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this-is-tiny-mia · 13 days ago

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This was honestly one of my favorite pieces of writing of all time! This series is the bestttt! Guru’s talent shines through in every detail: the way the characters talk to each other, the research she’s done to match the era, the way it’s written… it’s just magical!!!!

Just wow!

[6] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST | It's Good to Be King Masterlist

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 6 Word Count: 11,631

Ch. 6 Warning: smut, y/n loses her virginity, brief uncertainty and hesitation

. .

The king’s chambers were safe and inviting, unlike the rest of the castle. Or maybe it was just the way he'd kissed her. Lips soft and tender against hers, like he knew she was nervous. He cradled the back of her head, then slowly drew away, his nose brushing the side of hers.

Gone was the cold austerity of stone corridors and hateful gazes. In its place: warmth and hush. A low fire glowed in the hearth, casting flickering light across the dark wood walls and silk-draped furniture. The scent of rose oil and sweet wine hung faintly in the air, evidence of the staff’s discreet, meticulous preparation. A silver tray waited near the bed with fresh fruit, warm bread, and honey, with a decanter of brandy just beside it. Even the bed had been dressed more carefully than usual with new linens, a scattering of flower petals, and a thick velvet coverlet turned down in invitation.

Y/n stood clinging to the king, the heat of the chamber finally thawing the cold that had settled in her bones. The silk bodice of her gown still pinched her ribs, every shallow breath reminding her this was real. Her veil was gone, entrusted to Pheobe, but the pins remained, biting at her scalp like tiny teeth. She tried to steady her hands against the dark fabric of Harry’s frock coat, but they wouldn’t stop shaking.

They stared at each other… long enough that the fire popped behind them, long enough that she felt her pulse hammer against her throat. He looked as dazed as she felt, lips parted, eyes searching hers.

“You look scared,” he said softly, his brows knitting as he studied her face.

Y/n swallowed. “I suppose I am.”

He placed a gentle hand on her cheek. His eyes were shadowed, impossible to read, but there was warmth there too.

“You don’t have to be.”

She couldn't put it into words the way she truly felt. Every emotion inside of her clashed, unwieldy. She didn't want to be scared but it wasn't a matter of choice. She'd been crowned queen consort over a kingdom of people who despised her. And tonight, she would become a wife in every sense, whether she felt ready or not.

He slid his thumb over her cheekbone, his gaze dropping to her mouth, then lower. “The doctor wanted to have you inspected.”

She tensed.

“I said no,” he added quickly. "They wanted to be certain that you are a virgin. But that never held any importance with me."

Her eyes darted up to his. It didn't?

“I won’t have you touched by anyone unless you want to be,” he said. “And no one will be checking the bedsheets. If anyone asks, I’ll say it was done and they missed it.”

A strange relief gripped her chest. He could've been ruthless, brutal even, she’d seen it in court, heard it in the rumors, but with her, he spoke gently. Protective. Possessive, too, but in a way that made her pulse stir, not cower.

He leaned closer. “You’re mine to protect,” he said, voice quiet but certain. “But I’ll never take what isn’t given. Not from you.”

"I am a virgin. I know there are some who don't believe it, but I swear I am."

He nodded. "I know you are. You told me you were, and I believe you. Even if you were not, it wouldn't have stopped me from taking you as my wife."

She blinked at him. "How can you say that? Don't men want their wives to be virgins on their wedding night?"

He smiled. "Most do. But I, myself, am not a virgin. Would you have expected it of me?"

She shook her head. "No."

“Because in the end, it’s nothing compared to trust. Compared to respect.”

Casting her gaze toward the fire, she bit her lip and began to walk to it, holding her fingers toward the warmth. "Do you have respect for me?"

She felt his hands on the tops of her shoulders, and she turned her head to look up at him, his eyes on the flames in the hearth. "Yes."

"But you did not on the first night we met. You were awful. You frightened me."

He looked down at her, his hard expression softening. "I know. I am deeply sorry for how I treated you that night and the days after that."

She turned to look up at him directly, feeling as if she could speak freely. "Why? Why were you so harsh with me?"

"It's because I had the wrong impression. I've been accustomed to the ways of the kingdom and its people. It wasn't fair of me to judge you in the way I did without making your acquaintance first. It was wrong of me."

"What was your impression of me?"

He stepped back, eyes flicking over her. "On first glance, you seemed hollow-hearted like the rest. And I thought it was possible you were one of the girls who worked at the trap house—"

"You thought I was a prostitute. Is that why Mrs. Mable accused me of being a flag-hopper? Is this what everyone thinks of me?"

He blinked and shook his head. "I don't know what the others think of you, but what they think doesn't matter anyway. What matters is that you are far more interesting and smarter than the whole lot of them. You're better."

"If you thought I was so dull and unchaste, why did you pick me out of everyone?"

“Because you were beautiful, and at the time, I thought unchaste was what I wanted. And I knew it would scandalize everyone when they learned I’d chosen you. It meant almost nothing then. But it means something now. I hope you can see that.”

She stepped away from the hearth, her gaze drifting over the room without really seeing it. Should she feel hurt? She didn’t know. “So that night, when you summoned me… you thought I’d come willing. You thought I'd engage in licentious acts with you as you imagined I was accustomed to."

"Yes. I'd hoped for that. But I was wrong."

She looked at him, her fingers trailing over the table near the tray of fruit. "You were wrong. You treated me as if I were worthless refuse. And maybe in a way I am… I'm from the slums. A beggar with a sharp, unquenchable hunger deep down. No matter how much I eat, it never seems to go away. I always will be that girl. It's where I came from."

He did not answer at once. He understood her anger. He deserved it. He had treated her cruelly, and though his feelings had shifted entirely, he knew she still thought herself only the poor girl from the rookery. He watched as she drifted across the chamber, her gown trailing behind her in soft ripples, until she reached the balcony doors and slipped outside.

He had dreaded this reckoning, though he knew it was inevitable. Soon, she would demand more answers, for her spirit grew bolder each day. What he had not wished to confess was that, at first, he had taken her for nothing more than a common harlot with a fair countenance, someone whose elevation would scandalise the realm. That was all he required then: a face to stir gossip and a womb to bear his heir.

But he had discovered soon enough that Y/n possessed a depth he had not conceived. He regretted every careless slight, every cruel word. All he could do now was show her, in deed and word, that she had altered him and that he would never again fail her trust.

From behind, he admired the shape of her gown, the soft layers shifting as the wind blew against the material. He slowly made his way to stand behind her, placing his hands lightly upon her upper arms. Together they stood, gazing across Thornekeep’s moonlit walls. Beyond the gates, a small crowd lingered, their figures black against the lantern glow.

"You will never demean me so again. I would sooner fling myself from this wall than endure such foul words. I have dignity, and I will not remain the wife of a man who holds me in contempt, be he a king or no.”

