The next second, the throbbing still there, with renewed and intensely more delicious vigor that lulled her body, Sonia fell asleep with Callum’s fingers still playing between her legs.
* * * * *
Sonia woke, her eyes opening to see her pillows and thoughts of yesterday, last night and this morning crashed painfully into her head.
Her body under the covers that were tucked snug around her went rigid.
“Oh my God,” she breathed to the pillow.
She felt the ache in her muscles, the insistent throb between her legs and every inch of her skin grew hot with shame when she remembered last night (both times but especially the second time) and this morning (good goodness!).
She closed her eyes tight and turned her flaming face into the pillows as Callum’s words of last night echoed in her ears.
“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.
And, before they went down to face Gregor and Yuri, that kiss. That thorough, beautiful kiss. A kiss that made her feel beautiful, desired, even the impossible, loved.
And, having a difficult conversation while facing the only family she had left (outside of Callum’s now, that was), she’d relaxed in his embrace. Callum showing her physically what it meant to support her during her times of struggle by holding her close, holding her strong. Showing her in ways she didn’t understand and couldn’t put her finger on that he stood between her and pain. Perhaps not able to halt it completely but he would be there to cushion the blow.
And at that very moment, tucked snug and warm in her covers, Callum did that. He did something tender in a way that made her feel he was keeping her safe.
“My glorious queen, I told you we’d have a beautiful life, you and I.”
Now that could be a beautiful life.
But that wasn’t all there was to it.
More thoughts pushed the others out and invaded her mind.
Last night, waking up with his hand between her legs, the urge already on her, stronger than ever before, changing her, taking her out of herself so she wasn’t any Sonia she’d ever known but someone else entirely. She was the creature he’d created. The creature he’d claimed. The creature, on some level, her mind was telling her she actually was meant to be.
And the way he took her. The way she responded to it, wanted it, lunged to meet it, her h*ps pushing into his, his fingers sinking into her flesh and fisting in her hair. He demanded more and more and more and she gloried in giving it to him as she took it from him, needing it like it was breath.
No, like there was something vital missing. Like there was some crucial part of who she was that had been lost. She felt drawn to Callum, linked to him, in fact, just as she’d thought after he claimed her, she felt owned by him and, in so being, only Callum could give her whatever she’d lost.
And this morning, half asleep, her instincts taking over and her brazen (again!) behavior, falling asleep with his hand still teasing her between her legs.
And the way they’d fallen asleep last night and how that didn’t feel shameful or scandalous (at the time, now she was horrified), but instead it felt…
It felt right.
“My glorious queen, I told you we’d have a beautiful life, you and I.”
A beautiful life? Was all of that a beautiful life?
Did all the good that was Callum, all that was tender and affectionate and warm and teasing outweigh the things that were bad? Did it outweigh the things that caused her to feel humiliation that her life as his queen meant he felt entitled to fall asleep between her spread-eagled legs still buried inside her even though he didn’t want her but only the use of her body? Did it outweigh her knowledge that something he dredged from deep inside her made her feel replete, content, whole after he’d taken her so hard, so roughly, making her scream in her cl**ax and then he’d pinned her to the bed under him, still full of him and feeling, insanely, that it was right?