It was without a doubt the most delicious embrace she had ever in all of her young life experienced. Her late, and not lamented, husband had certainly never kissed her like this. Fancy sighed deeply.
He laughed softly, and her eyes flew open to find him smiling. “You like being kissed,” he noted with understatement. Two of his fingers ran lightly over her lips teasingly.
She nodded kissing the fingers.
“What else do you like?” he asked her. “If we are to please each other, I would know.”
Fancy shook her head. “I don’t really know,” she admitted.
“Then we must try to ascertain that information,” the king told her seriously, but his dark eyes were filled with amusement.
“I suppose we must,” Fancy agreed cheerfully.
“It will be difficult in all those petticoats,” he noted.
“Then I must remove them, but should you not also remove a garment, Your Majesty?” She felt bold enough now to tease him.
“I am of the exact same opinion,” he acknowledged. Sitting down upon the bed, the king removed first his shoes and then, standing up, his claret velvet breeches, even as Fancy struggled from her heavy skirts, and her several petticoats. “You are still wearing your shoes,” he noted.
Fancy sat upon the edge of the bed and boldly held out first one foot to him and then the other. He drew the greenish-blue silk slippers with their turquoise and pearl buckles from her slim feet and set them aside. Then he knelt and taking a foot in his hand began to massage it between his palms. Her eyes widened with surprise.
“What delicious little feet you have,” he noted, and he began to cradle her other foot, rubbing it with strong fingers. “And you wear silk calecons. How charming! But they must come off, my darling.” His big hand slid up her legs, beneath her lace-trimmed drawers, drawing them down and off. Only her silk stockings with their green and blue vines and her silver garters remained to give the illusion of modesty. His hands smoothed over her bare thighs. His eyes admired the thick dark bush of tight curls between them.
“Turn about, Majesty,” Fancy said softly.
The king stood, grinning. Seating himself again, he removed his stockings and garters. Then standing once more, he pulled off his silk drawers before kneeling before her once more. “Lie back,” he said, and when she complied with his request, he began to undo her garters. Then he slowly rolled her stockings from her shapely legs. His hands slid over her calves and down her ankles.
Fancy was trembling with excitement. These last few minutes were the most thrilling she had ever known. If he did nothing more, she would have been satisfied, but then suddenly she realized that she wouldn’t be at all. Even knowing what was to come, she welcomed it, for she had never imagined that a man could be so tender with a woman. He gently spread her milky thighs, and his dark head pushed between them. She drew a hard, sharp breath as he did so, and then a far more audible gasp of surprise as he parted her nether lips with strong fingers, and she felt the tip of his tongue touching her in a most incredibly intimate manner.
A man who had always been sensitive to women, the king raised his head a moment, asking her, “This has never been done to you?”
“No,” she whispered, “but I do not think I want you to cease.” She heard him chuckle as his head was once again lowered. At first there was just the sensation of his broad tongue stroking her. But then he seemed to find the most sensitive spot hidden within those folds of moist and sentient flesh. The movements of his tongue became more sensuous, and then as she responded with growing ardor, which was evidenced by her little cries, the tongue flicked relentlessly back and forth over that aching bud until she felt a distinct snap within her body and a wave of warmth, coupled with pure pleasure, swept over her.
The king’s body was now covering hers. His manhood began to insinuate itself into the warmth and drenching wet of her love passage. He had meant to draw out his love play a bit longer, but her delightful enthusiasm had roused him more quickly than he had been roused in a very long time. She was as eager and as willing as he was. Then a look of complete surprise came over his face. He had just found his forward passage very much impeded. He drew back slightly and pushed gently ahead once more, but the previously easy path was most definitely blocked. “You are a virgin!” he gasped, and he struggled to maintain control over himself.
“No!” Fancy cried, “I cannot be!”
“We will not now debate the point,” the king said through gritted teeth. “This will pain you, but only briefly, I swear.” Then he thrust through her virgin shield in one quick motion, burying himself deeply within her love sheath with a groan.
It stung. There was a quick sensation of burning, and then it was gone. She felt him inside her, but the feeling was not at all unpleasant. He began to move on her now with slow, masterful strokes of his manhood.
“Oh!” Fancy exclaimed. “Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhh!” A wave of utter delight washed over her. She had never before known such a sensation. Stars began to explode behind her closed eyelids. His rhythm and acceleration increased. Her body was overfull with new feelings. She soared, and as she did she cried out, and then she wept uncontrollably. He kissed away the tears on her cheeks, all the while thrusting and pulling until with a great cry his big body stiffened, and she felt the rush of his juices as they poured forth, filling her. As he collapsed upon her, Fancy swooned with uncontrollable excitement.
When the king came to himself a moment later, he rolled off his beautiful lover and then gathered her into his arms. She lay softly against his broad, smooth chest. She had been a virgin, and yet she claimed that she was not. What had happened to make her believe that she wasn’t a virgin? He knew in time she would tell him the secret of her husband’s death, but this other he had to know now. She murmured low against him, and his arms instinctively tightened about her. There had been so many women in his life. Lucy Walter had given him his first son before he had been forced to flee England during the civil wars. And sweet Elizabeth Killigrew had given him a daughter two years later while he was on the run. And there had been Catherine Pegge’s lad, born also in his exile. And then there was Barbara Villiers, his first real maitress en titre. Beautiful, sensual, greedy Barbara. She had given him five children, and attempted to foist a sixth on him, but he had known the sixth was not his and denied her. Her unfaithfulness was his escape. And recently Nellie Gwyn, saucy and greedy, but a good heart.
And now there was Fancy Devers. For he intended making her his mistress. She was not a woman to quickly bed and then discard. No. Fancy was a lover he would keep. She would be a nice balance with Nellie, and he knew she would be respectful of the queen. But first he needed to learn why this lovely girl had believed she wasn’t a virgin.
Chapter 4
Fancy moaned slightly, then sighed deeply. The smell of sandalwood touched her nostrils. Opening her eyes she discovered that she was cuddled in the king’s embrace and lying upon his chest. She raised her head and met his glance. It was warm. “That was wonderful,” she said to him. “Is it always that wonderful? Or is it just wonderful with Your Majesty?”
He grinned and then chuckled, flattered. “While I should like to tell you that it is only me,” he said, “I am certain there are any number of gentlemen who please their ladies in a like fashion, my dear. But now we must talk.”
“Oh?” She sounded distinctly disappointed. “I was rather hoping that we might do it again, Your Majesty,” Fancy told him.