He dipped his face close to the back of her hair, his breath warm at the nape of her neck. “I swear to you, I shall never again mistreat you, my queen. I behaved most shamefully, and I shall regret it all my days.”

She savoured the weight of his hands, the low heat of his voice at her ear, the faint trace of sandalwood upon his skin. In that moment, she believed him. She had watched him change… so swiftly it seemed near impossible. Once a brute she had feared, he was now gentle, almost tender. Still a devil, perhaps—but one she could almost trust. And if his kindness endured, she might even learn to yield her heart to him.

The night air bit cold through her lace sleeves, but his nearness set a warmth stirring low in her belly. She drew breath with difficulty, each inhalation a slow, shuddering thing. He always affected her so. His presence like a weight upon her senses. And now that her questions had been laid bare, she was ready to fulfil what was expected of her.

Y/n turned to face him, her palms gliding up his shoulders, down the breadth of his arms. “I am ready. Shall I summon Phoebe to unlace my gown?”

He cocked his head studying her with a look that mingled concern and a faint amusement. “There is no cause to hurry, mouse. We have until tomorrow evening before either of us is expected to emerge. If you wish to shed some of these layers, I am more than capable of unfastening your stays.”

“Are you not eager to have me in your bed? I had not thought you capable of such restraint.”

“I am quite beside myself to have you, my dear. But I suspect you will find more comfort in my restraint than you will from my eager desires," he said, gently turning her to face the balustrade. "You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this night with you…" His fingers moved deftly along the ties of her bodice, slowly loosening each notch as he went up. "As anxious as I am to feel myself within your quim," his voice came warm over the back of her neck, making her close her eyes as he loosened her from her gown. “As much as I long to bury myself within you,” his voice drifted warm against her nape, making her breath catch, “I would rather you discover each sensation at your own pace.”

She looked upward to the starlit sky above. His words soothed the last of her dread. She had feared the pain of consummation must come at once, that she would have no moment to steel herself. But with each loosened loop and each quiet breath at her neck, her heart drew tight within her chest. Most bewildering of all was how the sliding fabric over her breasts and hips sent a shiver of pleasure low through her belly.

She reminded herself that such pleasure was no sin. That the carnal imaginings which visited her in the quiet hours were permitted now, even expected. She had tried, in small secret experiments, to prepare herself… slipping a hesitant finger within, but it had stirred little in her. No doubt the big nob that hung from him would prove far more demanding. The thought made her cheeks burn hot.

At last, her bodice slipped free, leaving only her chemise and skirts about her hips. His warm hands slid to her waist. He leaned closer, his breath ruffling her hair. “Shall we return indoors? I cannot trust that some watchful eye is not trained upon us this very instant.”

She folded her arms over her chest and nodded, turning toward him. "Yes."

It was far simpler to slip the heavy satin skirt from her hips than it had been to unfasten the bodice. Left in her chemise, while he wore only his linen shirt and breeches, they settled together upon the divan. A bowl of grapes rested on the carpet at their feet, and the fire glowed bright in the grate. She traced her fingertips across the velvet upholstery, striving to maintain her composure, though he sat perilously near, one arm stretched along the back of the seat as he watched the flames."How has your reading been going?"

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She knew precisely what he meant, the scandalous tales. Only a handful of volumes dared offer the frank, wicked detail she secretly favoured, though she would never confess it aloud. The rest of the books danced around the truth of what was being written with flowery prose and reserved detail.

"Fine, I suppose."

“Merely fine? That does not strike me as a cause for much excitement. Be truthful with me, mouse. Have your readings not stirred a certain… awakening?” He traced a finger along the nape of her neck, gaze intent upon her profile.

An awakening… Well, yes, they had. She blinked her eyes slowly and gulped to wet her dry throat as she kept her gaze fixed on the flames. "A time or two."

His thumb drew gently up the side of her throat when she felt his plush lips graze her jaw. "Only a time or two? And how did it feel?"

She felt his words scatter across her skin and melt down to her neck as he kissed a slow path toward the underside of her chin. She tilted her head, granting him better access as a breathy gasp wobbled from her mouth. How was she to answer such a question when he was kissing her like that?

"It… It was… ahhh!"

He grinned at how swiftly she yielded to his touch. He had scarcely reached the place he knew would undo her entirely."Oh? Did it please you? Did you find your release?”

Her breathing faltered, chest rising as if the stays were still fastened to her ribs. She turned her face to look at him, lips parted, eyes heavy with confusion and longing.

“I… It…” she whispered, her voice soft. “It felt best when you did it.”

Harry's eyes softened, his hand settling over hers on her lap, thumb stroking the bones of her knuckles. “I see,” he said. He had not expected such candour. In fact, he could almost swear that was an invitation from her.

He leaned in again, that time placing a kiss just beside her mouth. A silent question to her subtle invitation.

She turned her body to face him fully, her hands rising to his chest, fingers brushing the edge of his collar as though daring herself to continue. She wanted more of that kiss. Wanted to feel the ache and the need kindling between them again.

He sat still as she shifted, her pretty eyes steady on his, palm sliding upward against the linen over his chest. Her lips were parted as she angled her face toward his, silently beseeching.

And then, to his quiet astonishment, she quickly moved into him, her lips brushing his with a tentative and curious peck. He hummed low in his throat as he responded, pressing more firmly into her mouth, drawing her deeper with every pass of his lips.

When she sighed into the kiss, he took it as permission, slipping a hand to the curve of her waist, guiding her closer. Her thigh brushed his, and he felt the hitch in her breath at the contact.

“You needn’t be afraid,” he whispered, brushing his nose against hers as he broke the kiss only long enough to see her eyes. “We shall take our time.”

“I do not fear the kiss,” she whispered. “Only what must follow after.”

He smiled. “We shall come to that only when you're ready. And when the moment arrives, I promise you shall find it as gentle and as sweet as you desire.”

He kissed her again, more deeply that time. His hand slipped behind her, tracing the gentle arch of her back, coaxing her to lean into him. And she did, cautiously at first, until her chest pressed to his, and her hands clutched his arms for balance.

She could feel the heat of him through her thin chemise, the strength of him, solid and broad, yet tempered by an unexpected tenderness. His touch remained patient, adoring, but each movement was deliberate, charting the shape of her, as though he meant to memorize every inch.

She startled a little when his palm swept over her hip and down to the back of her thigh. He paused, pulling back just enough to look her over. He needed to calm himself before he wound up devouring every inch of her like he wanted, the urge to overtake his reason.. Looking at her face, he saw only a beautiful woman, clinging to him, wanting… But he had to keep gentle with her. For now.

“Is this too much?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. I'm trying to settle myself.”

“Shall we stop?”

