His Queen: Chapter 9

“What is that smell?” Alexius points his nose upward as we enter the foyer. “Is that…Is something burning?”

“Oh, shit,” I curse, closing the door behind me. “Mira.”

“What about her?”

“That smell is Mirabella cooking.”

Alexius frowns in confusion. “Mira? Cooking?”

“Yeah,” I say as I start down the hall toward the kitchen. “I’ll go make sure she doesn’t burn down the house. You go and check if the insurance is up to date in case I fail.”

I reach the kitchen the size of a small apartment, the air filled with the thick, pungent aroma of something charred. In the middle, there is an enormous oak table piled high with onion skins, shredded lettuce, and used spoons. There’s no staff in sight. It’s only Mirabella fanning a dishtowel vigorously around the stove, trying to get rid of the smoke coming from what I assume was once a piece of steak in the skillet. I can still hear the meat sizzle and pop as it continues to cook to oblivion.

Instead of rushing in like a knight in shining armor, I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe, admiring the sight of my wife among the chaos, scurrying around the kitchen and wielding utensils. I’ve never seen her wear an apron before, and I’m kind of disappointed it’s not the only thing she’s wearing. Her honey-kissed hair is tied in a messy bun, wisps of it clinging to her flushed cheeks, red from the stovetop heat.

“What a beautiful mess you are,” I say, smiling when she abruptly turns and finds me staring at her.

“Nicoli, you weren’t supposed to be home for another hour.” She exhales a rush of air that rustles the strands of hair falling over her face.

I shrug. “I decided early to call it a night.”

“But I’m not done yet.”

“Done with what?” I ask with a raised brow and a tongue-in-cheek chuckle. “Burning down the house?”

“That’s not funny,” she snaps, pulling the apron off and throwing it on the floor.

“Even when you’re attempting to burn down the house, you manage to take my breath away,” I say with a smile, finding the entire fiasco amusing.

“Well, I’m glad this ordeal is making you happy,” Mirabella huffs, tossing the burnt steak into the garbage bin with a clatter. “I wanted to make something special for us tonight, but clearly, that’s not happening.”

“Babe, relax. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is to me. I wanted to cook you a nice dinner. You know? Like a real wife does for her husband.”

“You are a real wife, baby. You’re my wife.”

“I know. But the picture I have in my head about how it’s supposed to be is different than—” She wipes at some sauce on her cheek, only to leave more smudges of red on her nose. “—than this. I can’t even cook, Nicoli. How am I supposed to feed our children one day when I can’t cook?” There’s a shimmer in her eyes, a glimmer of an unshed tear. There’s certainly nothing remotely amusing about her insecurity, but there’s this prickle of excitement in the center of my stomach hearing her mention our children. It’s not a subject we’ve discussed at length, but during the times we have, it was clear to me that she wasn’t ready. Fuck. Maybe I’m not, either. There’s just something about this woman having my children that awakes this primal urge in me to plant my seed in her womb, watch her belly grow, her breasts, see how she morphs from my hummingbird to my lioness—fiercely protecting our children the way I will protect my family. She might not know it yet, but she will be an amazing mother…when she’s ready. And when that day comes, God knows I’ll be more than ready.

“Hey,” I start stepping farther into the kitchen, “just because you can’t cook the food doesn’t mean you can’t feed our children one day. We have three chefs, for God’s sake. They won’t go hungry. I can promise you that.”

“I know that, but it’s not the same.” She pouts, wiping her hands and chucking the kitchen towel on the counter. “I want to at least know how to make them pancakes or a decent plate of scrambled eggs that aren’t rubbery.”

I snicker. “We still have time. I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to learn how to cook scrambled eggs before we have kids someday.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” She sighs and tries to hide her eyes from me to conceal the embarrassment she shouldn’t be feeling in the first place.

I reach out and wrap my arms around her waist. “Some days, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Maybe then you’ll know just how fucking perfect you are.”

“Hmm,” she hums with suspicion. “Are you about to ease your way into foreplay, Mr. Del Rossa?”

“Ease? No, baby girl. You know there’s no easing into anything when it comes to me. So, how about I just eat you out here on the table?”

