He pulled her hand away, slid his fingers out of her and positioned.

She lost her pout, her tears, and her face grew ravening.

So very greedy. If there wasn’t so much about her to like, he’d like that most of all.

“Mars,” she panted, shifting impatiently.

“If I cause hurt, you tell me immediately,” he commanded.

“Yes, all right, I will,” she assured quickly.

“My wife wants my cock,” he murmured.

Her lips came to his, her eyes open, and she whispered, “Please.”

If she wanted something, he would give it to her.

Always.

And this was no exception.

Mars wrapped an arm around her waist and moved her down, filling her slowly, watching from near her eyes fill with surprise, then astonishment and finally, that quicksilver hunger.

For his part, he’d never felt anything near as resplendent as her tight, wet, hot sheath.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

“Yes,” she whimpered.

“Fuck,” he bit.

“Yes,” she breathed as she settled atop him, taking him to the root.

They held each other’s eyes.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered.

“I was going to say the same thing,” she replied.

He smiled yet again then drifted his hands up from her waist to her ribs and ordered, “Now, wife, take your king.”

She needed no further encouragement.

She rode him, back arching, offering her full, beautiful breasts with their rosy tips for his taking, and he accepted her offer.

Silence then rode him harder.

Thus, Mars sucked deeper.

Her fingers went into his hair and fisted.

“My love,” she gasped.

Oh yes.

That deserved a reward.

Mars flipped her so he was on top, hooked the back of her knee at the bend of one of his elbows, wrapped her other leg around his arse, and he stared down at her as he did the riding.

“Yes,” she cried, her tight cunt undulating around his cock, her hips lifting to take more, her hands frantic on his skin. “Oh, by the gods, Mars. Oh, faith. Mars.”

Gods, she was beautiful, her hair everywhere, her body jolting with his thrusts.

“I can’t…I don’t…” she stammered.

“Then don’t,” he grunted, rolling his hips and driving in again.

She whimpered then moaned, tightening her hold with her leg, grasping the back of his neck with a hand, the nails of her other scoring up his spine.

He arched into her at the exquisite pain, and she cried out, slamming her hips into his with each pound, meeting his passion artlessly.

He noted the room turning red.

And he ignored it.

He was fucking his queen.

He saw the flames erupt in midair.

And he gloried in it.

Because he was finally fucking his queen.

“Silence, let go,” he demanded.

“I don’t want…this…to…stop,” she returned laboriously, her words interrupted by his thrusts.