“No,” she whispered, her cheeks blooming with heat. “Please don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened, and he leaned in again, placing a kiss beneath her ear. “As you wish.”

He had envisioned the most wanton imaginings of her earlier that day. Had taken himself in hand, stroking with slow, deliberate intent to the thought of her spread across his velvet coverlet, her hips arching in desperate supplication as he tormented her with his touch. He had spilled the moment he pictured himself buried within her. Even now, he could scarcely fathom how she might feel… soft and wet and impossibly tight around him.

With great care, he guided her onto her back along the divan, the velvet cushions yielding beneath her. He followed, half atop her, propped on one elbow so as not to press his full weight against her. His other hand drifted slowly along the line of her hip, then upward, tracing the side of her ribcage through the soft fabric of her shift.

She arched faintly beneath him, startled by her body’s yearning. It was automatic. His mouth never left her skin. He kissed the slope of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the edge of her collarbone as she moaned quietly.

Her fingers found their way into his curls, tugging gently as he grazed the peak of her breast with the back of his hand. Even that small contact had her gasping, her legs shifting restlessly beneath her.

“Already trembling,” he said, his breath jagged. “You are so sensitive, little mouse."

“I feel it,” she whispered. “It's...” she trailed off, unable to finish any thoughts she had conjured.

He chuckled low against her chest, his nose brushing the thin fabric stretched over her breast. “It is natural to feel it. You are so good… perfect," his words were mumbled against the material. "I, too, feel it. It's in my bones…" He dotted kisses softly over her chemise. "… it's in my chest. And we’ve scarcely begun.”

He brought his mouth upward to hers again, his tongue brushing her lips in a way that made her back arch and her thighs clench beneath her clothing. She slowly parted her lips, her tongue meeting his in a shy, searching stroke. A low moan trembled between them.

Between the steady flicker of firelight and the warmth of his hands, Y/n could no longer recall what fear had once lived in her. He made her forget everything but his breath, his touch, the way his voice dropped when he praised her.

She could feel the hard ridge of him against her hip, unmistakable even through layers of linen and cotton. The knowledge of it sent a hot dizziness through her.

“Allow me to unlace this,” he said, tugging gently at the top of her chemise. “You are far too beautiful to be hidden behind cloth.”

She nodded, raising her arms to aid him. He had sworn he would be patient, that he would not rush her, but she was so pliant already. The soft panting of her breaths, the little gasps, the way she threaded her fingers into his hair and kissed him with shy fervour…the way she lifted her hips to meet him. All invitations.

And when the garment came loose, baring her to the warm air and his hungry gaze, the king did not seize her as some men might have, greedy and rough. He merely looked. Admired. Swallowed hard as if astonished.

He longed to touch her. Wanted to grab her flesh and squeeze at every inch of her that was laid before him. Wanted to dig his fingers into her hips and breasts and spread her thighs open so he could look upon all of her.

“God help me,” he said softly, his voice nearly breaking. “You’re exquisite.”

He was not a man given to faith. But right then, he could kneel in surrender to any deity who had brought her to him. He wanted to nose at her opening, to pry her apart and watch her face as he plunged into her depths.

She reached for him then, bolder than she’d ever been before, and pulled him down into her embrace, and perhaps for a break in the way his eyes were wandering over her peaked breasts and the stretch of her body where his fingers had once touched. She'd never been gazed upon like that before.

His mouth met hers again, slow and indulgent. He kissed her not as a king, but as a starving man at last allowed to feast. Her arms wrapped round his neck, drawing him nearer as his hand roamed down the soft plane of her side, over the tender rise of her hip. His palm, wide and warm, settled low, gripping just above her bottom as he deepened their kiss. She whimpered into his mouth, fingers slipping into his curls again, pulling at them with a desperation she scarcely understood.

Harry shifted atop her, careful not to rest too heavily on her frame, but eager for more of her body pressed against his. Her bare breasts, rising and falling in uneven rhythm, brushed against the linen of his shirt. The sensation tore another moan from her throat.

“There now,” he said between kisses. “D’you feel it, little mouse? What you’ve done to me?”

He took her hand and guided it downward, resting her palm over the thick, straining shape beneath his breeches. She gasped softly, her eyes wide, her breath caught in her throat.

He closed his hand over hers, encouraging her to press gently.

“That is what your sighs have made of me,” he whispered. “A beast of a man, barely leashed.”

Her skin burned hot. Still, she did not pull her hand away as she looked into his eyes.

“It feels so…” she trailed off, lashes fluttering as she dared another tentative touch.

“So alive?” he offered, his voice dark with pleasure.

She nodded, lips parted. “Yes.”

He smiled, then kissed her again, hungrier, less restrained. His hands returned to her body, roaming more freely. He cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over the pebbled peak, drawing a startled sound from her mouth. Her hips lifted slightly off the divan in response, instinctive and needy.

“May I touch you lower?” he asked against her neck, his breath scorching. “Properly?”

She hesitated, not out of fear, but from sheer wonder at the question. That he would ask at all. That he would wait. That a man known to be cruel in court would kiss her so sweetly and speak to her as though she were sacred.

“Yes,” she said, her voice small but clear. “Please.”

His fingers dipped downward, over the warm skin of her abdomen. She squirmed at the sensation, but he hushed her with a kiss to her cheek, trailing his mouth to her temple, her hairline, her ear.

When his hand finally slipped between her thighs, she gasped, her knees parting slightly of their own accord. He grazed her lightly at first with just a brush of knuckles over the soft curls between her legs.

“You’re already damp for me,” he whispered, sounding almost pained. “Oh, my love…”

Her heart was nearly bursting. She arched into him at the sound of that word.

Love.

Whether he meant it or not, it echoed through her like the strike of a bell.

He began to stroke her slowly with the flat of his fingers, spreading her slickness in languid circles without yet delving deeper. Her hips writhed beneath him, her hands twisting in his shirt as he coaxed her body into revelation.

“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing her chin as his fingers circled her pearl with careful attention. “Let yourself feel it, little mouse. There’s no shame in pleasure.”

The sounds she made startled even her… soft, broken cries she’d never known herself capable of. Her legs trembled, and he caught her with his free arm, holding her tightly as he continued to play her like a cherished instrument.

She felt how wet his fingers were as he slid them slowly, teasingly against her. She needed more, needed it desperately if she were to find any relief. But it seemed he had no intention of granting it. Not yet.

He smoothed his lips over hers, and the whole of the sensation was consuming every bit of her body and soul. She was brought to the brink, and then he moved his fingers down… over and over again as he kissed her until she could hear the wet, sinful sounds of her own arousal between them.

Even Harry felt himself nearing the edge, though she had scarcely touched him. Her fingers were still wrapped tightly over him, and the confining barrier of his breeches had begun to grate on his control. He pushed a heavy breath out through his nose when he felt her palm press firmly into him, tugging in a timid experiment.

