“Everything alright?” he asks, wrapping me in his arms.
I smile up at him. “Everything’s perfect.”
He leans down and kisses me before moving his lips to my ear. “Is she dead?”
Nodding against him, he thrusts his erection into me, and I scoff, shoving him in the chest.
He chuckles, his hand smoothing from my waist down until he grips my ass. “Such a bad girl, watching a woman drown while I’m steps away promising the people their future.” He presses his lips to mine again, and I moan into his mouth, happiness suffusing through my every pore.
Through it all, we survived. Even though we’ve suffered substantial loss, and even though our souls are stained in black, Tristan somehow makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
And I guess, in a way, I am.
Because my heart belongs to the scarred prince.
The rebels’ savior.
The crowned king of Gloria Terra.
And he made me queen of the ashes.
Epilogue
SEVEN YEARS LATER
“Tristan,” Sara moans. “The people are waiting.”
“So let them wait,” I whisper in her ear.
She’s pushed up against the hallway wall, her skirt around her waist, my cock bobbing free as it slides between her creamy, pale thighs, making me crazy with the need to sink inside of her. And I do, I drive myself deep into her warm, wet hole and start thrusting, desperate to fuck her harder.
Arousal spreads through my nerves until I can’t see straight, love and lust exploding through my pores as my dick spears between her legs, glistening with her every time I pull out.
“Your pussy is a thirsty girl, isn’t she?” I rasp against her, my hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing. “When I don’t have to rule this place anymore, I’m going to spend every single second of the day buried deep inside her, feeding her what she craves.”
Sara moans again, her hands falling to the wall as she pushes back against me, grinding herself on my shaft, as she works to get herself off.
“That’s right, filthy girl.” My hand cracks against her ass cheek, the sound reverberating off the high archways of the hall. “Work that pussy on my dick until you come.”
Her walls flutter around my length, milking my every ridge until my orgasm tears through me, shooting deep inside her, and she—the wretched witch that she is—spins around midway through, my cock pulsing into the air as I groan at the loss of heat. But then she drops to her knees, her perfect little mouth opening wide, and her warm hand wrapping around my thickness, stroking until she drains every drop onto the flat of her tongue.
She smiles and swallows, stuffing me back into my pants and righting her skirts.
Winking, she stands up, running her hand over the jeweled tiara on her head. “Come on, we’re late. Marisol’s going to murder you if my outfit is a mess.”
She moves to walk in front of me, but I reach out, gripping her by her hair and pulling her back until her body slams into mine. I dive down, claiming her mouth, our tongues swirling together and my hands grabbing any part of her they can reach.
Years later, and it never changes. This need for her never goes away.
We’ve rebuilt Saxum from the ground up. New buildings and a new castle we’ve called home for the past three years. And we’ve spread the wealth throughout Gloria Terra, ensuring there aren’t people struggling for food while others have feasts.
I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished.
But I would burn it all down again in a heartbeat at the first threat of losing her.
My need to prove my place in this world has shifted and changed over the years, but the one constant has always been her.
We walk down the hall of our home and open up the double-paned doors, stepping outside onto the large balcony and staring down at our people.
Cheers rise from the crowd, and Sara bounces on her toes, her smile lighting up with the biggest grin I’ve seen in months.
“Are you excited, little doe?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Ma petite menteuse.” I grin. “You still think I don’t know you?” I pull her to me, not caring that we’re in front of thousands of eyes. They all know their king is wild for his queen, let them see just how much.
“I know what your every breath feels like as though it is my own.” Her eyes flutter, and I trail my fingertips down her collarbone. “I know what every heartbeat sounds like because I’ve caused them all under my hand.” I slip my touch even farther down, pressing between her thighs, right against that tattoo I promised I would give her. Tristan’s Property written on her for the rest of our days.