Chapter 43: The Not So Wet Dream
Thorne’s fingers moved inside her...slow, deliberate, hitting spots that made her vision blur.
His thumb found her clit and pressed.
Morgana cried out.
"She’s close," Kaelen said, watching with hungry eyes.
"I know." Thorne’s gaze was locked on her face. "I can feel her tightening around my fingers."
He increased the pace, his thumb circling her clit, and Morgana’s body began to shake.
Behind her, Draeven pinched her nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.
"Come now, Morgana" Thorne commanded.
And she did.
Her body shattered, pleasure crashing through her in waves so intense she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel.
Thorne’s fingers didn’t stop.
He kept moving, prolonging her orgasm until she was sobbing, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Finally....finally, he withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean.
"Delicious," he murmured.
Morgana’s vision swam.
And then she was being lifted.
Draeven carried her to a massive bed that hadn’t been there a moment ago and laid her down on silk sheets.
All three of them surrounded her.
Draeven on her right.
Kaelen on her left.
Thorne between her spread thighs.
Kaelen’s smile was sharp. "We’re going to take you apart, little maid. Piece by piece."
Before she could respond, Draeven’s mouth closed over her breast, sucking hard.
Kaelen’s hand slid between her thighs, his fingers replacing Thorne’s.
And Thorne....
Thorne lowered his head and dragged his tongue along her slit.
Morgana screamed.
They devoured her.
There was no other word for it.
Draeven’s mouth on her breasts, biting and sucking until she was arching into him.
Kaelen’s fingers inside her, thrusting deep and hard while his thumb worked her clit.
Thorne’s tongue lapping at her core, tasting every inch of her, driving her higher and higher.
She came again.
And again.
Until she lost count.
Until she couldn’t tell where one orgasm ended and the next began.
Until her body was nothing but heat and need and desperate, broken pleasure.
"Please," she sobbed. "Please, I can’t...."
"You can," Draeven growled against her breast. "And you will."
Kaelen’s fingers curled inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars. "You’re ours, Morgana. Say it."
"I...I can’t...."
"Say it." Thorne’s voice was commanding, his tongue flicking over her clit.
"I’m yours!" she screamed. "I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours...."
Thorne pulled back, his eyes blazing.
And then he was positioning himself at her entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against her.
"This is going to hurt," he warned.
"Your Majesty...I don’t think it will....," she gasped. "Please...."
He thrust inside her in one smooth stroke.
Morgana’s back arched off the bed, a scream tearing from her throat.
He was huge.
Stretching her, filling her, claiming her in a way that felt primal and inevitable and right.
Thorne stilled, giving her a moment to adjust.
Then he began to move.
Slow at first.
Deep, deliberate thrusts that made her entire body shake.
Draeven’s mouth found hers, swallowing her moans.
Kaelen’s hand slid to her clit, circling, teasing.
And Thorne....
Thorne fucked her like he owned her.
Like she was his.
The pleasure built again, impossibly higher, impossibly more intense.
"I’m going to..." Morgana gasped. "I’m going to...."
"Come," Thorne commanded, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. "Come now, Morgana."
She shattered.
Her body convulsed, pleasure so overwhelming it bordered on pain, and she screamed.
And as she came, she felt something inside her shift.
Something deep and fundamental and terrifying.
As if a door had opened that could never be closed again.
Morgana woke with a gasp.
She was in her small room above the stables, tangled in her blanket, her body drenched in sweat.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Her thighs were slick.
And between her legs, she was aching.
She pressed her hands to her face, trying to breathe.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
But it had felt so real.
She could still feel their hands on her skin.
Still taste Draeven’s kiss.
Still feel the stretch of Thorne inside her.
Her body throbbed with unfulfilled need, and she squeezed her thighs together, trying to suppress it.
It didn’t help.
If anything, it made it worse.
With trembling hands, she slid one hand between her thighs.
She was soaked.
Gods.
She shouldn’t.
She shouldn’t.
But her body didn’t care.
Her fingers found her clit and circled...once, twice, and she came with a broken gasp, her body shuddering, her hand pressed to her mouth to muffle the sound.
But even as the pleasure faded, the ache remained.
Because no matter how many times she touched herself, it wouldn’t be enough.
Nothing would be enough.
Morgana curled onto her side, pulling the blanket around herself, and tried not to cry.
What is happening to me?
***
*One Week After*
The grand sitting room reserved for the noble daughters was designed to look like a jewel box.
High, vaulted ceilings painted with scenes of courtly romance. Tall windows draped in heavy silk that filtered the afternoon light into soft, golden rays. Plush velvet furniture arranged in conversational clusters. A massive fireplace where a fire crackled cheerfully, providing warmth and the illusion of comfort.
It was, in essence, a beautiful cage.
Twenty women occupied the room this afternoon, and the air between them was thick with frustration, boredom, and barely concealed resentment.
Some were embroidering, their needles moving with mechanical precision, their eyes staring at nothing. It was busywork, a way to keep hands occupied while minds spiraled. Lady Portia, daughter of a wealthy merchant family from the southern provinces, had been working on the same piece of silk for three weeks. She had no idea what she was embroidering anymore.
Some were playing cards, quiet games that required little attention and provided an acceptable excuse to avoid conversation. Lady Margaret and Lady Elise sat near the window, their cards spread before them, but neither woman was truly focused on the game. Their minds were elsewhere. On home, perhaps. On families waiting for news. On the slow, creeping realization that this endeavor was failing.
Some simply stared out the windows at the palace grounds below, watching servants move through gardens, watching guards patrol, watching a world that continued on while they sat trapped in this room.
It had been nearly four weeks since they arrived.
Four weeks of smiling. Of curtseying. Of wearing their best gowns and perfuming their hair and practicing their conversations until they sounded rehearsed and hollow.
Four weeks of being displayed before the three most powerful men in the realm.
And not one of them had progressed beyond the initial selection.
Not one of them had been summoned back.
Not one of them had, in any meaningful way, caught the attention of a king.