And, at first, it had been an accident when he eased one thick finger into her. It was just barely, only to the first knuckle, causing her to gasp so sharply he kissed her again to steal the sound, stilling his digit inside of her. But then she shifted down against his fingers, pushing him deeper, to the second knuckle, until he was buried to the last joint and her ragged breaths dissolved into soft, helpless mewls.

Her walls fluttered around his finger, so tight and warm that it nearly undid him. But he held fast, working slowly, watching every flicker of her expression. He drew out and then in again, coaxing her body to relax.

“It feels—oh,” she cried softly, legs tightening around his hips.

“I know,” he breathed, as he watched her pretty face. “I know, darling. I can tell you like that.”

He found her pearl again with his thumb while his finger worked within her, and her whole body tensed, then softened around him. She did like that. He could see it in the way her hips began to roll into his palm, her breaths syncing to the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. Loosening his hold, he drew back just enough to look down and savour the sight of his new wife undone beneath him.

The room could have collapsed on him and he would not have stopped. Her hips were swaying in restless pleasure, her soft breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath, her mouth dropped open wide as her eyes glistened… and her cunt, sucking his finger in and in, making his hand gleam with her slippery, greedy need. He would stay like that with her for eternity if she wanted. Even if his cock was throbbing painfully.

"Mmm…" she whimpered, her eyes blinking up into his. "It's wet. Right here…" She slid her thumb along the head of his length, where he'd dampened the linen through his breeches.

"Yes. You've aroused me, little mouse. It means you're making me feel good. Your hand on me…"

She inhaled a harsh breath as he curled his fingers into her, dragging his pads into something that made her insides swell. "It's good?"

He smiled and pushed his nose into her cheek. "Very good."

The soaked sound of his finger pushing in and dragging out met with the crackle of the fire in the hearth, and their strained breaths and moans. His gaze drank in every detail of her, undone beneath him. She was more than ripe for him… but still… he wanted to see her writhing, begging for him to sink inside before he defiled her completely.

He closed his eyes, letting himself savor it: the feel of her, the scent of her skin, the soft, unguarded sounds she made. It was a dream, having her like this, and he felt certain that the moment he buried himself inside her, he might not survive it. For all his strength, his heart was sure to give out. But he would die happy.

Opening his eyes again, he slid his finger out, and she quickly grabbed onto his shoulder, her lips drawing downward into a sulk. "Harry…"

A low moan tore from him when she spoke his name. She so rarely said it that hearing it now was dizzying. "Oh, little mouse…" he cooed at her, changing the position of his hand, two fingertips circling at her little tight muscle as he looked down at her. "Do you need more?"

She nodded in haste. "More. Please."

"How about two fingers?"

She continued nodding as she glanced down at his hand, hovering just over her thighs in wait. "Yes."

Harry smiled and slowly eased two of his fingers into her. She gasped, her eyes widening with the new fullness. He began to thrust, unhurried, and she moaned, rolling her pelvis upward into his hand. Watching her face closely, ensuring her pleasure, he drew her hand from his shoulder and brought it downward to that tender place he had been stroking. She shivered as he guided her hand to where he had been touching her, where she was slick and tender and pulsing beneath her own hand.

“Feel that,” he said, his voice ragged. “How soft you are… how ready.”

He nudged his fingers inside of her gently as he steered her fingers. Her breath stuttered as she pressed down gently, her fingers slipping over the little pearl that throbbed with every heartbeat. Her thighs tried to close, but he nudged them apart again, kissing her shoulder.

“Take it easy,” he whispered. “Does it feel nice?”

She nodded, unable to find words, her mouth open in a soundless gasp as she watched his face intently. But “nice” was not the word for it. It was so much more. More than she had ever imagined. Better.

He watched her touch herself, her eyes wide, her chest rising and falling, and he knew he would never recover from the sight. But he couldn’t resist adding his own touch, his hand sliding to cover hers, pressing just a little firmer, coaxing a broken cry from her throat as he continued working his other fingers as deeply as she could take.

He didn't rush her. Even as he looked upon her laid bare, perfect and lovely in the firelight, he held her gaze and waited. Anyone watching have thought him a man of infinite patience, given he'd restrained himself from taking her how he wanted over the last month, but truth was, it cost him nearly every ounce of strength not to lay her flat and take her wholly just then.

For the king, this was also a new experience. Her virginity would be his, and it would be the first time he'd ever taken such a thing, from anyone. It had never appealed to him to have to teach and guide a lover during such a delicate moment. To make sure she was happy and that her body was relaxed and receptive.

Yet he found himself rather enjoying this slow, tender exploration. His patience was tested to its limits, but there was no other way. Y/n needed time to open up properly, so, time he would give her, even though every aching inch of him rebelled against such restraint.

When at last she moved her hand from herself and pulled him down to kiss him, he made a soft sound of gratitude in the back of his throat. He let her lead for a time—her sweet, tentative mouth against his, her hands exploring the breadth of his back, the shape of his arms. He could feel the damp trace of her arousal upon her fingertips as they brushed his skin.

Cupping her breast again, he rasped his thumb gently over the sensitive peak, and she gasped, her hips shifting upward toward him, as if she needed more than just his two fingers dragging through her insides.

“You must tell me if anything displeases you,” he murmured against her cheek, voice husky. “I mean to learn every inch of you, but not at the cost of your peace.”

“It does not displease me,” she whispered, a tremor in her voice. “I can hardly find the words to tell you how I enjoy it.”

He smiled faintly. “That is no ill thing, little mouse. You're so good.”

Slowly, he pulled his fingers from her and trailed his hand down the length of her belly, smearing a glistening trace along the path. She bucked as his fingers grazed the softness between her thighs. He kissed her again to soothe her, then slipped lower, brushing her slit with two fingers. She was so soft and yielding. He nearly lost himself at the feel of it, at the sight.

“Shall I taste you?” he asked, voice scarcely more than a ragged breath.

Her lashes fluttered, her lips parting as she swallowed hard. “If…if you desire it…”

He laughed softly. “I do more than wish it.”

He slipped down to his knees beside the divan, urging her to shift her hips closer to the edge. She felt nearly too shy to look down at him, but when she dared, her heart tripped at the sight… her husband, the King of Thornekeep, bowing as though to worship.

He kissed the soft skin of her inner thigh, his hands firm on her hips to keep her from shying away. When he parted her folds with careful fingers and pressed his mouth to her, she cried out in shock, her hand flying to his hair.

“Oh—oh God—”

“Mmm,” he moaned against her.

His tongue traced her with slow, deliberate sweeps, tasting her as though he might starve without it. He relished every sound she made, every broken gasp, every elated cry.