Her brow slant inward. “That is the worst pun ever.”

With a tug, I pull her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around me as I move forward, sweeping everything off the oak table with a loud clatter, placing her sweet ass on top of it. “I really don’t care if you think it’s the worst pun. It’s the truth.”

“I wanted dinner to be special tonight.”

“Believe me, Hummingbird. It’s not the food that’ll make tonight special.” I press a kiss against her neck, enjoying how her pulse quickens under my lips.

“Then what, in your opinion, will make tonight special?” she murmurs as her body relaxes against mine.

Slowly, my fingers move from button to button on her blouse, loosening them until the fabric hangs loose, revealing the curves of her breasts hidden under a white lace bra. “The number of times I can make you come on this expensive oak table.”

Mirabella’s eyes widen and her cheeks flush, but I can see the desire in them. “Oh,” she breathes.

I tilt my head and catch her eye, a mischievous grin spreading across my face, then lean in to kiss her deeply. My tongue glides past hers in a slow, sultry dance as I snake an arm around her back, jerking her closer to the edge and harder against me, feeling the heat between us building. Her hands tangle in my hair as she arches into me. She tastes like sugar, the smell of burnt steak and garlic dissipating, replaced with that familiar musk that always surrounds her when we get like this—a scent that drives me fucking wild.

The soft, steady moans that fall from her perfect lips as I trail kisses down her jawline is the most erotic sound I’ll ever hear. She whimpers even louder as I continue lower until I am lightly biting at her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra. With a grin, I pull it aside roughly and take one fully into my mouth, causing her to arch against me with a gasp. Her skin is smooth and silky under my fingertips, where I’ve reached up to hold the back of her neck. My pulse starts to race as her hands find their way to my belt buckle, deftly unbuckling it before dipping inside my pants to wrap her fingers around me with an eager grip. “Someone can walk in,” she whispers breathlessly.

“Let them. Lift your ass, baby girl.” Her arms tighten around my neck as she lifts herself, and I quickly pull her tights off, yanking them over and off her legs, dropping them to the floor.

“This is not how I imagined tonight going,” she murmurs.

“What? You didn’t think we’d end up having sex?”

“Of course, I knew that part. I just thought it would happen after dinner and definitely not on the kitchen table.”

“It’s the unexpected fuckery that keeps things interesting.” I lick my lips, anticipating the night ahead as I trail two fingers down her thigh and then up between her legs. “You know what would be a better sight to witness than you destroying a kitchen?”

“Do tell.”

“Watching people eat off the table I fucked you on so good and hard, your juices seeped through the grooves in the wood,” I purr softly into her ear before tugging at it with my teeth and kissing a path back down the soft skin of her neck.

“You’re a special kind of freak, husband,” she says with a wicked grin, and I force two fingers inside her without warning or preamble, replacing that smirk with lips forming an O as she gasps. Her arms drop to my waist, her palms digging into my ass, and she suddenly stills, staring at me, her expression unreadable.

I’m frozen as she slides her hand into my pocket, pulling out my Espada pocketknife, clutching it between her delicate fingers. There’s no need for her to say anything. Her thoughts are written in her forest-green eyes as she looks at me, clutching the metal blade.

Her gaze nails me in place as every logical thought I have vanishes. I breathe out, silently fighting the desire that flares within me like an erupting volcano, destroying everything in its path.

We don’t speak. All she does is hold the knife out to me in the palm of her hand.

The game is about to change into something raw and corrupt in a place where there’s no coming back.

Cautiously, I take the cold blade. My fingers tighten unconsciously as power floods my system, tingling with anticipation. The blood pounds in every vein and vessel in my body, stirring my need into a frenzy. My mind is buzzing as I unfold the blade, though my movements are measured and assured.

For a moment more, we linger in silence before her eyes drop from mine to focus on the object in my hand as if willing me to make use of it. It’s there in every line on her beautiful face. She understands that this isn’t about violence but pleasure—something we both need.

I lightly drag the tip of the blade up her naked thigh, watching her creamy skin erupt with goosebumps. I draw a tiny circle and hear her breath shudder in response. Trust pulses between us like a vein. It’s thick and alive, flowing with an energy you can feel all the way to the bone. I’m barely fucking breathing as the knife glints on her skin with an edge as sharp and clear as the connection we share.

