❝you think Achilles was of impressive descent?
touch me one more time❞
The one where King Edward IV is captivated by Charlotte Neville and their love has far-reaching consequences. For Charlotte had a place in Edward's heart no one could tear her fr...
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His lips hot on her shoulder. Sinful gasps escaping her mouth.
Charlotte tried not to think about the night before as she prepped for the feast that night.
She'd avoided Edward easily that day, her father keeping him occupied with matters of state and she'd spent most of the day with her sisters. But she couldn't stop thinking of what had happened. The feeling between her thighs, the heat growing inside her...it was too much.
Hands moved to her back, unlaced the strings of her nightdress, leaving her bare for him to ravish.
She couldn't explain the frustration she'd felt at his absence, or the desire she now felt to see him. It was wrong, her mind knew that, but he was a puzzle she had yet to figure out.
Alluring and seductive, and she had nothing else of interest left to occupy her thoughts. Nothing except for the feast tonight.
Her mouth met his as he let out an all-consuming groan, her hands wrapping themselves around his back, their bodies pressing closer together.
She wondered if he'd be there, but a masquerade ball really didn't seem like it would appeal to him. Yet, a voice reminded her in her head, he was the king. He had to be there.
Yes, she had grown up with him but their lessons had been different and most of the time, she'd been cooped up inside. And, even when she achieved a bit of liberty, it was always Edmund she chose to spend her time with. He was the safer option.
His hands moved to between her thighs, parted them and met her center, started to do unspeakable things to her.
But, they had grown closer these past months. The barely touched sheets in either of their beds each morning was mere confirmation for it. A part of her was still holding back though. She wanted to give him her all, but she still hesitated even when he said he was making headway in freeing himself of his engagement. That wasn't what she wanted. She did not want to be the whore who sent them into war with France, the whore who would start the Cousins' War again.
Her head thrown back, a moan escaping her lips. He aligned himself with her center and...she pulled away, grasping the sheets around her.
Marie laced the back of her dress, claiming her attention.
"I'm sorry," Marie winced as the dress was pulled even tighter around her bodice, pushing her breasts up so they peeked out the neckline.
The dress was one of her father's choosing. He had gifted it to her when he delivered the news of Edmund's death. Its color had been the first indication something had gone wrong, since crimson was for Lancasters, not for Yorks.
Finally, the gown was laced properly, and Marie backed away so she could observe herself in the mirror.
She immediately understood why her father had chosen this gown specifically.
