Enthrall Him (Enthrall Sessions Book 3) (11 page)

Cameron tugged me over to it. “This is a replica of King Henry the Eighth’s throne.”

I imagined the original had crumbed into dust by now.  

Running my hand over the armrest, I could hardly believe I was allowed to touch it. “It’s wide.”

“He was a big man,” he said. “I told Aunt Rose about your fascination with the Tudors and she told me about this room. She advised us to check it out.”

“You talked to your aunt about me?”

“She’s very fond of you. She lost her husband when she was very young and never remarried. She doted on us kids. Even went out of her way to visit us in school.”

I loved his aunt, although I’d only met her once, and that had been during the unusual experience of me being caught nude in Cameron’s foyer by her. Aunt Rose’s calm reaction and kindness during dinner had endeared me to her. I was grateful she still liked me after that debacle.

“I’m surprised she didn’t warn you off me,” I said.

“Quite the opposite.” His gaze fell on the portrait before us. “Anne Boleyn,” He pointed. “Painted before she was married.”

She looked kind of plain, and I wondered if the artist had toned down her beauty in an attempt to save her from the King’s advances.  

“Poor Anne Boleyn,” I said. “She must have been terrified of him.”

“I imagine she had no idea he would chop off her head,” he said. “After all, he’d only just divorced Catherine of Aragon and there’d been no sign of the pending carnage yet to be unleashed on all his wives.”

“What did she do wrong?”  

“Hard to say. Anne had enemies at court. Apparently Cromwell, the king’s right hand man, hated her. He accused her of plotting against the King. Henry was invested in marrying Jane Seymour, so it didn’t take much to persuade him.”

“How do you know so much?”

“A misspent youth in a private school.”

“Didn’t Anne go to the tower for a while?”

“Yes, and then a French swordsman ended her life at the king’s behest.”

“You wouldn’t have chopped off Anne’s head, would you?” I said, pleading. “If you’d been king?”

“I’d have been a lot more imaginative,” he said. “My punishment of choice would be extracting the truth out of her using unusual and yet effective means.”

A rush of blood, a sudden blush. “How?” I said huskily.

His lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Sounds like you’re asking for a demonstration?”

A curl of excitement settled low.

With his gaze locked on mine, he unbuttoned his coat then removed it slowly, before throwing it onto the end of the bed.

“Sir?” My mind raced with the idea Cameron might be this reckless.

“Take off your coat.”

I unbuttoned it and threw it over his.

“Would you like to see how I would have punished Anne?”

“Yes please, sir.”

He took my hands and rested them on the end of the throne’s armrests, guiding one to either side. “I would have placed her hands here, like this.”

“She would probably have relented,” I said softly, “realizing how much she deserved to be punished.”

“I imagine she would, yes.”

Leaning over and shoving my butt out, I glanced toward the door, hoping we wouldn’t get caught.

“Look forward,” he snapped.

Cameron hoisted my skirt above my waist. His firm fingers stroked my sensitive flesh as he eased my panties down my thighs and they pooled around my ankles. I gripped the armrests, staring forwards, thrilled with this building anticipation. His hand trailed over my buttocks.

Spank.

I jolted forwards and quickly righted myself to remain bent over.

“Higher,” he ordered.

Curving my spine, I offered my buttocks out to him. That exquisite low thrum wooed me into submission.  

Endless spanks echoed.

Delicious strikes sent shockwaves all the way into my sex.

“This is how I’d deal with a disobedient queen,” he said darkly.  

I exulted when the strikes became more violent, shooting me right into subspace, and the heady thought I was clutching at a king’s throne made my head spin out of control.

For goodness sake, I was being spanked in Buckingham Palace by the great Cameron Cole; blood rushed through my ears.

His hand caressed my heated flesh between strikes, running over my cleft and landing spanks there too. His cologne fired my senses.

Nothing was beyond this man.

He kneeled behind me, his breath warm on my thigh. “This might have worked on her better.” He parted my cheeks and brought his head between my thighs. His tongue trailed over that puckered flesh, and lower still, lashing at my cleft, flicking and licking as he went, suckling my clit.

I let out a long moan.

“If you were my master,” I said, my voice low, my body riddled with passion, my hips rocking against his mouth, “I’d have worshiped at your feet with you sitting here.”

“But as your master,” he rose to his feet and turned me around to face him then nudged me back to sit on the throne, “it would be my duty to idolize you.” He pried apart my thighs and he again sunk to his knees, his face burying between my legs, his tongue meeting my clit again with stunning precision. “To honor you.” He suckled, his tongue swirling.

Bringing me over, making me tremble, I bit down on my hand to suppress my cries.  

He lifted my thighs and spread my legs wide apart, pulling them over each armrest, exposing me completely.

Cameron rose to his feet and stood before me so masterfully, so domineering, his expression full of power. “Would you have submitted?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

He eased himself out of his pants, his cock hard and ready. “The worship of you would have continued night and day—”

He slid inside me.

I arched my back at the strain of him stretching me wide; those pangs of bliss. My pussy spasmed around his length, deliciously expanding.

He thrust hard. “Until you’d understood what you really meant to me, as my monarch.”

“I’d be your one and only.”

“One and only.”

Taut around him, my sex glistened.

“I love watching my cock disappear inside you,” he whispered breathlessly, his eyes burning with the deepest desire.

His intensity rose, and his fierceness was hypnotic.

