The King and The Evil Step-Sister - Chapter Three
The night air was warm, Khadija’s dark, curled hair blew against her cheeks as she glanced at the obscured man. He had a white and gold suit, glimmering in the moonlight. Her cheeks had a deep, flushed chestnut color. She gave the man a small smile, bowing very slightly.
“And who might that be?” The man’s voice is deep, rattling–if it wasn’t for his teasing tone, she’d be a little frightened.
‘The King–I admire him, quite a bit.’
“You admire the King? The blood-thirsty tyrant of the empire–what is it that you admire about him, hmmm?”
The girl frowns.
‘Don’t call him that. And you, there’s a lot. I admire his strength the most. I’m a girl, one that can’t speak at that. I’m vulnerable in this type of world. I don’t have that much power.’
She looks at her clear, starless sky before continuing.
‘My mother and sister look after me…but they are women too. We can’t do much. You know, His Majesty’s mother came from the same country as mine…before it burned to the ground. He’s a capable king. He aids those who escaped the carnage, those of Eshidabian blood. He keeps Eshidabia’s memory alive. It’s a beautiful thing, don’t you think?’
She pauses, and the man seemed to have been rendered silent as well. After a while, she begins to puff up her chest.
‘Also, his looks! Everyone admires beauty and I’m not different. His face is pleasant to look at, godly even.’ Khadija guides her hands with excitement.
‘Ah…imagine waking up to such a capable man every day? A girl like me can only dream of it.’
She sighs with a smile on her face. Even if Aaliyah and Yahya didn’t meet tonight, they will, eventually.
And she’ll become the empress.
She’d just have to leave before then.
“You seem like a fairly nice young lady. I’m sure you have lots of suitors.”
She smiles and chuckles with sounds like a city center mime, her hand over her mouth as she threw her head back. Her hands danced in a haughty fashion, shaking her head with childish fancy. Her face was soft and smooth under the moon’s luminance.
‘Haven’t you heard? No one would want someone like me, a common, unsightly woman! Even my sister who’s beautiful is only suited to be a mistress to these nobles.’
He chuckles, his voice deep and rumbling.
“They are getting a bit ahead of themselves. Perhaps I should do something about that, Miss Badawi.”
Things just became more serious and confusing.
‘Say, Sir, who are you? How do you know my name?’
“Isn’t a bit late to inquire about that?”
Khadija rolls her eyes.
‘Answer the question, Sir.”
“I, ‘a capable king’, at least knows the names of the nobles in my empire.”
Following the voice, slowly, the figure emerges from the shadows.
It’s a man, as Khadija suspected but not who she expected. He’s tall, almost towering walks towards her with an amused expression on his face. His skin, a deep umber, something he acquired from his late mother. His hair was smoothened back with some sort of pomade, but Khadija could tell that as the night wore, a bit of his hair fell on his forehead.
He was as handsome as she’d always imagined.
Her heart pounded.
She begins to bow, but he stops her mid-curtsy. On the balcony, it was only the two of them. The King holds a gaze that’s surprisingly gentle. If she shouldn’t read the accounts of his carnage on the battlefield or familicide, she wouldn’t believe it.
“You’re quite different from other nobles, aren’t you?”
She stares into the blue eyes she’d always read, described but never seen. They were so striking, their gaze held her in her place without a word. That was it, the gaze of a man whose slain thousands of people on the battlefield, and in his throne room.
Adverting her gaze, Khadija quickly signs her next question.
‘And why is that Your Majesty?’
He’s forward, very much so, and grabs her waist, pulling her towards him. She was short in stature and stood at his chest.
Although she did not dislike it, it was a bit sudden.
“Address me as Yahya, Miss Badawi. And to answer your question, you’re the only woman who seems genuinely interested in me…moreover, you’re not scared of me.
‘…should I be?’ Her big eyes stared back at him, almost defiantly.
