Page 30 of Wedding Night In The King's Bed

But he knew women like this. He’d been raised by one. He had expected that once he’d uncovered her game, she would never indicate that she even knew what sex was unless she could use it against him. He’d expected her to dole it out, playing carrot and stick, and he’d assured himself that he would simply refuse to engage in her games.

This had to be a game—but he was too busy thinking about breeding with every last part of his instantly too-hot body to figure out what her goal was in playing it.

“My apologies,” Helene said, in that particularly dry voice she used when she was being polite, but sharp.

Fang-sharp, he told himself.

“I keep forgetting that you are a king and perhaps don’t muck about in the stables like some. You clearly don’t understand how this works. If you want heirs, Gianluca, I’m afraid you will have to fight past your disgust for my deceitful ways and take me to your bed once again.”

And there were so many things he could have said to that. He had the uncharacteristic urge to defend himself. To make it clear what it was he had distaste for and dampen whatever this was, because it couldn’t be good—

But instead, it was as if his body took control of him. It was as if he became a different man.

Right there in the back of the royal limousine.

And he found he enjoyed it far more than he should have when her eyes widened. When her lips formed a perfect oh as he leaned toward her.

“We don’t need a bed, mia regina,” he growled at her. “I have told you this already, have I not? I always give my people what they want. Always.”

And he proved it.

Then and there, while the motorcade made its way back up the hill to the royal palace.

When they got out of the car Helene was red-cheeked, her hair a mess, and yet she managed to march back to the royal apartments as if daring anyone to look at her sideways, with that elegance that was a part of her.

As if she was a true queen, something in him whispered.

And it was good to have that reminder, he told himself later—having restricted himself to his quarters, alone. Because he dared not take her twice again in one evening.

He already knew what that was like, and where it led.

Still, he assured himself as he stood in his shower in the small hours of that same night, letting the cold water pound down upon him to no great effect, it was useful to remember that no matter how elegant she seemed at this gala or that function, no matter how sophisticated a queen she might appear, she was still a supposed virgin.

The one who had gone so wild on their wedding night that she’d made it clear she could not be any such thing, and then she’d gone ahead and compounded that error in the car tonight.

For he had tugged her to him, then into his lap.

And the moment they’d touched, it was as if they’d both been burned alive.

The flames exploded when he kissed her. When she kissed him back.

The conflagration grew between them, bigger, and yet bigger still—and after he helped himself to the long hem of that gown she wore, pushing the fabric up to her hips, he reached down to free himself and found her hands were already there.

“Mia regina,” he had growled, and told himself it was a factual statement, that was all. My queen.

When she’d sunk herself down upon him, he had clenched his hands tight to grip her hips, because it was a process. She was so tight, so soft. And there was something mesmerizing about the way she fought to take the whole of his length.

Something almost unbearably hot.

It was when she’d managed to take all of him within her—shifting, bearing down, and then retreating to start again—that she let out a deep sort of sigh. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if savoring him.

Gianluca would never know how he had not lost control of himself entirely.

But she opened her eyes again. And then, holding his gaze as if she was the one who told the truth and always had—like a challenge—she had ridden them both to a mad, galloping finish.

He should not have second-guessed himself. She proved herself a liar every time they made contact. A wise man would not have been fooled a second time, no matter how excellent her training.

But his body didn’t care if she told the truth or not, it only wanted more of her.