When he closed his lips around her tender pearl and suckled, she jolted so violently he had to press a hand to her belly to steady her. Her thighs trembled as her spine arched off the divan. It was nothing like she'd felt before. Fingers rubbing her little nub were one thing but his lips and his tongue gliding softly, teasing at her and then sucking… For one bewildered instant, she wondered whether such bliss could be sanctioned by God, or was it a wicked, sinful act.

“Harry—oh—oh, I—” she pushed softly at his head, and he lifted upward to look at her, resting his chin on her thigh.

“What is it, mouse?” he asked softly.

"It feels too good. I'm not sure this is right—"

"It's meant to feel good."

"But is it… improper? We haven't consummated the marriage yet, and I'm worried we're in sin."

Harry tugged her fingers into his, squeezing around her knuckles as he climbed back up to the cushion with her. "You and I are husband and wife. We may enjoy one another in whatever way we like. There is no sin here, Y/n. Just me and you together."

She swallowed and nodded, though uncertainty lingered in her gaze. “It feels so…more exquisite than anything I have ever known. I cannot believe something so indulgent bears no consequence.”

"I'm sad that someone taught you that pleasure is akin to wickedness. We are meant to enjoy each other. It is our wedding night."

She moved her palm up to his shoulder. "You should have me then. So we can consummate the marriage first. Is that not what we're really meant to be doing?"

He spread his lips against her cheek tenderly. "Oh, Y/n. We will get to that when it's time. It is important we have patience, so that you find joy in it.”

He kissed her again, lingering near the corner of her mouth. “You are in no danger of judgment here. No priest, no scripture, no God who loves you would condemn the sweetness of a husband tending to his wife.”

Her eyes searched his face, uncertain. “But—”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “Listen to me.” One of his hands came up to cradle her jaw. “You were made to be cherished. To be touched. To be pleasured. If you believe God made you, then you must believe he made all this softness, all this sweetness, too.”

Her chest rose and fell, breath catching. It felt too good to be innocent, and yet, the king's words calmed her racing thoughts.

“Let me show you,” he murmured, pressing a last kiss to her lips before sliding down again.

This time, she did not look away and she did not deny herself his gifts.

He settled between her thighs, hands gentle but insistent as he urged them further apart. She felt a shiver run the length of her spine when he kissed the delicate place above her mound, then lower, his mouth warm and wet.

He licked her slowly, unhurried, savoring her. His tongue pressed and circled and tasted her with aching devotion. A whimper rose in her throat, and she felt her hips tipping toward him, all her careful modesty dissolving.

“There,” he breathed between strokes, voice husky and warm. “That’s it… You see? No sin. Only your body caught in desire… perfect and good.”

Her fingers threaded into his hair again, but this time she did not push him away. She held him there, trembling as his mouth coaxed more of those helpless little sounds from her.

“Harry…oh…”

He hummed softly in answer, the vibration sparking heat that coiled deep inside her belly. He parted her gently with his tongue and closed his lips around that tender little bud again, suckling with steady, delicate pulls.

Her breath fractured. She clutched at his shoulders, eyes squeezing shut as she gasped. Her body gave way to him, and to herself.

He kept her pinned sweetly beneath his mouth, kept coaxing her higher, higher, until the last of her fear slipped away. Until the only thing she could feel was the pleasure cresting in a rising wave she could not have denied if she tried.

When she came apart, crying his name, he held her steady. Her breath came in ragged sobs. Her body clenched, and he nearly spilled himself just from the sounds she made.

When she sagged back at last, dazed and spent, he kissed her thigh one final time and drew himself up over her. She looked up at him, her eyes luminous and soft with wonder, her lips parted.

“I did not know…” She paused, struggling for air. “I did not know it could feel so…so…”

He kissed her softly. “It pleases me you enjoyed yourself.”

He shifted to sit beside her, his breeches tight to the point of agony. She reached out, hesitant, then laid her hand over the hard ridge straining against the laces.

“I would like…to do something for you,” she said, her voice wavering but earnest.

“Ah.” He swallowed hard. “You’ve no notion how dearly I desire that.”

She sat up on her knees, fingers trembling as she worked the fastenings. His cock sprang free, flushed and thick, the tip glistening. She drew in a startled breath as he drank in the sight of her naked and kneeling.

“It's quite large. I'd forgotten…” she said faintly. The memory of what she'd seen on the first night was distorted. She recalled only the tumult of feeling, but seeing him now, the sheer size of him was formidable.

He laughed then, a rough, quiet laugh. “Aye. But you shall have time to grow accustomed.”

He guided her hand to him, wrapping her fingers around the base. “Just here,” he said. “Slow strokes… That’s it.”

She moved carefully at first, watching his face. His eyes fell shut, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

“Spit on it,” he rasped, voice nearly gone. “Easier for you and better for me.”

Her face warmed, but she obeyed, her tongue peeking between her lips before she gathered her courage and let a small line of spit fall onto the crown. He shuddered, his hand covering hers again.

“That’s it, so sweet,” he breathed. “Ah—God, you are…you’ve no notion…”

When she grew bolder, sliding her palm up and down the rigid length, he dropped his head back against the cushion, breathing raggedly.

“You may lick it if you wish,” he managed, craning his neck to watch. He would ease her into learning how to suck on him, but for now, just to have her tongue against him would tide him over.

She leaned forward, her lips brushing just beneath the tip before she thought better of it, her courage failing. He looked down, his expression soft with amusement at the attempt. She was precious.

“No,” he said, lifting her chin. “You needn't do that tonight. Another time perhaps.”

She swallowed and gathered her courage again, her hand gliding up and down the thick length, the side of her fist grazing the hair at the root of him. Each stroke grew surer, slicker with her spit and the warmth seeping from him at the tip.

He closed his eyes, lashes shadowing his cheeks. “Yes…just like that,” he panted, voice hoarse. “Ah… You are…Christ, you are a marvel…”

She watched in fascination as his chest rose and fell, every muscle taut beneath the fine white shirt he had not bothered to remove. His hips shifted subtly, seeking more friction.

“Is it…very good?” she asked, breathless, astounded.

His eyes opened then, dark and heavy-lidded. “Very good, little mouse. You cannot fathom what it is to feel your hand on me.”

Her cheeks flamed at that, but she did not stop. She tried a firmer stroke, and he groaned deep in his throat, his abdomen tightening as though he fought to restrain himself.

“God above,” he rasped. “Sweet wife—if you keep on in such a fashion—”

He did not finish the warning. His breath turned ragged, one hand clutching her wrist as though to steady himself.

She looked down at her hand moving over him, at the flushed crown peeking from her curled fingers. A drop of pearly fluid welled there, smearing over her knuckles. Her heart thumped madly, part embarrassment, part something far stranger… an unnameable thrill that he trusted her with this, that she could undo him with only her touch.

