Wild and Free(73)

Yesterday afternoon, Ryon, Caleb and Calder chatting to her like they’d known her for ages. Like she was a member of their family already. Like she wasn’t weird or strange. Like she fit in.

And both times Callum tucked her hand, which was held safe in his, under his arm. Drawing her nearer. Offering his strength when she was frightened in the throne room and upset while facing Gregor and Yuri.

And, looking back at it, last night on the drive home and when they arrived at her house, Callum’s hilariously strained patience at dealing with her when she was in a snit (before he became an arrogant bastard who said hideous things, that was).

And the way he held her after she’d climaxed, her back to the headboard, his hand cradling her head, something about the way he did it making her feel precious.

And the way he’d dealt with her after Yuri interrupted them, that time with amused patience in the face of her fury.

And, before they went down to face Gregor and Yuri, that kiss. That thorough, beautiful kiss. A kiss that made her feel beautiful, desired, even the impossible, loved.

And, having a difficult conversation while facing the only family she had left (outside of Callum’s now, that was), she’d relaxed in his embrace. Callum showing her physically what it meant to support her during her times of struggle by holding her close, holding her strong. Showing her in ways she didn’t understand and couldn’t put her finger on that he stood between her and pain. Perhaps not able to halt it completely but he would be there to cushion the blow.

And at that very moment, tucked snug and warm in her covers, Callum did that. He did something tender in a way that made her feel he was keeping her safe.

“My glorious queen, I told you we’d have a beautiful life, you and I.”

Now that could be a beautiful life.

But that wasn’t all there was to it.

More thoughts pushed the others out and invaded her mind.

Last night, waking up with his hand between her legs, the urge already on her, stronger than ever before, changing her, taking her out of herself so she wasn’t any Sonia she’d ever known but someone else entirely. She was the creature he’d created. The creature he’d claimed. The creature, on some level, her mind was telling her she actually was meant to be.

And the way he took her. The way she responded to it, wanted it, lunged to meet it, her hips pushing into his, his fingers sinking into her flesh and fisting in her hair. He demanded more and more and more and she gloried in giving it to him as she took it from him, needing it like it was breath.

No, like there was something vital missing. Like there was some crucial part of who she was that had been lost. She felt drawn to Callum, linked to him, in fact, just as she’d thought after he claimed her, she felt owned by him and, in so being, only Callum could give her whatever she’d lost.

And this morning, half asleep, her instincts taking over and her brazen (again!) behavior, falling asleep with his hand still teasing her between her legs.

And the way they’d fallen asleep last night and how that didn’t feel shameful or scandalous (at the time, now she was horrified), but instead it felt…

It felt right.

“My glorious queen, I told you we’d have a beautiful life, you and I.”

A beautiful life? Was all of that a beautiful life?

Did all the good that was Callum, all that was tender and affectionate and warm and teasing outweigh the things that were bad? Did it outweigh the things that caused her to feel humiliation that her life as his queen meant he felt entitled to fall asleep between her spread-eagled legs still buried inside her even though he didn’t want her but only the use of her body? Did it outweigh her knowledge that something he dredged from deep inside her made her feel replete, content, whole after he’d taken her so hard, so roughly, making her scream in her climax and then he’d pinned her to the bed under him, still full of him and feeling, insanely, that it was right?

Was that a beautiful life?

It was a beautiful life to him. She knew it with the way he said it, the words still echoing in her head. He’d muttered them, quiet, sated, but the way he said it was the way you’d say the sky was blue, that grass was green, the earth was round.

Like they were just plain true.

Then again, for him, they would be.

King Callum had a sure thing at his side at all times until the day she died. He might not want her but he was a man and men, it was Sonia’s experience, didn’t quibble. They’d take it as they could get it, whenever they could get it and in whatever form that took (most of the time).

And, worst of all, her parents wanted this for her. They were honored she’d be his queen.

They knew his culture. They were friends with his people. They had to understand Sonia’s sentence and they wanted her to be their queen, planned for it, even when she was a child.