Page 32 of Wicked Things

“Please tell me you’re not angry at me over something so trivial as that and something I had no control over. Did you think I enjoyed that little display? I can assure you I didn’t.”

“Let me explain something to you, Braden,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “I’m jealous of what’s mine. And make no mistake about it…you belong to me.”

“I know that,” I said, trying to soothe him. I wasn’t crazy about the fact he was talking about me like I was some kind of possession again, as we’d had this conversation before, but he was a king and a Faery, and both were quite literally a law unto themselves.

“If I were to ever catch you allowing another man to pay you close attention,” he said, his voice dropping to the low timbre that let me know he was close to losing his mind with anger. “To put his lips and his hands on you…I’ll take great pleasure in splitting his skull down the middle right in front of you.”

I gasped and took a quick step backward, but he turned and reached for me, pulling me right back to him. I clutched the front of his tunic, and gazed up searchingly into his eyes,

my breath coming in little gasps. His cock was hard against my stomach, and he bent to kiss me again, using his tongue to explore my mouth thoroughly until I was completely out of breath and tugging wildly on him for air. He relented and allowed me to take a few breaths as he dropped his hand to my groin. “Do you hear me, Braden? There will be no other men for you. Tell me you understand me.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” I said, gasping out the words as Fionn ruthlessly shoved down the leggings I was wearing and began to stroke me, ignoring my distressed little cries and halfhearted attempts to squirm away. I really wasn’t trying very hard. The whimpers and squeals I was making at the rough treatment he was giving me were apparently like music to his ears and only spurred him on to greater displays of dominance. Like I knew they would.

“I’ll kill him first and make you watch, and then I’ll fuck you next to his dead body,” he muttered. I nodded mindlessly in agreement, having lost the ability to speak and probably even to listen.

“Do you understand, a chuisle? Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, my lord.”

He pushed in closer and ground against me, then stuck two fingers in my mouth. “Get them wet,” he growled. I sucked them, not because I was afraid of him, but because his breath was hot on my ear and his hand was fisting my rapidly hardening cock. As usual, I had no resistance to him. Why would I resist him? His attention was everything I craved. Fionn made a sound of approval before pulling his fingers away and rubbing them over the crevice of my ass. He began to work my hole with determination and skill, and I made an airless sound. He grinned down at me.

“You’re mine,” he growled and I turned my head, baring my neck to him instinctively. Fionn bent toward me, sucking up a huge mark, and I thought that he’d like to put those marks all over me if he could. And he very well might before we left this pavilion again. I knew what he wanted at that moment. He would bind me to him so tightly I’d never escape and no amount of flirting from handsome young men would ever dislodge me from his bed. All the reservations I thought he might have had at the beginning of this thing between us were gone—irrevocably conquered by the sight of another man who had only wanted to insult him and make him jealous. Of course, he’d seen through Tadgh’s stupid little stunt—but it had still worked. Another man daring to touch what was his? It was never going to happen.

He plundered me with his fingers, and I screamed a little, muffled quickly by his hand on my mouth. He quickly lowered me to the pallet and eased off my clothes, when I knew he wanted to rip them off instead. He was afraid of hurting me in his present state. Keeping my body pinned down with his, Fionn kept up his relentless assault on my body. He lifted my legs to wrap around his hips, and I realized I had no chance to win this battle, nor did I even want to. All I could do was surrender and hope for mercy. I shouted out again, even louder this time, as Fionn pushed one finger all the way inside and crooked it to find what he was searching for. My eyes rolled back in my head and I stiffened, spurting long streams of milky cum onto Fionn’s stomach. I swooned as Fionn’s hand milked me for every drop, and my head went forward to nestle between Fionn’s shoulder and his neck.

I could smell the delicious, slightly floral scent that all the Faeries seemed to have. He was so aroused at this point that it took only a few seconds for him to thrust his cock inside me and begin to pound me, hard and fast. He came as hard as I had, and his semen seeped down to land between my thighs.

Fionn held me as we both slowly recovered, his prick still twitching inside me, and his eyes gradually beginning to focus again. He stared down at me, still joined to my body and began to familiarly handle my balls with his hand, giving me little rest or respite as he readied himself for round two. I moaned, but he only smiled down at me as his cock slowly filled again inside me.

“Perhaps I’ll ride you until you beg me to stop,” he said, looking down into my eyes.

“Then we’d be here all night, and even longer than that. We might not even make it to my father’s service.”

“Once more then, mo chroi. For now.”

Chapter Thirteen

The memorial service began at sunset two days later. It was blessedly brief and took place in a square in the center of Goriana. Head councilor Oisín explained that the road to the palace was too steep and curvy for foot traffic, and I definitely agreed, seeing as how the entire population seemed to have shown up for this.

Fionn was anxious to have the coronation done before we left for home, so he had changed his mind and decided to do it at the end of the memorial service for my father. No one seemed to object to this, though I thought we should have waited a day or so out of respect for the late king. Never let it be said, however, that Faeries in general and King Fionn in particular were overly sentimental or worried about showing proper regard for an occasion. Proper etiquette was not their forte.

Fionn chose to wear his white cloak, emblazoned with the rampant lion that was the sigil of his house, over a gold tunic, tied with a leather belt. His sword was at his side, as always. And as always, he looked stately, handsome and aristocratic.

My late father’s funeral had already taken place way before we arrived, so this was a simple unveiling of his memorial stone, and another way to honor him. The stone would stay here in the square for now before being moved back to the temple grounds and the ancient royal cemetery there. The stone was tall and slate gray, carved with the likeness of a noble looking man with long hair down to his shoulders. Engraved beneath his likeness was a name and date that I presumed to be the dates of his rule in Gorias. I’d been afraid they might want me to say something, but thankfully, the priestesses handled the entire service. I allowed the words to wash over me, without thinking about them too much, and though I felt a stinging, prickly sensation on my skin during all the religious parts of the ceremony, I got through it.

It was after the service ended that my lord rose to his feet and held out a hand to me. I took it, not sure what he was intending and was surprised when he drew me to my feet and began walking toward the steps leading up to the dais. When we got to the top step, he turned to face the crowd.

“I am King Fionn of Murias, and this is my consort, Braden, the son of the late King Callum of Gorias and the enchantress Naimh.”

He pronounced it like “neev,” which totally surprised me as I’d been apparently mispronouncing it for years. Again, “Hild,” my mother’s real name, was so much easier. But then that wasn’t the way she liked to be called.

“Shortly before he died, “ Fionn continued, and I tried to focus, “the late King Callum called me here to his palace in Goriana—to his deathbed—and he told me he didn’t trust any of those who were vying to become heir to his throne. He asked me to take the throne instead, and he made it a condition of this bargain that I would bring his son home and marry him. I was fortunate to be the one he turned to. As King Callum and Naimh never married, Braden was illegitimate and only half Faery. He has had no experience or training in being a king, so my consort is not eligible to be the king’s heir, no matter how much Callum wished for it. He thought this would be the next best thing, and he said so in writing. His signature was witnessed by his council.”

Surprisingly, there were some cheers among the spectators, and no one looked upset or angry—none of the common people, that is. I looked in the direction of the councilors and noblemen who constituted the late king’s family members and saw a distinct difference. There was, among those who had perhaps wished to rise to prominence themselves, an exchange of guarded glances, shifting feet and many scowls. I tried to ignore them.

Councilman Oisín came forward with a silver crown laid out on a small golden square of cloth. He held up the crown for all to see and then held it out to Fionn, who placed it on his head. Fionn then turned toward the crowd of onlookers.

“All things I have promised, I will perform and keep. So help me, goddess."