His noble wife was particularly sensitive in her chest. The sight of her breaking into soft, trembling cries when he filled his mouth with that lush flesh and drew on it gently was nothing short of intoxicating. The way her lower belly clenched and she flinched when he lightly dragged his tongue over her swollen n*pples was endlessly endearing.

But the most sensitive place of all was the soft, slick flesh nestled between her elegant thighs. Press his tongue there and bury his face in it, and he could feel her slender body convulse from head to toe.

The fl*id that welled up in surges from that yielding opening was sweet as the water of life. Ian always drank it down with pleasure.

On nights like those, he would think to himself. Perhaps all of this was a dream. It was a miracle too blissful to be real, and even now there were moments he could not quite believe it.

Could it truly be real, that the most noble woman in the country, the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, lay beneath him with her clothes shed and her legs spread, weeping?

He thought back to the first time he had seen her. It was the first royal ball he had ever been invited to.

Until then, he had been nothing more than a lowly retainer of a bastard prince, roaming the frontier beating down pirates, and was in no position to mingle with people of high standing.

Wandering the country like that, he had at last come to the capital when the bastard prince finally returned home, receiving a knighthood along the way. And it was there that he first saw her.

In that moment, looking at her as she shone brilliantly in the light, he seemed to have had only one thought.

I want her.

I want her.

I want her.

It was the kind of greed that could consume a life. He had not known that at the time.

He had not known that the first signs of obsession had already begun, and simply went on yearning without end.