A Nordic King(90)

His other hand goes to lift the poufy hem of my dress, shrugging it up and up and up around my waist until it nearly takes over the whole counter. He slides the satin of my underwear aside and lets out a deep moan that I feel vibrate through me as he explores me with his fingers.

“So wet,” he murmurs. “You get so fucking wet for me.” He sticks three of his large, long fingers inside me and I clench around them, begging for more. “You know I want it. I have to have it.”

“Hurry up and fuck me,” I tell him. “Sir.”

But really. This is a dangerous place to get off and someone’s going to knock on the door at any minute.

He laughs, low and rich, reaching down to lift me up so my legs are wrapped around his waist. I reach down between us and frantically try to undo his belt. He stares at my frenzied hand for a moment, clearly enjoying just how much I want him.

“Hold on,” he says, pulling down his tuxedo pants and boxer briefs until his cock bobs freely, so dark and rigid. I love him like this, so raw, thick, and all for me.

He holds himself at my opening and waits for a few beats. I can feel the heat coming between us, the way his eyes burn into me, until his gaze drops to his cock as he’s about to push its stiff length inside me. Before I can urge him in, my fingers tighten their hold on his back, he pushes with one large, powerful thrust.

I can’t help the cry that escapes from my lips, and then the soft, “Oh,” as he slowly, agonizingly, pulls himself out, his cock absolutely drenched.

He eases himself back in, a few inches at a time, his lips brushing over mine.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he whispers against my mouth, his words breaking off into a groan. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I think the whole palace would collapse,” I manage to say.

Then he pushes himself back in.

Slow fucking agony.

My heart catches high in my throat. I can’t speak, I can only feel, and the intense gaze of his eyes tells me that something is happening, something new.

Tonight was something new.

Tonight I went to a ball and had a dance with a king.

Tonight I think the world had a glimpse of what we try so hard to hide.

His eyes continue to burn as he pushes himself in and out, pumping steadily. He grabs my chin lightly and holds my face, making sure I can’t break eye contact, can’t look away. It’s so intimate, the way his stare feels like he’s stripping me bare. But it’s Aksel. He can peer into my soul at any time. He’ll only see his own soul there.

A home for his heart.

Our moans are hushed, our breath rough and ragged as he moves inside me, his hips circling so he hits each and every tightly wound nerve.

It’s so fucking good.

It’s everything.

We are joined, connected, and the more he thrusts in, deeper, deeper, the warmer he feels, like barely contained fire. A bead of sweat rolls off his nose, and finally his eyes pinch closed as he approaches his climax, his mouth going for the crook of my neck where he bites and sucks and grunts as he pounds me, each thrust getting faster than the last.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses, inhaling sharply. “I’m coming.”

Before I even have a chance to try and catch up, he lets go of my waist and slides a finger over my clit, petting it twice, and that’s all it takes to set me off like dynamite.

I explode outwardly, until I feel like there is nothing left, and he explodes into me. I can feel him inside, hot and potent as I throb mercilessly around him, my nails digging so hard into his shoulders as I ride him out that I know they’re going to leave marks tomorrow, even through his jacket.

My heart is huge, filled with stars and bliss.

This man. This king.

I’ll give it all to be his queen.

“Aksel,” I whisper, trailing off because I can’t catch my breath, because I know what I want to say, but I don’t know how to say it. That I want more and that I’m also afraid of it.

He’s breathing heavily into my shoulder and I run my fingers through his hair, loving the feel of it, loving everything he is.

“I love it when you play with my hair,” he murmurs. He lifts his head and gazes at me with sated eyes. He gently brushes his thumbs over my cheeks. “I love everything about you.”

He’s got that look I love in his eyes, the one only I bring to him. Sleepy, relaxed, happy. Absolutely satisfied. In these moments his mask is gone, and the crown is elsewhere.

In these moments he belongs only to me.

The way it’s supposed to be.

“We should get back,” I tell him. “People will wonder.”

He nods, brows knitting together for a moment. “Of course.” He gently lowers me to the ground and then takes a wad of tissue paper, running it up the inside of my legs before unpoufing my skirt.

We give ourselves the once over in the mirror. He smooths down my acres of dress, I straighten his shirt and bowtie.

“I’ll go first,” he says. “That way if I see anyone, I can stall them.”

I nod, feeling all nervous about this whole thing suddenly. The blood is returning to my brain.

He opens the door and sticks his head out. Seeing the coast is clear, he strides away purposely.

I wait a few moments, so that he’s not associated with this bathroom at all.