“Do not stop,” he gasped, voice breaking. “Oh, God, do not—”

And she did not. She watched, transfixed, as his body shuddered beneath her hand. A low groan tore free of his chest, and his hips lifted once, twice… and then he spent himself, hot and thick over her fingers and the flat of his stomach.

She stilled, blinking down at the evidence of what she had done. Her palm felt slippery, and she could see the way he still pulsed softly against her grip as she slowed down the way her hand moved over him.

A curious wonder stole through her, mingled with a shy pride. She had never imagined such a sight, nor that she would be the cause of it. She'd never seen him like that before, but she quite liked it, she decided.

He reached to curl his hand around her wrist, gently drawing her away. His chest still heaved, a dazed smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“My love,” he managed at last, voice warm and ragged, “you have undone me entirely.”

She glanced down again, unable to help herself, her lips parting in astonishment. “I had not known…that it would look so…so much...”

He laughed then, soft and unguarded, even as he caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her damp fingers. “Forgive me. You might have found I am quite helpless where you are concerned.”

Her throat bobbed on a swallow. “I do not mind. I…rather like that you should be.”

They both stilled. The only sound was the fire snapping in the hearth.

“I shall see to this,” he said hoarsely, reaching for a kerchief to clean them both.

Once they were made tidy, he drew her into his lap, her bare thighs straddling his. He poured them each a small brandy and pressed the glass into her hand. She sipped, feeling the warmth spread down her throat to join the heat still coiled low in her belly. He watched her over the rim of his cup, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“You look thoughtful,” he said.

She lowered her gaze to the cup in her hands. “I was only considering how strange it is that one may feel so much and still be found well in the eyes of God.”

He chuckled, low and fond. “Aye, that is the wonder of it. Pleasure does not kill us, and neither will God.”

Her lips curved shyly. “You are very certain.”

“I am a man of some experience,” he admitted, one brow lifting in a silent dare for her to tease him. But she did not. She only traced the edge of her glass with a pensive fingertip.

“It did not hurt you?” she asked quietly, curiously.

He looked surprised, then softened, setting his cup aside so he could brush his knuckles down her cheek. “No, sweet. Far from it. You could do the same every night, and I would never grow weary of you.”

Her face warmed again, but she did not look away. “And now? Do you feel well enough to… to continue?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Greedy little thing.”

She bit her lip, half-ashamed of the way her body still ached to be touched. The way she wanted more.

He tipped her chin up, meeting her gaze with a softness that made her chest flutter. “I am well enough. But let us take a moment to rest. There is no race to be run here.”

She nodded, exhaling softly. His hands drifted down to her hips, thumbs stroking the tender skin. “If you are patient, I promise I shall have you writhing again before the hour is out.”

Heat moved through her at the promise. She swallowed and lifted her glass for another small sip, grateful for the excuse to busy her hands. And though she was not entirely fond of the drink, the way it warmed her belly and made her limbs loosen was awfully nice.

For a time, they sat like that… her straddling his thighs, the brandy slowly emptying from their cups to the warmth of their bellies, the firelight gilding every slow blink and secret smile. She felt a peace she could not recall ever knowing, threaded through with the anticipation that soon, very soon, he would touch her again. She was entirely too impatient, but she would try not to push more.

Every little stroke of his fingers over her skin drew chill bumps in their path. She toyed with the hem of his linen shirt, pushing at the fabric so she could touch his skin the way he was touching hers. When she'd reached up above his naval, he pushed out an amused breath.

"What is it, little mouse?"

She swallowed, unable to stop herself from asking once more. “I was only… wondering whether it might feel so pleasant again.”

He chuckled, setting his glass aside. “Little glutton.”

She huffed, cheeks hot. “You are unkind.”

“Am I?” He took her face in his hands. “Or am I merely perceptive?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her, and her thoughts scattered. When he broke away, his hands drifted down to cup her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples until she arched. His mouth found her neck, sucking gently.

“You wish for more,” he murmured against her skin.

“I…” She swallowed. “Yes.”

He laid her back once more and began anew—fingers sliding between her thighs, stroking until she whimpered. Until he was fully recovered and his prick was thickened once again.

"Let us go to our bed." He helped her up, his fingers purposely grazing her hip as they both moved to the much more comfortable feather mattress. She climbed on first while Harry stripped his shirt away, his gaze drinking in the sight of her… her bare back, the soft curve of her hips, as she settled onto the coverlet and watched him with wide, wondering eyes.

He could have her any way he wished, and she would not deny him. He moved in next to her and pulled at her hips, settling her astride his hips, his length slipping between her slick folds as he lay down on his back.

“Stay just here,” he said, voice rough. “Let us find it together.”

He guided her hands to rest against his chest before taking hold of her hips. When she looked down, her breath caught at the sight of their bodies pressed together with her slickness glistening on the ruddy crown of him. She gasped as he began to guide her, their bare flesh sliding together, hot and unashamed.

“Oh…” she pushed out the exclamation in a breath. It was so much. So warm and strange and perfect, she could scarcely hold the sensation in her mind.

He watched her face, gaze dark and steady. “Does it please you?”

She nodded, unable to form a word. Her hands splayed over his chest, feeling the solid rise and fall of his breaths. He rocked his hips gently, the hard length of him gliding against the tender pearl of her desire.

The first time she shifted her hips on her own, she startled at the burst of pleasure that sparked through her belly. He groaned low, the sound curling around her spine.

“Again,” he coaxed. “Just like that.”

She swallowed and did as he asked, sliding forward and back with more intention. It was not the same as being filled with his fingers, but oh, it was nearly too sweet to bear. The ridge of his cock rubbed exactly where she needed, every stroke leaving her breathless.

“God…” she whispered, her eyes falling shut. “It's so warm...”

His hands flexed over her hips, guiding her when she faltered. “Yes. That’s it, little mouse… take what you need.”

The fire cracked beside them, casting golden light over their joined bodies. She could not look away from the sight, her slick folds gliding over the length of him, his skin shining with her wetness. His abdomen tightened with each motion, the muscles shifting beneath the fine hair on his belly.

A soft keening sound escaped her, and her cheeks flamed hot at the thought that it belonged to her. But he only groaned in answer, the roughness of it making her clench.

“Look at me,” he rasped.

She opened her eyes, and their gazes locked… hers wide and wondering, his dark with hunger and a tenderness she could not have imagined.

“It feels too good,” she confessed, voice breaking. “I shall die of it.”

He huffed a ragged laugh, his thumbs pressing sweet circles into her hips. “If you die, I shall perish with you.”

It was nearly too much, too raw, too intimate. She pressed her palms harder to his chest and moved faster in instinct, the slippery slide of him sending little shocks of pleasure all through her. He guided her at a slow pace, letting her grind herself over him until her thighs quivered.

