His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 238: I Am Not Wearing That

Her trembling thighs. The moment he had entered her for the first time, terrified of hurting her and undone by the way she opened around him. She had been tight, impossibly soft. Every hungry, lonely part of him had found a home inside her body.

Henry dragged a hand over his face. "Damnation," he breathed. He looked down at himself beneath the sheets. His cock was hard, straining beneath the linen.

Wonderful.

He shifted under the coverlet. Perhaps he could relieve himself quickly before she returned. A crude solution, certainly, but a practical one. His hand slipped beneath the sheets, then under the loose linen of his drawers. His fingers closed around his cock, hot and already slick at the tip from wanting her too much.

He stroked himself slowly, biting back a sound. The pressure built nowhere properly. His body wanted release, but his mind rejected the substitute. His fist was not her. The heat around him was not her mouth, not her hand, not the tight velvet welcome of her body. He could chase pleasure alone until dawn and still wake furious because the only cure stood just steps away.

He tried again, tightening his grip, moving faster.

Still nothing.

Only frustration.

After a few minutes, he gave up with a low, bitter exhale and withdrew his hand, sinking deeper into the pillows.

The water stirred again. Henry turned his head. Livia’s silhouette rose from the bath. Tabitha wrapped her in a towel, then began the mysterious ritual of creams, powders, patting, smoothing.

The night rail came next. He watched the dress come on and then heard Livia arguing with Tabitha in whispered hushes.

From the few indignant words that drifted through the curtain, Henry gathered that Livia was not pleased with the night rail Tabitha had chosen.

Excellent.

He smiled into the pillow. Who would have thought Mrs Crowe might one day become his ally? Considering Richard had long been her favoured saint, the development was nothing short of miraculous.

The whispering continued.

"No," Livia hissed from behind the screen.

Tabitha answered too softly for him to hear.

"I am not wearing that."

Another murmur.

A few more minutes passed, filled with the rustle of fabric and Livia’s increasingly offended protests. Henry remained in bed, outwardly composed, inwardly suffering.

At last, Tabitha emerged from behind the curtain with the small coffer in hand.

"All is done, Your Majesty."

Henry turned his head towards her. "She will be making use of this chamber more often. It may be wise to have Stephen arrange a proper dressing space for you here."

"Of course, Sire."

"And whatever she needs brought from her apartments, see that it is done."

"Yes, Sire."

He heard Livia mutter something from behind the curtain that sounded very Italian. He raised his voice. "Are you ever coming out of there, Livia?"

"I am coming," she grumbled.

Henry pushed himself slightly higher against the pillows. Then she appeared. His thoughts stopped.

Fuck.

The word escaped him under his breath. Thank you, Tabitha, he thought grimly. Thank you for making my life infinitely harder.

A thin linen night rail fell to the middle of Livia’s thighs. The sleeves slipped softly from her shoulders, and the bodice—if one could accuse that scrap of lace of being a bodice—cupped her breasts with the most insulting lack of concealment Henry had ever witnessed.

The lace did nothing to hide the darkened peaks of her nipples beneath it. Her skin glowed in the candlelight, still warm from the bath.

He looked at Tabitha. "Leave us."

The order came rougher than intended. Tabitha curtsied immediately, wisely refusing to meet Livia’s furious gaze. The maid retreated with admirable speed, carrying the case with her. She had known exactly what she was doing. All she had done was tune a room already charged with enough tension to set the curtains alight.

Livia stood where she was, awkward and flushed, wrapping her arms around herself. That only worsened matters.

The motion lifted her breasts higher, pressing them against the thin lace until Henry had to grip the sheets to keep from rising. His body hardened again with humiliating immediacy.

Her blush deepened, his hunger became painful. Livia shifted her weight, glancing towards the door as though considering escape.

Henry’s voice lowered. "Come here."

Livia drew her arms tighter around herself. "I’d really like a robe, please."

"Come," Henry said, more firmly this time.

She moved towards the bed. She had barely placed one knee on the mattress when his arm came around her waist. He drew her towards him, lifting her as though she weighed nothing, and settled her over his lap before she could decide whether to protest. Her thighs fell on either side of him.

His erection pressed hard against her through the linen of his drawers and the thin cloth between her legs.

Livia yelped.

Henry groaned.

Both sounds met in the air, equally scandalous. He held her still at once, one hand firm at her waist, the other braced lightly against her hip.

"Your Majesty," she whispered and shifted, looking for escape from the hard length of him pressed directly beneath her. The movement only made matters worse. His jaw tightened, and his fingers dug briefly into her hip.

"Do not move like that unless you mean to kill me." His gaze dropped to where her night rail had ridden up her thighs. "You are magnificent," he breathed.

Livia swallowed. "You said you only wanted company."

"I know what I said. I am trying." His mouth curved faintly, but the strain in him was clear. "God is my witness, I am trying. But I am still a man, Livia. Blood in my veins, breath in my lungs, and the woman I love sitting on my cock."

Her blush deepened. "Which is why I should sleep in a robe."

"Which is why Tabitha should be rewarded with land."

She tried not to laugh.

"Just stay that way for a moment," he murmured. "Please. I am so hard," he said, closing his eyes briefly, "I think I may combust."