I had to leave before I took her right there in the flowerbed, and a woman like Lena deserves better than to be used like that. She deserves a four poster bed and a view of the city, sunlight slanting in like heavenly rays as I slide my manhood deep inside of her, as she arches her hips and glides her soaking wet sex down to my balls.
I clench my jaws, my heart thundering like Thor’s fury in my chest, all the lightning of primal history sparking and firing in my heart.
Claim her.
Take her.
Own her.
Seed her.
I need to plant my seed inside of her, pump until my balls are empty, and then wait for them to flood again and pump even harder.
I thumb the access pad and climb out of the car, passing the Roman statues and walking into the house. I walk past the artwork but turn left this time, heading up the carpeted stairs and past the full knight’s armor, standing erect with a polished halberd in its gloved hand. I walk to the rear of the house, to the third bathroom with its marble tub and gleaming floor, and peer out of the window at the garden below.
There she is.
My Eve.
She’s at the other end of the garden near the fountain, weeding the brickwork around the base where it joins with the well tended lawn. The water spatters into the air and some of it cascades down on her in droplets.
My mouth falls open as I hone my attention in on her, watching as her pale pink shirt clings to the mounds of her breasts. They bulge out and, as she leans over to pull a weed, her shirt lifts slightly revealing her belly. It’s all too easy to imagine it bulging with the bump my seed will gift her.
The more she weeds, the more her breasts jiggle, her hips shifting side to side when a weed proves particularly stubborn.
I reach down and clamp onto my eleven inch manhood, grinding my palm from the base to the tip through the fabric. I feel precome sticking to my briefs as my muscled python tries to escape my underwear.
I stroke slowly as I watch her, picturing myself behind her, sliding myself up her warm folds. I have to make her breasts jiggle in that same way, but from the motion of my manhood grinding inside of her. I’ll loop my arm around her chest and feel her breasts against my forearm, feel how pert her nipples get as desire blazes through her.
I squeeze harder onto my manhood. It pulsates and twitches as though any second it could erupt, but that would be wrong, that would be the biggest fucking sin I’ve ever committed.
I have to save every drop of my seed for her womb. It’s the only way this can go. I have to put my child inside of her.
I’ve found my queen and now that I’ve laid eyes on her, there’s nothing in this world that could make me let her go.
I step away from the window and leave the bathroom before I go full savage and can’t control myself any longer. The way her body responds when she leans over to weed the fountain is like something out of a fucking fever fantasy.
I'm not a drug taking man but when I look at my curvaceous queen, I feel like I’ve been injected with a goddamn stimulant.
I walk down the hallway to the rear library, a giant room with ceiling high bookshelves and an ornate gold framed globe in the corner. I sit in my usual chair, a reinforced blood red leather item shipped from an emperor’s palace in China after an auction last year.
Then I take out my cell phone and navigate to Eliza’s name. She’s the supervisor for all the garden staff, and it’s she who will be the middleman to summon Lena to me.
I can’t be content watching her from afar any longer.
I’m claiming her forever and now she has to know that, the same way a lioness has to know that her alpha has made her his after he’s returned to display his battle scars proudly, marks that show he has annihilated her other weaker suitors.
I’ve been fighting my entire life, and now I know why. It was for Lena. It was for my queen.
Send Lena to the upper rear library, I text. Immediately.
I close my eyes and will my thoughts into some sort of order. I have lived my entire life with an iron clad control over everything, puppeteering reality into the shape I need it to be. It has given me wealth and respect and fear and power.
But there’s one thing I can’t control, and that’s how my thoughts stampede again and again to Lena.
My mind leaps to a scenario in which I’ve somehow been transported to Ancient Rome. I’m standing in the gladiatorial arena with thousands and thousands of men and women screaming down at me, lifting their flagons of wine into the air so it spills as carmine as the livid blood soaking into the sand.
“Kill a thousand men,” a voice roars from the spectator’s balcony. “And only then can you claim your prize.”
In my fantasy, Lena sits on a lofty throne of pillows and furs, leaning back with a light fabric dress draping softly down her body, the sort of material that hints tantalizingly at the feast beneath.
“A thousand?” I growl. “I’d kill fifty thousand just to taste her perfect fucking pussy. I’m going to drive up inside of her soaked lips and fire myself into her womb until I’m empty and all our offspring are writhing around inside of her.”
I open my eyes, smirking and shaking my head ruefully. I never let my mind gallivant like that. I deal with solid reality, brutal facts, but with Lena, I know it’s true.
I’d walk into the heart of a volcano and let the lava wash over me