“Harry…” she gasped. “I think—I think it’s coming again!”

“Let it,” he urged, his own voice unsteady. “Let it, sweet girl.”

She cried out, her head tipping back, the pleasure cresting all at once. Every muscle in her body tensed as she came, her slick pulsing hot over him.

The sight of her, glorious and undone, dragged him right to the edge. He cursed softly, his hips thrusting up once, twice before he spilled between them, hot and thick, their bellies streaked with the proof of it.

For a moment, neither of them moved. She stayed straddling him, breathing hard, her skin flushed. She could feel the throb of him still fading against her. Her mind was slow to return to itself, dazed and glowing with a satisfaction she had never dreamed of.

At last, he cupped her cheek, smiling up at her with eyes gone soft. “I think,” he murmured, “we have done very well indeed. You are far better than you know.”

Heat prickled along her throat at the praise. She looked down where their bodies were still joined by the evidence of all they’d shared, then quickly averted her gaze, shy all over again.

“Come,” he said. “Let me see you settled.”

He eased her carefully off his hips, rising to fetch a fresh cloth. She lay back against the pillows, limbs loose and boneless, watching as he cleaned them both with gentle hands. When he finished, he drew the coverlet up over her bare body before sliding in beside her.

His arm slipped beneath her neck, gathering her close. She turned to bury her face against his shoulder, breathing in the clean scent of linen and the warm salt of his skin.

“You are okay?” he asked quietly, lips near her temple.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I'm soaring.”

He exhaled a slow, relieved sigh and pressed a kiss to her brow. The fire burned low, throwing shadows across the chamber walls. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with the soft ache of satisfaction and the weight of her own contentment.

. .

Sunlight slipped past the drapes, warm on her bare shoulder. She stirred, stretching her limbs with tentative caution. Every part of her felt tender, softened by the night they’d shared. When she blinked her eyes open, she found him awake beside her, propped on an elbow.

“Good morning, little mouse.”

She smiled drowsily. “Good morning.”

He kissed her temple. “How do you fare?”

He smiled faintly and reached to stroke the skin of her cheek. “How fares your body?”

She hesitated, then let her hand shyly drift down to rest over his length, already stirring with interest against her thigh. Everything from the night before had been nothing but a delight. She couldn't understand the ache for more, but it was there.

“I would like to do it properly,” she whispered, her skin aflame. “I wish you to have me… wholly.”

His brows lifted, and he cupped her face in both hands. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she said, her heart thrumming. “I want to feel you. I want… to give it to you.”

He slipped his hand to her throat, thumb brushing the place her pulse beat so fast. “And what is it you desire to give me?”

He knew what she was seeking but before he took it from her, he wanted to hear her say the words. Her breath came unsteady. She felt reckless, near undone by the safety she had found in his arms.

“I want,” she began, and paused, gathering her courage. “I want to feel you inside me. Entirely. I want to give it to you.”

His eyes darkened, the mirth fading to something deeper. “Do you know what you ask?”

“I do.” She lifted her chin. “I know you said there was no need to rush. But I do not wish to wait. Not if you will have me.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed as he searched her face for any sign of fear. When he found none, only resolve bright as morning, he exhaled and pressed his forehead to her shoulder, his own body vibrating with need.

“Then I shall have you,” he whispered. “But we shall go slowly, and you will tell me of every discomfort. Swear it.”

“I swear.”

He kissed her mouth, unhurried, as though they had endless hours to lie abed. His hand trailed down her side, then further, coaxing her thighs apart. She felt her body already answering him, readying itself as his fingers slid between her folds.

“You see?” he murmured against her cheek. “Your body knows what is to come.”

He worked her gently, drawing small circles that made her hips shift and her lips part with a quiet gasp. She clung to his shoulder, unable to think, only to feel.

When she grew wet and pliant under his touch, he pressed a finger inside, then a second, coaxing her with slow strokes. The stretch made her whimper, but she did not shy away.

“Easy,” he breathed. “Easy now.”

Even as he said the word—easy—he himself was reeling. His heart pounded, his skin was burning, his hand was shaking. He'd never needed to display such restraint in his life and he was nearly at the edge of himself to lose control.

Her body clenched and softened, her breaths coming shallow as he prepared her. When she began to tremble again, he drew his fingers back, pressing a kiss to her temple.

He guided her onto her back and settled between her thighs, bracing himself on one elbow so he could look into her eyes. With his free hand, he took himself in hand, the tip gliding through her slick heat.

Her breath caught as she felt him there, so close she thought she might faint from the wanting. The warmth of him pressing and sliding against her was not unlike the night before, but this time it was different.

“Breathe,” he said softly. “You must breathe.”

She nodded, her chest rising as she tried to steady herself, waiting for him to get on with it. Waiting for the sting, the pain… the blood.

With a low groan, he pressed forward, the thick head of him pushing into her inch by inch. She gasped at the burn, her fingers clutching at his arms. It was much, much more than she thought.

He stilled at once, voice rough. “Is it too much?”

“N-no—only—”

“Only different.” He kissed her jaw, her throat, waiting. “You are doing beautifully.”

When she exhaled and her hips tipped up, he eased deeper, the slow stretch making her cry out, though not in pain alone. He was inside her, truly inside, filling her in a way she could never have imagined.

“God,” he rasped, his breath ragged against her skin. He couldn't help but to peer down at their bodies joined. His cock throbbed at the lewd sight. “You are… you are…”

Her body tightened around him, and he groaned, fighting for composure. His instinct told him to bury in and begin sliding into her at full intensity so he could finally indulge in the slick hug of her cunt around him.

Instead, he took her hand and pulled it down her body, guiding her fingers over her pearl. "Touch. The way you do when you are alone. Like this…"

He moved her fingers there, and she blinked up at him, wide-eyed. She understood his instructions and began to rub over herself, two fingers drifting in circles, pressing until she began to feel the delight all over. It was then that he began to move again.

The king kept slow and steady, pulling back and pushing deeper as she kept her fingers gliding. He could feel her knuckles bumping at his low tummy as she clenched delicately around him. And the deeper he nudged the more she stretched to take him, until at last he was seated fully within her. He stilled, pressing his brow to hers.

“Does it ache?”

“A little,” she whispered. “But—oh—”

He shifted, just enough to make her gasp. “But it is…so full.”

"Don't stop your fingers. Keep them moving, yes?"

She nodded as he moaned against her cheek. He could wreck her without consequence. He could find his own end as he so pleased. But she was too sweet for that. And he was finding that prolonging his own pleasure was quite divine. He'd never experienced it before, always having whatever he wanted when he wanted it.

He kissed her then, his hand gentle where it cupped her face. “We shall wait,” he whispered. “Until you tell me you are ready. Keep going like you are.”

