Where Flowers Don't Belong

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In Approval

The king lifted me into his arms and brought me to the large bedroom. The room was just as beautiful just as the bathroom had been. It had high, painted ceilings with a large chandelier in the center and gold decals everywhere. An enormous California king-size bed was the focal point. I swallowed a hard lump in my throat. I guess this would be the moment that I would lose my virginity. My nerves were spilling out of me like water in a boiling pot. I didn’t feel ready. I knew the basics of sex based on what I had overheard werewolves talking about around the packhouse but, otherwise, had no idea what I was doing or how to really please a man in bed. And for some reason, I really didn’t want to disappoint the king. I wanted to make him feel good.

I should consider myself lucky to have the king of werewolves use me, to lose my virginity to a man so powerful. Not many slave girls would get the same opportunity. But I knew it would hurt. A lot. The king wasn’t a small man. There was no doubt in my mind that his, um... package would be just as big as the rest of him. He was going to tear me apart without any remorse or regret.

And then he would kill me.

The king set me down on the edge of the bed and straightened, looking down at me with his intense blue eyes. “I will be right back. Don’t move, okay?”

I nodded my head in understanding. He walked away from me and disappeared into the walk-in closet attached to the room. I squirmed anxiously while I waited for him. Should I undress? Or did he want to take my clothes off himself? I had heard a werewolf say that men liked to do that, right? Or had I misunderstood that? So I shouldn’t take my clothes off? He had told me not to move... God, why was this so difficult?

I didn’t have time to make a decision before he came back into the room. He was holding some clothes. I found it hard to peel my eyes away from his bare chest, only now getting the opportunity to examine his upper half. He was extremely built and had huge muscles on every single part of his body. I swallowed roughly. He could easily snap me like a toothpick.

And probably will.

When he was standing in front of me, he held a piece of clothing. “You will have to wear this for tonight.”

I looked down at the fabric in his hands and then slowly took it from him. He had given me a white, button-up shirt. I frowned slightly. He wanted me to wear this while we had sex? Weren’t people usually naked?

But, yet again, I didn’t question him. Instead, I slowly stood and stepped away from the bed. I could feel my hands shaking as I reached for the laces on the back of my maid’s dress, starting to undo them.

I heard the king suck in a breath. “Do you want me to leave while you undress? Or turn around?”

I looked at him. His blue eyes sent my heart into a spasm. Did he want to leave? Did he not want to see my body? I wouldn’t blame him if that were the case. “You may do whatever pleases you, your majesty,” I said shakily.

“Elijah,” he corrected me sternly.

I nodded quickly. I had forgotten. Crap. “You may do whatever pleases you, E-Elijah,” I corrected myself.

He growled once in approval.

When he didn’t move or say anything else, my hands continued to unlace the back of my dress until the bodice opened and fell to the floor. Then, before I lost any of my courage, I pushed my skirts down, leaving me standing in only my undergarment. It looked sort of like a nightgown but was much more scandalous and didn’t leave much to the imagination. It was basically see-through. I was sure the king could see every part of my body and imperfection on my skin.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I didn’t want to see his reaction to seeing my body. I didn’t want to see his expression turn into one of disgust.

I reached my shaky hands for the shoulders of my undergarment, ready to push it down and officially reveal my naked body to the king, but couldn’t stop myself from pausing. I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat as I stared down at my feet.

“Um...” I spoke. I knew that I shouldn’t be speaking without permission. But there was something about the king that made me think he wouldn’t punish me for something so minor. “W-would it be alright if I were to turn around?” I asked quietly.

I waited anxiously for his reply. It was the first time I had spoken to him without being spoken to first. I could only hope that it didn’t anger him.

When he didn’t say anything for a while, my stomach dropped in fear. He had said before that I could speak but never said I could speak without being spoken to first. And he definitely didn’t say that I could request things from him. How stupid could I be?

“I apologize,” I said quickly. “It was not my place to ask that. I am so sorry.”

He stood and approached me. I couldn’t stop myself from taking a step back in fear. Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.

I suppressed a sob. “I truly am sorry, your majesty!” I said, desperation and panic leaking from my tone. “Please, I’ll undress now! Please.”