We both stared down at the beautiful spectacle of his hardness disappearing, sliding in and out slowly, controlled, the tip being brought out. His hand guided his cock to slide over the surface of my clit, then he slapped his erection over that delicate nub, before again resting at my entrance, only to plunge fully inside with precision, his balls striking me as he went. The process repeated and repeated again until all I knew was this--this pattern, this pressure, this pleasure, this need for him.

“Sir,” I pleaded.

“You may come.”

That strike to my clit with his cock, that pause, this thrust, these shockwaves of bliss capturing every cell in my body—it all sent me outside of myself.

On and on and on…

The world slipped away and my climax carried me off into nothingness. My eyes squeezed shut as I savored his brilliance at holding me suspended in this place. My orgasm seemed never ending, and this proved he was more than a master of the Kama Sutra--he was the God of sex.

My moans echoed around us.

Until my body could take no more and I collapsed in the chair, staring up at his beautiful face. His expression grew wistful, and his gaze filled with longing.

“This,” I whispered, nudging him away from me. “This is true adoration.” I slipped off the throne and it was my turn to guide Cameron to sit.

His frown deepened as his usual power over me was suspended.

Kneeling at his feet, my face buried in his lap and I sucked him all the way into my mouth. The stunning sweet taste of me on him, the erotic sensations lingering low, made me crazy for
him.
 

He raised his hips, his fingernails digging into the armrests, his breathing rapid and stuttering…

And I centered all my attention on my rapid movement to rise and fall, using all the tricks he’d taught me along with a few of my own. My hands cupped his balls in perfect rhythm to my head bobbing between his thighs. My tongue swirled and flicked as I went, until I felt his trembling, his loss of control, his surrendering.

“Master, come for me.” My lips snapped back over his length, sucking hard.

Cameron went rigid. His hips raised and his breath stilted as he came in my mouth, flooding me with warmth. His hardness pounded against me in a furious burst of pleasure as it reached its pinnacle.

Swallowing all of him, I let out a long groan of pleasure, grateful he’d trusted me enough to let me take him like this. Our shifting power was proof of our growing trust.

He settled into the seat, his breathing slowing, his hands guiding my head to rest on his lap. “Mia, what was that?”

I peered up at him, nervous I’d somehow let him down, worried I’d not pleased him.

He grabbed locks of my hair, which stung my scalp, and held me tightly in his grip. “I had no idea how a man could be willing to give up a kingdom.” His head crashed against the headrest. “God, now I get it.”

CHAPTER 8

THERE WAS NO more talk of giving up kingdoms.

Or any further discussion of me taking his breath away. We’d merely straightened our clothes, put our coats back on, and left to go reunite with Molly.

Our passionate interlude became merely another miraculous memory.

My cheeks were flushed and my body thrummed with pleasure. The echo of Cameron’s touch lingered.

On our way out, Molly gifted us with a union flag umbrella and a Buckingham Palace heart key fob. There was a twinkle in her eye as she handed it over.

Cameron told Molly he would be delighted to return her kindness, and should she ever visit California he would make sure her stay was a pleasant one. It had been wonderful to see Molly blush and swoon, showing a glimpse of her playful side.

Declining the car Shay had arranged for us, we caught a taxi instead, heading over to Saint Paul’s Cathedral.

The breathtaking church was vast and spectacular and profoundly moving, and easily one of the most remarkable places I’d ever visited. Crowds of visitors swirled around us and we eased on through to the front chapel.

Cameron had me stand beneath the main dome, and as we peered up, admiring that round inlaid gold offset by the surrounding stunning marble, he explained the optical illusion. Sir Christopher Wren had utilized geometry technology, Cameron told me, designing a cone shape for structural purposes, and around it that magnificence dome shape. There was a balcony around the outside, but with the optical illusion it created you’d never have guessed it.

It stunned me to think this beautiful place first began construction in 1675. Cameron knew so much about British history, and I leaned against him as he relayed his knowledge, telling me what he knew about London and how people had lived back then.

I let out a long sigh of contentment.

“I have a gift for you,” said Cameron, and he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small box.

He eased out sapphire studs and gently slid them into my lobes, his fingers tender.

“What’s this for?” I said, leaning into his hand as it brushed against my face.

“A reminder of our time together.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Don’t ever take them out. Not even when you sleep. Understand?”

I told him I wouldn’t and thanked him again, pushing myself up onto my toes to kiss him.

He tucked the box back into his pocket.

We continued on through and Cameron explained that the pineapple above the towers symbolized peace, prosperity, and hospitably. As we strolled arm and arm down the west front, he gestured to the sculpture of St Paul, telling me this was the work of Francis Bird, who sculptured it in the early 1700’s. Apparently, Bird also carved the statue of Queen Anne that stood in the front of the cathedral.  

Rain poured as we hurried out to the street, and we were grateful for Molly’s gift of the umbrella.

We caught another taxi and it was fun to pretend we’d lost Shay and his mysterious men we never caught a glimpse of. We were free to explore, with the illusion of privacy, and I loved it. I relaxed for the first time since we’d arrived.

“Although this is out of character,” said Cameron, “how would you like to choose where we go next?”

I beamed at him.

“I’ll reel off destinations. You decide.”

I sat forward, excited to hear.

“The Goring serves excellent tea. And by tea I mean finger sandwiches, cakes, and of course tea.”