She blinked, her eyes wet. And after a long moment when the ache began to ease and the strange fullness began to feel like something better, she tilted her hips and whispered, “Harry…”

He closed his eyes. "Tell me, mouse. What is it?"

"I think it's okay. Please…"

Her fingers were wet, his length was soaked in her, her body was buzzing with need just as intended. He moved in her slowly, each stroke drawing a breathless sound from her lips. Her hands slipped up his back, holding tight as her body began to learn the rhythm, the pleasure that built with each thrust.

Her hands clung to his shoulders, her breath breaking on every slow push and pull. It was almost too much, the stretch of him, the heat, the knowledge of what they were doing. And yet it was never quite enough to tip her into that blinding release she’d felt before.

He rocked into her in a steady rhythm, his jaw tight with restraint. Every time her body gripped him, he felt himself sliding closer to the brink.

“Ah—God,” he groaned, voice ragged. “You feel…you feel as though you were made to take me.”

Heat swept over her chest. She couldn’t look away from his face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his mouth fell open when he thrust a little deeper.

“Harry…” she gasped.

“Tell me,” he rasped. “Does it please you?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes—it’s…it’s so good.”

She meant it. Every slow glide was a kind of sweetness she had never known, an ache she did not wish to end. But it did not gather her up the way his mouth and his fingers had. It only made her feel stretched, possessed. Like she was coming apart without quite falling.

He felt it too, her trembling but never quite peaking. His hand slipped between them, thumb circling over the place she touched before, but still she only sighed, her hips tipping up for more without that final surrender. The angle wasn't quite right, but god did it feel good.

“It's enough,” she whispered, her voice soft and certain. “It is perfect like this.”

He made a strangled sound, the control finally slipping from him. “I cannot—”

She felt the change in him, the deeper push, the tension that turned his body hard beneath her hands. A helpless cry tore from his throat as he spilled inside her, his hips pressing flush as he shuddered against her.

She held him, her palms splayed over his back, her heart thundering. The heat of him filling her was a wonder in itself, even without the peak that eluded her.

When at last he stilled, he pressed his face to her throat, breath coming in ragged gasps. “Forgive me,” he mumbled, his lips moving against her skin. “I could not—”

She hushed him gently, sliding her hands to cradle his face. “It was beautiful.”

His eyes lifted, still dark with the last shreds of hunger. “You didn't finish…”

She shook her head, though she smiled. “Not this time.”

His gaze searched hers, then he withdrew slowly, carefully, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. Before she could shy away, he pressed a lingering kiss to her breast, her collarbone, her throat.

“Lie back,” he whispered, his voice gone low and rough again.

She blinked, uncertain. “Harry?”

“Lie back,” he repeated, easing her down into the pillows. “I would have you finish as you deserve.”

Heat rushed up her neck, but before she could protest, he kissed the inside of her knee, parting her thighs with sure hands. She felt his breath against her, the brush of his mouth.

“You are too good,” she whispered, her voice breaking, not even aware of what she was saying.

He only looked up at her, eyes fierce with devotion. “I shall never have enough of you.”

And then his mouth was on her, hot, slow, unhurried. He tasted her with the same reverence as the night before, his tongue coaxing her toward the pleasure she thought she’d lost.

He laved her tenderly, his spend mingling with her sweetness on his tongue. And he didn't know why but it only made him feel more ravenous. That she was filled up with him, and it was leaking like a posset filled with sweet cream.

This time, there was no strain or fear. Only the molten sweetness building with every stroke of him. And then his fingers met her tender opening, where he pushed them in and suckled her bud with his lips.

Her hand flew to his hair, her thighs trembling as she moaned aloud. “Oh—oh—”

He hummed low against her, fingers gently curling inside of her, and the vibration tipped her over the edge at last. Her body seized, all that wanting flooding out in a rush she could not stop.

She cried out, her voice echoing off the chamber walls. He did not stop until she went limp against the pillows, her breath coming in small, broken sobs of relief.

When he lifted his head, his mouth glistened with her. He kissed the inside of her thigh before gathering her into his arms, holding her close as her heart slowly quieted.

“I believe I adore everything about you,” he whispered into her hair.

She blinked up at him, dazed, her lips parting. “I think… I think I adore you as well.”

He smiled, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. “Then you are mine,” he said softly.

She touched his cheek, her own face warm with wonder. “And you are mine.”

They lay in the hush, their breathing the only sound.

He stroked her arm, his hand lingering at her side. “You are so good,” he said, his voice hoarse. “My sweet one.”

She smiled at the name. “I thought it would hurt more,” she confessed, blinking up at him. “But it was… Heaven.”

He smiled faintly. “I meant to be careful so it would feel good. I should like you to recall this night with gladness, not dread.”

She let her palm drift over his chest, the steady thump of his heart beneath her fingers. “I think I shall remember it as the night you were…very gentle.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, now, mouse… I am always gentle.”

She lifted a brow. “You are not.”

His mouth curved as he leaned down to kiss her, slow and unhurried. “No,” he admitted when he drew back. “But with you, I find I have a mind to be.”

She felt something unfurl low in her chest… something that had little to do with lust and everything to do with the peculiar tenderness he showed only to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For waiting. For…asking.”

He studied her face as his hand moved idly over her hip, not in invitation but in reassurance. She traced the shape of his collarbone, the line of his jaw.

At last, she sighed. “I think I'm hungry.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “So soon? Have I worn you out only to leave you famished?”

“A bit,” she said, smiling. “And I would like something warm.”

“Then you shall have it.”

Reluctantly, he shifted to sit up. He reached for the bell cord near the bed and gave it a firm tug. She watched him, her heart turning over in her chest. Even in the simplest movements, reaching for the cord, smoothing the coverlet around her… he carried himself with a kind of unthinking authority. But there was nothing cold in it now, nothing cruel. Only the easy gravity of a man content to care for her.

“Will they think it odd?” she asked softly. “To be summoned so early?”

He looked back at her, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “Let them think what they like. We have nothing to prove to any of them. My little mouse is hungry; that is my only concern.”

She sank back into the pillows, her body tender and satisfied, her mind hazy with the sweetness of it all.

“Shall we take our breakfast here?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, returning to the bed to gather her against his side. “I should like to keep you to myself a little longer.”

And when the knock came at the outer door, he kissed her hair and mumbled, “After this, we shall rest as long as we please. The kingdom can wait.”

She smiled and let herself believe him.

. .

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@harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs @lc-fics @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads

@harrrrystylesslut @elidoho @gotdrxnkonu @cathy-1997 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

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@michellekstyles @harrysredroom @harrydeary @mrs-anna-styles211994 @bananabk9756

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@gmikaelson @vanteguccir @fangirl509east @virgopr1ncess @hoolabalooba

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #king!harry #royal au

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