Dirty little confessions.

The price for silence

The door to her rooms swung open without being knocked, and Elena turned and her heart beat slammed her against her ribs. Marcus entered, his wide body stuffing the door, still in the tunic and the leather breeches of his guard, and the sword at his side to remind him that his duty had to be performed. He closed the door behind him with a bang.

“What the hell do you suppose you are up to?” Elena snapped. “You intrude into my rooms uninvited? Out, knight, before I cause you to be flogged.'

Marcus didn't flinch. “Drop the act, little thief.”

The stomach of Elena knotted, and the cold sweat stood up on her skin. She made herself remain calm, yet inwardly, she was panicked. To be exposed was to be scandal, the wrath of the king, possibly exile or still worse. “You can not call me that,” she hissed, and made to stand nearer, in an attempt to lift him with her authority. 'No one saw anything. Stop this nonsense and leave.'

He shook his head slowly. ‘I saw it. My voice counts.”

She stood still, her breath suspended. “What do you want!”

Marcus crossed his arms, and walked up until he was within inches of her. 'You.”

The eyes of Elena were open, and she felt furious. 'You dare? I'm your queen. This is treason!' She pushed his chest, but he did not move, his body was as hard as stone.

'Treason?' He caught her wrists, and just enough to keep her still. 'Tell the king, then. Watch your throne crumble. Or agree, and I keep quiet.'

She yanked her hands free. The room turned a little as she considered it: destruction or obedience. Sexless nights were flashing through her mind, the frustration was accumulating like a storm. But to him? The knight whom she had made fun of so long? “Okay,” she spit, and the word was like ash in her mouth. 'But this changes nothing. You're still beneath me.'

The satisfaction darkened the eyes of Marcus, the resentment he had buried so long coming up in the set of his jaw. He pushed her back against the bed without saying another word and his hands were firm on her shoulders. Elena lost her footing, the side of the mattress scraping the back of her knees, and she fell on the plush quilts, her nightgown still sliding up her legs.

“Stop,” she said, but it was not earnest, her body was already betraying her with an accelerated heartbeat. Marcus towered over her, his breath regular as he took hold of the hem of her dress and pulled it upwards and revealed her naked thighs and the dark curls between them. She had no undergarment and the chill of the air touched her p***y, and she tightened her fists.

“Walking around with no undergarments hm?” He teased.

He didn't hesitate. One hand was holding her thigh open and the other was slipping between her legs and his coarse fingers were locating her folds. Elena involuntarily arched and he rubbed her c**t harshly, and then thrust two fingers into her dry p***y. At first it stung, the penetration was harsh and painful, yet he did not withdraw, pushing them in and out with constant force. “You are not wet yet,” he grumbled, his voice rough, his eyes on her face like a catalogue of her responses. 'But you will be.'

She sucked her lip, and hated the way her body reacted to the rubbing, how her p***y lubricated on his fingers in a few strokes. The heat was creeping down in her belly, and she did not want to get aroused. “Bastard,” she said, and clenched her hands in the sheets. Why did it feel good?

Marcus curled his fingers, rubbing them on her inner walls and she moaned a little, her hips jerking once and then she restrained herself. He grinned again, and pulled away his hand that was slick with her juices. 'See? Your cunt doesn't lie.' He was up, and, with swift movements, threw off his tunic, and showed a chest scarred with battles and drills, and muscles hardened with years of service. then came his breeches, and his c**k leaped out--thick, veined, already hard and curving upwards, the head glittering.

Elena looked at it, and a kind of dread and curiosity turned in her stomach. It was larger than that of her husband. She rose on her elbows, but in a moment Marcus was on her, and seized her wrists and knocked them together above her head with one massive hand.

“ let go,” she said, but her voice shook when he was lying between her legs and his weight was pushing her into the bed. His hand, which was free, led his c**k to her opening, and rubbed the tip over her wet slit.

“No,” he answered, and, with a single push,

Slammed in. Elena screamed, the intrusion burning as her p***y was accommodating his size. He gave her time to adjust to his size and pulled away then struck again, grunting with the thrust . The bed was creaking under them, the rhythm savage, his hips banging up against hers.

“f**k, you are tight,” he growled. The power in him, the queen underneath him, pinned and made to take his d**k, drove him crazy as he slammed into her, harder and faster, mirroring all the humiliation and insults he had suffered in her hands.

The battle within Elena disjointed her thoughts. She despised him because he had robbed her of her control but the fact that she enjoyed it created a pain that she could not ignore. “ Harder,” she said, unconsciously, and then shut her mouth quickly ss she realized what she just did.

He smirked and began to f**k get faster , the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Their bodies were covered with sweat and her p***y milling his c**k as orgasm tightened its coils. She came first, her walls spasming about him, a sharp cry of release broke out as the waves of release rushed through her. It was crude, very intense and she was trembling.

Marcus thrusted a couple of times, his grunts deepening, and drew out with a groan. Hot c*m spurted over her stomach, ropes of it leaving the marks on her skin as he stroked himself to prolong the orgasm.

“Face down, ass up.” He groaned making Elena’s eyes go wide.