"To Her Majesty Queen Aanya of the Kingdom of Duren," Rayla read aloud tiredly.

Stifling a yawn, she glanced at Callum from the corner of her eye, but he simply gave her an equally tired, but reassuring nod.

The candles around the room were already getting short. It was well past midnight and they were finishing the last of the invitations to their wedding. Even with her and Callum taking turns dictating and transcribing, writing letter after letter had taken them all day - she'd stopped counting entirely after the first one hundred.

Now she sat in his lap as they went through each one before they were sent off to their respective destinations by messenger crow.

She couldn't do more than give the letter a cursory glance, however. Not when, as she was dispensing with the introductory formalities, Callum's hand strayed to the inside of her knee with the lightest of touches, just above where her boots gave way to the thin material of her trousers.

She also couldn't help but notice when, as she was rattling off the security arrangements for the young queen's stay, his finger began absently tracing tiny circles on her thigh.

She could barely continue when, as she was listing the accommodations for Aanya and her company, Callum began murmuring the words along as she read, his voice deep with sleep and silky smooth against her bare shoulder.

Nor could she concentrate when, as she recited the numerous items on the menu and enquiries for any dietary restrictions, Callum deviated from the words on the page and began whispering certain parts of her he would rather devour and the utterly indecent things he would like to do with his mouth.

She faltered with a shudder when he gave single, long lick along the shell of her ear, a low growl in his voice and a deep rumble in his chest that seemed to reverberate through her.

She was only vaguely aware when the letter finally fell from her fingers, yet she could feel the positively lascivious smirk on his lips as he continued to murmur the filthy things he would do to her.

She could only writhe desperately in his lap as he conjured crude images in her mind with vulgar words a prince would not dare speak in polite company, filling her head with visions that would make even the most seasoned of sailors blush.

And when he finally touched her through the fabric of her suddenly obtrusive clothes, she could not for the life of her remember why she had not chosen to wear a nightgown instead, because at the moment she wanted nothing more than to tear at their clothes and have her way with him.

She couldn't suppress the feminine moan that escaped her when his hand slipped under the waistband of her trousers.

Nor could she stifle the spontaneous string of curses that made its way past her lips, the lips of a soon-to-be princess of Katolis who had no business even knowing such profanities and should refrain from ever articulating them.

But she could not be bothered to care at that moment, because his hands were working furiously now, sending shiver after delicious shiver through her as he continued to whisper dirty encouragements against her heated skin.

She must have looked completely unkempt, shamelessly writhing and grinding and twisting as she was in his lap.

Because by then she was already panting with uninhibited desire, clawing at his arms desperately, fisting her hands insistently in his unruly hair.

But how could she even begin to regard her currently disheveled state when he was doing clever things with his fingers? How could she think of anything but the mouth that was latched onto her neck and making sinfully delicious promises?

No, she would not contend with the impropriety of their position when she was already so, so very near to completion. Her eyes lost focus and she had neither the ability nor the inclination to do much else besides make sounds of pure, unadulterated pleasure as she urgently sought more contact and more friction against her wet flesh, the heat building, gathering, and finally cresting deep in the very heart of her.

She was only dimly aware of his dark chuckle as he finally sent her over the edge, so ensnared was she that it was all she could do to cling to him for dear life, before she was consumed by white-hot bliss, leaving her trembling and shivering in its wake.

She was too far gone to feel him gather her into his strong, caring arms as he stood. Boneless and weary, she could not aid him in changing into clean, more comfortable clothing.

And when he finally lay her down onto their bed, she was already deep in slumber, sated and smiling.



What? No sex? Who am I?!

Process notes over at Tumblr.

P.S. I tried writing on my phone for the first time, and let me tell you, there's something that changes when you do. I should do this more often.