Mounting the Throne (Fantasy Cheating Erotica)
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Description
Queen Catrine's felt neglected. She knows what she wants, and the strong embrace of the pure-hearted, hard-bodied Stern is just what she needs. Stern's been lusting for the queen's beautiful, mature body as well. Their only problem is the King - and while he's away, cheaters will play...
"Mounting the Throne" is an adults-only story featuring graphic language and explicit, sinful, knowingly indulgent sex. It's for anyone who's ever felt tempted... or who's dreamed about indulging.
An excerpt:
"I said nothing about a tournament, my huntsman," I said. To be quite frank I had not even thought he would think of a tournament. I had expected him to want to be sponsored to some more pleasant position. "Shift yourself back."
I stepped around him then, even as he looked up at me, without comprehension in those piercing eyes. I reached down to rest one hand on his shoulder, pressing him backwards - gods above, it was like pushing a tree stump, but after a few moments of pressure he did not show himself completely mulish, letting himself shift backwards to land on his fundament with a faint thump.
I could see him now more clearly, without his cloak covering everything. The dagger at his belt, the leathern breeches, the butternut tunic beneath his jerkin. I sank to one knee besides him, reaching forwards with my left hand to pluck the dagger from his belt, the little sliver of sharp steel glinting.
I clucked my tongue, saying after "And what is this, fair huntsman?"
His eyes widened. "My dagger, my queen, I swear to it that I meant no harm and it is merely part of, of, of of of," and here I leaned forwards to place the tip of my finger at his lip. I shushed softly, sliding the dagger in my grasp and settling down beside him.
I guided his arm up and he groaned, not resisting, even as I drew the blade downwards, finding the fastens at his throat and sliding the tip through them. The rawhide gave way, baring inches of throat slowly but surely.
I felt heat rising in my cheeks as I drew the tip of the blade further down, tracing over the seam and watching the rough leather spread itself. I coaxed the left upwards, the dagger comfortable in my hands as I met his eyes.
"Unfasten your leggings," I instructed him.
"Mounting the Throne" is an adults-only story featuring graphic language and explicit, sinful, knowingly indulgent sex. It's for anyone who's ever felt tempted... or who's dreamed about indulging.
An excerpt:
"I said nothing about a tournament, my huntsman," I said. To be quite frank I had not even thought he would think of a tournament. I had expected him to want to be sponsored to some more pleasant position. "Shift yourself back."
I stepped around him then, even as he looked up at me, without comprehension in those piercing eyes. I reached down to rest one hand on his shoulder, pressing him backwards - gods above, it was like pushing a tree stump, but after a few moments of pressure he did not show himself completely mulish, letting himself shift backwards to land on his fundament with a faint thump.
I could see him now more clearly, without his cloak covering everything. The dagger at his belt, the leathern breeches, the butternut tunic beneath his jerkin. I sank to one knee besides him, reaching forwards with my left hand to pluck the dagger from his belt, the little sliver of sharp steel glinting.
I clucked my tongue, saying after "And what is this, fair huntsman?"
His eyes widened. "My dagger, my queen, I swear to it that I meant no harm and it is merely part of, of, of of of," and here I leaned forwards to place the tip of my finger at his lip. I shushed softly, sliding the dagger in my grasp and settling down beside him.
I guided his arm up and he groaned, not resisting, even as I drew the blade downwards, finding the fastens at his throat and sliding the tip through them. The rawhide gave way, baring inches of throat slowly but surely.
I felt heat rising in my cheeks as I drew the tip of the blade further down, tracing over the seam and watching the rough leather spread itself. I coaxed the left upwards, the dagger comfortable in my hands as I met his eyes.
"Unfasten your leggings," I instructed him.