“It’s only expected, you’re in the presence of a tyrant. Although it’s not said to my face, I’ve heard it from the many eyes and ears I have.”
The King–Yahya, chuckles using his large palm to move hair from her rogue dusted cheeks.
“And you defended me. I don’t know if I should be gracious or call you a fool.”
Khadija struggles a bit to release her arms from Yahya’s arms, looking up at him with her hands facing his bemused face.
‘Why not both?’
“Truthfully, it is.”
There’s an extended pause, that is eventually broken when Yahya bends himself to kiss her cheek. His lips were soft and plush, his smooth-shaven felt cool against her cheek.
The Male Lead kissed her cheek, and her mind became a mess.
Khadija jumps back, wide-eyed clutching that very spot.
“Your face is as flushed as a desert rose. Was your first kiss?”
She pouts, shaking her with her ornament clinking as well.
‘It’s…it’s not on the lips, therefore it does not count.’
Yahya seemed almost entranced by her bashfulness, grabs her flailing wrists. His eyes go from her full, plush lips to her exposed, sienna-pigmented neck. He brought her hand up to his lips, looking into her dark eyes. His were deep and draped, with a concentration that had her held her attention as well.
“If I were to steal your lips under thing moonlit night, would that be counted as it?” Khadija only stares at him with her mouth agape before nodding quickly. Even before seeing him in the flesh, she like other readers fell for him.
He, a fictional man was something she’d never thought she’d be to meet or touch in her lifetime.
But, meeting him, she didn’t want the night to end.
One night, with The Male Lead–that’s all she desired.
“Would you despise me if I did?”
Only one night.
‘No… because you’re the one I like.’
He guided her closer until the space between them was nonexistent. He took her lips, softly, not savage as a ‘tyrant’ would. Subdued, yet powerful, his tongue made its way in her mouth with a tender touch.
“You taste sweet, almost intoxicating. Like Medjool dates. Are you sweet inside, Khadija?”
Yahya’s sudden use of her name strikes her as he stared back at her.
‘I…am not sure. I’ve never had someone touch me before.’
“Then, will you allow me to be your first?”
Not much is said, just a small nod and averted gaze.
As if to have given a clear allowance, the older man picks her in his arms, out of the way of the balcony, down the dark hallway that leads to it.
Yahya stops at a door, that was kicked open soon after. It was a small, spacious bedroom, one that had a large, plush bed sitting, empty and inviting. He carries her over, sitting her carefully onto the thick bedding.
Khadija had been wearing woven loafers to avoid the heels commonly worn by young noblewomen. A shoe was knocked off in the process, and a small, smooth foot was revealed. Carefully, he took the exposed foot, kissing the top of it.
“You are simply enchanting, aren’t you?”
Yahya makes his way to her pilous legs, up to her corpulent thighs.
He stares at her dress, before looking at it and a bit of frustration. Seeing his difficulty, she took it upon to remove her own dress. Soon Khadija was down to her stay and her bloomers, looking back at Yahya who looked back at her stunned.
‘…Sir? Is this fine?’
He coughs a bit.
“A bit more, I’d like to see you bare.”
Khadija blushed–his words were too much, even for her.
He was a bit of a deviant, wasn’t he?
Maybe she was as well since she went along with him.
Soon, she was down to nothing but her nude body. Her chest moved up and down with her silent breathing. Her hips were wide, her stomach was round and plump. Her lengthy tresses cover her bushy, womanly mound as if she were Venus herself.
As Yahya stared back at her, almost with fascination, he makes his way over to her.
A bit daring, she plants a small peck on his shaven jaw.
‘Your turn.’ She states, referring to his own undressing.
Khadija inaudibly looks at Yahya as he begins to disrobe, her inky eyes glittering. His black hair was now scattered, falling against his forehead. His body is built a bit like a mahogany-colored marble statue, his hips carved and set. His body was littered with scars and burns, from his chest down his toes.
They were aged, not fading with the years that went by.
Instead, they were pink, flesh toned.
