“My glorious queen, I told you we’d have a beautiful life, you and I.”
And she had lain under him, listening to those words, her legs spread brazenly wide to receive him, her body glorying in his weight pressing her into the bed, him still seated deep inside her, filling her full as she drifted into an exhausted sleep of deep abandoned contentment.
And she’d not wanted to lose him, his weight, his warmth, his shaft filling her full, making her feel whole.
“My glorious queen, I told you we’d have a beautiful life, you and I.”
Memories, sharp and stabbing, filled her head.
Yesterday morning, Callum claiming her and then practically forgetting about her for hours.
Yesterday afternoon, Callum telling that poor, sick, clearly demented woman she was “just a f**k” while Sonia, his mate, his supposed wife, sat in his lap facing his ex-lover.
He’d even rubbed his temple against Sonia’s hair, making it clear to the woman, who was obviously hung up on him (and not in a healthy way), not to mention everyone in that room, that Sonia was better in bed than she was. This deepening Desdemona’s humiliation to uncharted levels not to mention Sonia’s.
Then he and his people laughed and joked at Desdemona’s panicked struggles and Callum’s sentence for her to be “sequestered”. Even Ryon, who Sonia thought was a considerate man. Whatever sequestered was but clearly, whatever it was wasn’t good.
And Sonia’s place, her role, as silent succor to Callum. There for nothing more than him to use her “sweet little body” when he needed to work out his day.
It wasn’t medieval
It was…
It was…
She didn’t even know what it was!
And the things he’d said to her last night, about gagging for it, gagging for him.
And Yuri.
And Gregor!
And what they’d heard and Yuri had seen.
And the things she’d learned from them.
And that morning, oh God, that morning, sitting in his lap and letting him toy with her like she was his plaything.
No, she didn’t let him, she’d practically asked him.
She did ask him!
A beautiful life? He called that a beautiful life?
More memories flooded her mind, these at war with the first.
Yesterday morning, Callum, sexy and sweet, just like her dream Callum, teasing her in bed before he’d seduced her and, for that matter, after, if only for a short time.
Yesterday afternoon, Ryon, Caleb and Calder chatting to her like they’d known her for ages. Like she was a member of their family already. Like she wasn’t weird or strange. Like she fit in.
And both times Callum tucked her hand, which was held safe in his, under his arm. Drawing her nearer. Offering his strength when she was frightened in the throne room and upset while facing Gregor and Yuri.
And, looking back at it, last night on the drive home and when they arrived at her house, Callum’s hilariously strained patience at dealing with her when she was in a snit (before he became an arrogant bastard who said hideous things, that was).
And the way he held her after she’d cl**axed, her back to the headboard, his hand cradling her head, something about the way he did it making her feel precious.
And the way he’d dealt with her after Yuri interrupted them, that time with amused patience in the face of her fury.