King's Virgin Read Online Free

onto the bottom of the tub she rode him, undulating
her hips to match his pace, delighted when his eyes darkened and
another deep groan rumbled up from his chest. The orgasm slammed into
her suddenly, sweeping her away so that she saw a blanket of stars,
and her screams echoed off the walls.
    “ Cordova!”
Lyon shouted as he spurt his seed, this time inside her. Gods, he’d
meant to pull out, but she felt so good that he couldn’t bring
himself to leave her body. She slumped on top of him and he cradled
her head against his chest.
    Cordova curled into
his lap, content to listen to his heartbeat gradually slowing. She
knew they couldn’t stay this way forever—the water would
cool eventually—but she didn’t want him to leave just
yet. He was her only company, after all.
    “ I chose to
make you my mistress because I like your honesty.”
    “ What?”
she looked up at him. Where had this come from?
    “ You asked me
why I spared you yesterday.” He arched his brows. “The
majority of the ladies at court are greedy, conniving creatures—they
will do anything to get into my bed because they want the wealth I
can provide them should I choose, and the prestige of having lain
with the King. But you dared to speak what was on your mind,
regardless of the consequences, and I find that refreshing.” He
stroked her cheek gently. “And despite that hideous dress you
were brought before me wearing, I could already see that none of
those women could hold a candle to your beauty. You are exquisite.”
    “ I still think
you are a tyrant,” she reminded him, doing the best to ignore
the flush of pleasure his words caused. “No amount of
flattering is going to change that.”
    His eyes cooled, the
tenderness leaving them. “That is your choice.” He stood,
water sluicing off his body, and stepped from the tub. “Just
remember that you would do well to remind yourself that you are still
at my mercy. And that for as long as I choose to keep you, your body
is mine to do with as I wish.”
    Cordova watched him
leave, barely refraining from heaving the bar of soap at him. She
wanted to cry in frustration at the hand that fate dealt her, but she
would not. Be strong, she reminded herself. Strong women did not cry
at the drop of a hat.
    ****

    The King did not
return, and Cordova spent the rest of the day in peaceful, if not
lonely solitude. She’d donned her grey dress again, both in
defiance of the King and because she was not yet willing to try on
any of the fine clothes in her new wardrobe, no matter how soft and
wonderful the material looked and felt. The suite had a pantry of
sorts, and she’d helped herself to the dried meats and fruit
within.
    Aside from the guard
who came to deliver her luncheon and supper, she saw no one. The
drawing room had a piano, and so after supper she spent a long while
relearning the keys and practicing the pieces she’d learned in
childhood. Her parents had never been able to afford a piano or a
tutor, but an elderly neighbor who’d owned one had taught her a
few things in her spare time.
    The music relaxed
her, so that she did not notice the King had entered the drawing room
and now stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb as he
watched her play. Her hands flew over the keys with the same depth of
precision that another woman’s might handle a loom—the
difference being that one wove threads, while the other wove sounds
into a tapestry of delight.
    He stood there for a
long time, simply content to listen to her play—which surprised
him. After all, he’d only come down for a quick tumble, to
relieve some of his pent up frustration that the day’s
proceedings had left him with. He knew she didn’t like him,
didn’t approve of his ways, and since he wasn’t going to
try and change that there was no point in cultivating a real
relationship.
    Yet there he stood,
making no move to interrupt her, simply enjoying her as she was.
    Cordova’s
hands stilled as she finished the