toward me, only stopping once he reaches my side.
I take a long moment to soak him in. He matches me in height, his amber eyes far less innocent than they were when I sent him away all those years ago. But his smile is just as bright and he draws me into a hug before I can stop him, his arms wrapping around my shoulders and gripping me tight.
“Hello, uncle,” he says, his voice a deep timbre similar to his father’s.
Something warm expands through my chest as I pull back and smile. “Hello, little lion.”
I turn to Sara, and she twists to grab something from behind her, walking it over and curtsying as she holds it out toward him. It’s a sword. A real one this time, sparkling with jewels and encrusted with diamonds. It belonged to my father, and his father before him.
Simon reaches out to take it, every inch of his smooth brown skin covered in dark tattoos. Just the way he always wanted.
Glancing over at me, he smiles.
People in the crowd gasp, confused murmurs racing through the air.
I turn back toward the crowd. “I’d like to introduce you all to Simon Bartholomew Faasa. Son of King Michael III. Rightful heir to the throne of Gloria Terra.”
Reaching up, I take the crown off my head and place it on top of his.
“And the one true king.”