Still, she was aware of what violence must have inflicted it.
She got up from her position on the bed and walked up to him, her bare feet slowly hitting the ground.
“Are you worried about these scars? They do not hurt me anymore. My mother had it much worse when she tried to raise me.” Yahya says, in an almost tone soft enough to pacify a child.
However, she isn’t reassured.
She’s furious, she’s…began to cry
A tear escapes her, falling down her cheek. She doesn’t stop it nor the ones that follow. She felt overcome with contempt and anger. Even if it happened long ago, it’s something that shouldn’t have ever occurred to such a small child.
‘Who would do this to a child, what monster…’ Khadija trails off, a quiet sob escapes her chest. This left Yahya to try and console her. Her tears fell between her thick, dark lashes, her eyes big and owl-like with that distressing redness. He bends, kissing the top of her lids. He moves the fallen curls from her rounded face—he felt distressed at her tears.
Her sorrow caused his own.
“Thank you for being benign towards my plight. However, I think it’s time for us to begin before my arousal betrays me.” That’s she felt him, his penis hot against her belly.’ Her hands cannot seem to form words now. His member was lengthy with a considerable amount of girth. It pressed up again her feminine figure, pulsing with warmth and strength.
“Do like what you see?” His voice breaks her quiet trance, to which she averts her eyes.
“Although it’s quite pointless, to be this shy now that we’re here…I admire your ingenuous allure.” He picks her with a surprisingly swift move, guiding her back to the plush bed. Khadija’s back falls against the cool, layered, silk bedding and finally, she realizes how exposed she is, in front of such a man.
He captures her lips, asking her something as he stared into her eyes. Yahya looks at her with a saccharine look, before running his large hand traces her stretch marks. Yahya’s voice tickles Khadija’s ear as he’s close, his breath caressing her cheek. Staring at him, she opens her legs, to his elation. He squanders no time unfurling the petals of the desert rose that basked beneath him. The rose-colored matter, slick with limpid sap fluttered with delight.
His finger traced her luxuriant garden, which quivered more when his part and created a passage to it. His long, slender digit attempted to pierce her cavity, grateful that nails were neatly trimmed. When it’s finally inside after slow trepidation, they curl, stroking her from the inside. As he adds a second digit, he begins to play inside her velvety interior like a violin.
His tongue lapped that sap, to the delight of the young woman whose body the flower held. At this point, the third finger was added, and Khadija did not fight the urge to grip his dark locks as he guided her to pleasure. Her breasts bounced as her back arched with delight. He gradually makes his way to her pistil, as if a beast drawn to honey. He focuses on tasting the sweetness of her stigma, whilst feels something building within.
Torrid and ascending.
Her mouth opens to pant, as if thirsty.
Was this how orgasms felt, so high and mighty?
Finally, Khadija reaches her crescendo-huffing, skin dewy with sweat. Yahya, busy calming her down, stroking her hair, leaning her against his chest. It’s a placid, cherished emotion. He bites at her lips, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth. Yahya’s affection for her, slowly pulling her from that heavenly high while keeping her satiated.
“It’s alright, it’s alright, you’ve done well.”
‘Isn’t it about time you make love to me?’
Her words flip a switch in him, he flips her over–she’s on her back as he takes shape over her positioned at her entrance.
When he enters her, her nails dig into his wide, muscular back. Because of his preparation, his tawny phallus glides in soother than expected. However, even with preparation, inserting in without experience causes pain. Yahya grasps her back, her thumbs drawing circles into her tender flesh.
“I’m sorry, my desert rose. It will only hurt for a bit; like a pinch.”
She glares up at him with tears brimming the whites of her eyes. He doesn’t say anything, however, tightening against his burrowing phallus. He sighs as waits a moment or two before plunging deeper into her garden.
“Oh Goddess’s mercy, you’re so warm and tight.” With a sweet roll of his hips, he buried himself into her in complete and utter bliss.
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