I’m using King Henry’s face, just as the Boogie Man used my throat when he flooded grandma’s garden with all that cum.
An orgasm tears through my insides like an inferno, setting every nerve alight. Molten ecstasy surges through my entire body, stretching down to my toes and up the sensitive skin of my scalp.
My back arches as spasm after spasm seizes my limbs, threatening to launch me off the bed. I lurch forward and grab King Henry’s thick erection, squeezing out streams of precum that drizzle over my fingers.
All concerns for the unmoving man evaporate under the heat of my climax.
A deep voice chuckles. “You moan so prettily in your sleep, Alienor.”
It’s raspier than Henry’s and tinged with bitterness.
The face beneath my pussy vanishes, and the room goes dark.
What the hell?
My eyes snap open. I’m no longer in the four-poster bed, and there’s no more scent of lavender. Moonlight streams in from the window, and there isn’t a heavy curtain in sight.
The man gazing down at me is wickedly beautiful, his eyes no longer the soft, green hue of King Henry. They’re sharp and bright and malevolent.
I’m in bed with the Boogie Man.
How the fuck did he enter my cottage?
ChapterTwenty-Five
HENRY
Alienor is even more alluring when she sleeps.
I am not just saying that because she gives me food.
There is a radiance to her that transcends beauty, an unspoiled innocence that soothes my inner beast. Her sweet scent fills my nostrils. As a hound, I can discern each delectable note: vanilla, orange blossoms, peach, and lemon with subtle hints of jasmine and rose.
How could I have ever mistaken this sweet maiden for my treacherous wife?
My queen’s nubile young descendent is the epitome of kindness. The love she gives me fills my chest to the point of bursting.
Stray fibers from my withered heart ache as she cuddles into my fur. I want that creamy skin rubbing against mine.
Even if it’s just for a moment.
Closing my eyes, I shift back into my two-legged form. Alienor’s head rests in the juncture of my shoulder with the rest of her body tucked into my side.
Since she touched me first, the magic protecting her allows our skin to connect, and when she sighs in her sleep, her nipples brush against my skin.
That’s when it registers that she is naked.
Sensation rushes to my cock, making it swell harder and faster than ever. If I wasn’t already lying down, I’d become light-headed from the movement of blood.
“Alienor,” I say with a groan. “What are you doing to me?”
I feel nineteen all over again, a boy in his first flush of love. Eight centuries ago, I was too blinded by Queen Alienor’s magnetism. I was on the verge of becoming the King of England, and she had been the Queen of France and the most sought-after woman in Europe.
My marriage to her had been more than just a means to obtain power. Queen Alienor had captivated me with her beauty, her mystique, her allure. For the first thirteen years of our marriage, I was in a perpetual state of lust.
Decades later, when poor Rosamund cleansed me of the controlling magic and opened my eyes, I realized that everything I had once believed about my wife had been a lie.
Alienor twitches, making her pubic hair brush against my thighs. My cock surges.