My gaze cuts to hers, searching for the permission she’s already granted. God, the risk. The risk is too much, but the temptation is too strong. I want to see the dark crimson pool on her ivory skin when she comes. I want to feel the surrender in her trembling body as she trusts me implicitly with her life.

Her eyes flash with sensuous heat, her gaze never leaving me, but I see the way the vein in her neck races with anticipation. Or is it fear? Why do I hope it’s fear?

I bite my bottom lip when Mira wraps her fingers around my cock, guiding me closer to her cunt.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, but I keep the blade on her thigh.

“I know,” she whispers. “But I need you to do this.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to feel what you feel.” My cock touches her swollen pussy lips. “I want to witness you come undone with me, experience your pleasure…even if it means pain. Do it,” she urges, flexing her hips, letting the head of my dick slip inside her.

With a low growl, I lean my head down, lips parted, staring at the knife. “Do you trust me?” I ask, cutting my gaze back to hers.

“You know I do.”

I pull back, and she lets go of my length, her brows furrowed in question. But the second she feels the blunt end of my knife press against her opening, she sucks air through her teeth, her eyes fluttering shut, long lashes fanning her flushed cheeks. Inch by inch, I start pushing the handle inside her, studying her expression, making sure I see nothing but desire mark her face.

“How does it feel, baby girl?” I ask, pushing farther to see just how far she’ll let me go. And when she moans loud and long in response, I turn the knife in a slow circle inside her tight little walls. Her chest is rising and falling, her breaths rapid and deep. “Tell me how my knife feels inside you.”

Her lips part. “Nicoli, I’m going to… Oh, God.” Her head falls back, and her body trembles as she comes, a flood of warmth gushing from inside her, soaking my hand settled between her thighs. Her hips move as she rides my knife so brazenly. She can’t stop herself. She doesn’t care about the risks involved, that this knife could cut her, tear her apart and make her bleed. She only cares about the pleasure that now consumes her, her body shaking as the wave recedes. My dick throbs violently. I’ve never been this close to coming just by watching an orgasm slash through her.

Carefully, I withdraw the knife from her soaked pussy, leaning closer, letting my lips touch her ear. “You didn’t scream for me, Hummingbird,” I rasp. “Now I’ll just have to fuck you until you do.”

I’m still clutching the knife when I pull her off the table, and in one swift movement, she’s turned around, bent over with her ass facing me. Her shirt covers too much of her exquisite flesh, so I slice the blade through the fabric, leaving only strips of silk clinging to the sexy curves of her body. My insides are pulled taut as I touch the tip of the blade next to her spine, dragging it upward to her shoulder blades.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” I whisper, wanting her to beg for it as I tease the tip of my cock to her entrance.

She takes a shuddery breath, whipping her hair over her shoulders as she glances back at me. “Use the knife on my skin,” she says without a single moment’s hesitation. There’s no trace of uncertainty in her voice, zero fear in her gleaming irises.

“One cut,” I growl with a low whisper. “One cut is all you get.”

With a slight pressure, the blade parts the flesh right between her shoulder blades, crimson instantly pooling around the blade, and just as she cries out, I spear into her warm tightness, my cock stretching her, replacing beautiful pain with exquisite pleasure.

My orgasm is imminent, my hips pounding, my rhythm out of my control. It’s just too damn much. My senses are flooded—the sound of her sensual moans, the sight of her bleeding for me, the feel of her cunt. It’s sensory overload, and I just can’t stop it.

“Nicoli,” she whimpers.

“Scream,” I groan, knowing I’m about to come with her.

A final cry of pleasure is wrenched from her throat as my name echoes through the air, and I jackhammer into her until, finally, I’m spilling inside. My entire body shakes from a crescendo of pleasure that’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s liberating, allowing her a glimpse of my depravity.

I always thought she was different, that she didn’t belong in this sin-stained world filled with violence, cruelty, and blood. A world I fucking thrive in.

But now…now I realize I’ve been wrong all along.

So very wrong.

Because my hummingbird…she’s exactly like me.