He seemed confused and perhaps a little shocked. “No!” he said quickly, still approaching me. “No, no, I’m sorry. Please do not be afraid. I was distracted by all the skin you were showing. I barely processed what you said, lost in my thoughts. You have done nothing wrong.”

I took in a shaky breath to try and calm myself. He was looking at my body? Did he like what he saw? My shoulders sagged. No, of course not. I had been told thousands of times how ugly I was, inadequate in every way. Small boobs, flat butt, boring blonde hair, and freckled skin littered with scars and bruises that I had earned through misbehaving. The only part of me that I liked even in the slightest was my bright green eyes. Madame Melinda told me once that they were unique and made me look innocent. She said that men would like looking down into my wide eyes while they “fucked” me, whatever that meant. It was the closest thing to a compliment I had ever received.

Well, it was the closest thing I had received to a compliment until the man in front of me had called me beautiful just moments before. Although, I was realizing now that was said only to get me into his bed. As if he needed to lure me in with false terms of endearment. I would do whatever he wanted without any resistance.

“Of course it is okay if you turn around,” the king continued, surprising me. “You may do whatever makes you most comfortable. Always.”

His words were nice. Too nice. They made me nervous. I hesitated for a moment, considering continuing to undress in the position I was in to avoid any sort of anger from the king. But as I felt his eyes begin to roam over my body again and the shame crawling up my throat, I couldn’t stop myself from quickly turning around so that my back was to him. It made me feel better to know that I wouldn’t have to deal with the disappointment of watching his face drop and turn into a sneer when he saw how ugly I truly was beneath my clothes.

Why did it hurt so much to know that he didn’t like the way I looked? When I imagined myself pleasuring a man for the first time, the fear of his displeasure over my appearance never occurred to me. Not once. My job wasn’t to be self-conscious, it was to please the man in whatever way he wanted. So why did it send shooting pain straight to my heart to think that the king thought I was ugly?

It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you. You’ll be dead by morning, the voice inside my head reminded me. A dead, used, slave that couldn’t do anything right.

I swallowed down the lump that was developing in my throat. The king was still standing behind me, waiting for me to take off my clothes. I needed to concentrate and stop worrying about my silly insecurities. The king wouldn’t wait forever. I was surprised he had even waited until now.

I pushed my undergarment off my shoulders. It fell around my waist, being held there by a string tied around my waist. Madame Melinda had placed that string there in order to ensure that I didn’t gain too much weight. If the string got too tight, she would know that I had been sneaking food when I wasn’t supposed to. I wasn’t allowed to touch it or take it off. The string was loose now, falling at the top of my hips.

My upper half was completely exposed, although all the king could see was my back as I was not facing him. I could feel his gaze though, like small flames running all along my body. I could feel his eyes roam over my back, running over the newly revealed skin. I wondered if he could hear my heart frantically beating a mile a minute.

I reached down to push the clothing under the string around my waist so it would fall off but stopped when I felt the gentle touch of the king’s hand on my back. I gasped and nearly jumped out of my skin.

The king ran his hand over my back, leaving the same sparks as before dancing over my skin. He was tracing the scars that were left behind from when I was whipped multiple times as a child. I shut my eyes tightly. I couldn’t imagine what he thought of me, the disobedient girl who needed to be punished.

His hands didn’t stop there, moving to trace my ribcage, drifting softly over the huge bruises there. I waited for his touch to turn more forceful but it never did.

A strange realization hit me. For the first time in my life, someone was touching me without causing me pain. And I liked it. I liked the way he was touching me a lot.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when the king abruptly growled so loudly that my ears rang. I jumped in fright, letting out a choked sob. I quickly brought my hand up to my mouth to ensure that no more noises left my mouth. I knew he was upset with the appearance of my body just like I knew he would be.

“What did they do to you?” his voice growled in my ear, low and dangerous.

“I—” I stopped myself. What did he mean? “I am so sorry, your majesty.” He growled again. Shit. I had forgotten to call him by his first name yet again. I nearly smacked myself over the head for my mistake. “I-I mean Elijah. I do not mean to upset you.”

He didn’t respond. He simply placed both of his hands on my waist, avoiding the bruises littering my sides, and turned me around so quickly that my head spun.

I had expected him to add to the bruises. Or maybe to be chastised over my past disobedience. What I wasn’t expecting was to be pulled into his chest.

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