The Executed Empress Proposed to His Scarred Brother novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Midnight, Her Choice

At midnight she picks him again, and he takes her mouth to mouth, then slowly inside her; at dawn the chamberlain summons her to breakfast with the Emperor, alone.

At midnight the fire had burned down to red coals, and the bells of the Cathedral across the square struck twelve.

Iseult lay on the big bed in her chemise with her eyes open.

She had stopped shaking an hour ago.

She got up, crossed the cold stone floor, and stood in front of his chair.

Ilarion was awake.

He had not taken off his coat or his boots, and he had not moved since she lay down.

"It's midnight," she said.

"I heard."

"I've stopped shaking."

"I can see that."

"Then I'm asking again."

She took hold of the hem of her chemise and pulled it over her head.

The cold air touched her bare skin, and her nipples drew tight.

She stood naked in front of him with her hair down her back and her hands at her sides.

In her old life she had always undressed in the dark behind a screen.

Ilarion did not say anything for a long moment.

His eyes went over her slowly, from her face to her breasts to the curve of her belly and the full line of her hips.

She watched his throat move as he swallowed.

"Gods," he said, rough and quiet. "Iseult."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a prayer."

He stood up out of the chair, and he was so tall that she had to tip her head back.

He lifted her off her feet, carried her to the bed, and set her down on the edge of it.

Then he knelt on the stone floor in front of her.

"Lie back."

She lay back on the coverlet and her heart began to pound again, but it was a different kind of pounding.

His big hands closed around her knees and opened them.

"Wider," he said. "Put your heels on my shoulders."

She did.

The position left her completely open to him, wet and aching in the firelight, and she felt her face burn.

"Look at you," he said. "You're soaked."

"That's your fault."

"I'll take the blame."

He lowered his head and set his mouth on her.

The first stroke of his tongue was long and flat and hot, from her entrance all the way up to her clit.

She cried out loud enough that the guards on the stair must have heard.

She did not care.

He licked her slowly and thoroughly.

He groaned against her skin as he did it.

The sound shook through her.

"Ilarion," she said. "Oh, gods, that's good."

"Tell me what you like."

"I don't know. I don't know what I like."

"Then tell me what you feel."

"I feel," she said, and her voice broke, "like I'm going to die of it."

"You won't."

He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked, soft and steady, and her back left the mattress.

She tangled both hands in his hair and held on.

He flicked his tongue over her in small, quick, exact circles, and her thighs began to shake against his ears.

"There," she said. "Right there. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

"I won't."

He slid one thick finger into her, slowly, and she clenched around it at once.

She was so tight that he stopped and let her breathe.

"All right?"

"Yes. More."

He added a second finger and curled them up, finding a place inside her that made white light burst behind her eyes.

She came with her heels digging into his shoulders and his name tearing out of her throat.

He did not stop.

He kept licking her through it, softer now, and the aftershocks rolled up her spine until she was laughing and crying at once.

"Again," she said, when she could talk. "Now. With you. I want all of you."

He lifted his face from between her legs.

His mouth and his chin were wet with her, and his grey eyes were nearly black.

"You've never had a man inside you," he said.

It was not a question.

"No," she said, and it was true of this body, whatever the other one had done. "Not like this. Not wanting it."

His expression did something complicated and fierce.

He stood and pulled his shirt over his head.

His chest was broad and scarred in a dozen places.

There was a pale line across his ribs, a puckered mark below his collarbone and a long seam down one forearm.

She wanted to put her mouth on every one of them.

He unbuckled his belt and pushed down his trousers, and his cock sprang free.

She stared.

He was big.

He was thick and long and flushed dark at the head, and a bead of fluid glistened at the tip.

"That will not fit," she said faintly.

"It will. We'll go slowly."

"I don't want slowly."

"I know what you want," said Ilarion. "You'll have it at my speed."

She swallowed, and a hot rush went through her belly at the quiet certainty in it.

He climbed onto the bed and settled over her, braced on his forearms, the weight of him warm and enormous.

He kissed her, and she tasted herself on his tongue.

"Open your legs for me," he said into her mouth. "Wide as you can."

She wrapped them around his hips.

The thick head of his cock pressed against her entrance, and she felt how hot he was.

He pushed in, a little at a time.

It stretched her, and it burned, and she made a sound that was half a whimper and half a plea.

"Breathe," he said. "Look at me."

She looked.

He was gritting his teeth, sweat on his forehead, holding himself back with all the strength he had.

"You're doing so well," he said. "Good girl. Take a little more."

Two more slow inches, and she felt him fill her all the way.

He stopped, buried to the hilt, and rested his forehead against hers.

They both breathed hard.

"You feel," he said hoarsely. "Gods. You feel perfect."

She had never in her life been told she was perfect, and she had never felt so full.

"Move," she begged. "Please, Ilarion, move."

He drew back and thrust forward in a slow, deep stroke, and the friction lit her up from the inside.

He did it again.

She raked her nails down his back and heard him groan.

"Faster," she said.

"Like this?"

"Harder."

"Say please."

"Please, please, fuck me harder."

His control cracked, a little.

He rolled his hips into her with a firm, driving rhythm, and the bed knocked against the wall with every thrust.

She met him each time, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs.

The pleasure built again, tight and hot and different from the first, a pressure low in her belly that tightened with every stroke.

"I'm close," she gasped.

"Then come. Come on my cock, Iseult."

He reached between them and rubbed her clit with his thumb, and she shattered.

Her pussy clenched around him in long, violent pulses, and she screamed into his shoulder.

He groaned, a long broken sound, and pulled out of her at the last second.

His cum spilled hot across her stomach, and he held himself over her, shuddering, until he was done.

Neither of them moved for a long time.

Then he got a cloth from the washstand, cleaned her gently, and lay down beside her.

She turned in his arms.

"I'm not finished," she said.

His eyebrows rose.

"Roll over," she said. "On your back."

"Iseult."

"I told you what I wanted. You said I'd have it at your speed. Now I want it at mine."

A slow smile spread over his face, the first full one she had seen, and it changed the scar.

He lay back against the pillows with his hands folded behind his head.

"Show me," he said.

She straddled his hips and took him in her hand.

He was already hardening again, hot and heavy against her palm, and she stroked him until he hissed.

Then she lifted herself and sank down on him.

This time there was no burn, only a deep, shuddering fullness, and she threw back her head.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, that's so deep."

His hands closed on her hips.

"Ride me," he said. "Take what you want."

She moved.

She rolled her hips in slow circles at first, learning the angle, then faster, her breasts bouncing, her hair swinging across his chest.

His eyes were fixed on her.

"Look at you," he whispered. "My gods, look at you."

Nobody had ever looked at her like that.

Her husband had looked at the ceiling.

The thought flickered and was gone, because Ilarion thumbed her clit in time with her rhythm and the whole room tilted.

"That's it," he said. "Just like that. Show me how you come."

She ground down against him and came again, riding it out, shaking, with her fingers digging into his chest.

He thrust up once, twice, and followed her with a rough shout, spilling deep inside her.

She collapsed on top of him, and his arms came around her and held her there.

His heart thudded under her ear.

"Whatever you're afraid of," he said into her hair, "it isn't in this room."

She closed her eyes and nearly told him.

She slept instead.

The bells of the Cathedral woke her at dawn, and the light through the barred window was pale grey.

Someone was knocking on the tower door.

"My lady." It was the Chamberlain's thin, courteous voice. "His Majesty requests the pleasure of your company at breakfast."

Ilarion's arm tightened around her.

"Alone," said the Chamberlain.

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