Roving Blade
15.4k words
Knight!Jake x Princess!Reader
warnings: this is set in like the 18th century so there's gonna be some stereotypical sexism type shit, slow burn, kinda angsty a little bit in some places, flirting, violence, mentions of fighting, Jake threatens a guy with his sword, kissing, heavy petting, SMUT 18+!, oral sex (f. rec), dirty talk, era-fitting shame, fingering, more dirty talk, the L word, arranged marriage, MORE SMUT, oral again (f. rec) + fingering again, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, dirty talk, sweet sappy shit, lemme know if I missed any!
a/n: This one has been so fun to write! Huge, huge thank you to my dear friend @becinabubblegvf for the idea and encouragement! As always, my requests are open!
Masterlist
You are furious.
Not the quiet, simmering anger that whispers at the back of your mind, but the kind that burns hot, uncontrollable, inescapable. Your hands shake despite your best efforts to clamp them into the folds of your gown, the pale tulle doing nothing to disguise your trembling fingers. You inhale sharply, hold it, and exhale slowly, hoping that rationality– or some flicker of patience– might settle your temper. It does not. You try again, forcing yourself into an impossible calm. Still nothing.
Your jaw tightens, and with a measured, almost defiant breath, you finally lift your gaze to your father. He stands as he always does– arrogant, regal, immovable– a statue of authority in the center of the ornate hall. And yet, even in the weight of his majesty, your blood boils.
“Father,” you say slowly, each syllable coated with ice.
He meets your gaze evenly, unflinching. “It will not be negotiated, dear Y/n,” he says, every word laced with finality. “You have run amok long enough. You have endangered yourself and this kingdom. It is final.”
You arch a brow, disbelief tugging at your lips. “So you hire me a babysitter?” The sharpness in your voice betrays every ounce of indignation you feel.
“I warned you after your last stunt,” he replies, his tone edged with the same sharpness. “Now, act accordingly. He will arrive shortly.”
You remain silent, lips pressed into a thin line, turning your gaze away. The door creaks open behind him, and your pulse quickens– not in fear, but in rising irritation. You had assumed a guard would be some grotesque, middle-aged man, greasy and ill-tempered, forced to shadow you like a hawk. Ridiculous. Preposterous, even.
And yet, when he steps into the room, all assumptions shatter.
Your eyes sweep over him– shoulder-length brown hair that catches the light like molten silk, a sculpted face so precise it could have been carved from marble, eyes dark and piercing as if he could see into your very soul. A crooked, almost mischievous smile tugs at his lips, yet the weight of calm command in his posture– the subtle gleam of his polished armor– marks him as someone accustomed to authority. Young, perhaps your age, and far too composed to be anything less than extraordinary.
“Your Highness,” he says politely, bowing low.
You let your gaze wander, disinterested but uncomfortably aware of the way your chest tightens. You merely frown, before you turn your head away, back to the window.
Half an hour later, fed up with the confines of the room, you slip away, silent and determined. The door clicks behind you. And then– you hear it. Footsteps.
“Your father told me to–”
“I do not need an escort,” you snap, clutching your skirt in one hand and striding upward.
He follows. Predictably.
You whirl around, heart hammering. “I said–”
“Yes, I heard you,” he says evenly. “But I serve your father, not you. My duty is clear, Your Highness.”
You flare your nostrils, anger rising. “Leave me alone.”
“If I could, I would,” he replies smoothly, almost casual, almost maddening.
Your teeth grit. “I do not care. Leave me alone!”
“You might want to reconsider,” he says, raising an eyebrow as he moves closer. “It is not up to you.”
You spin and storm up the stairs, but the sound of his footsteps behind you only fuels the fire in your chest. You reach your chamber and spin, chest heaving, chin high.
“Jacob,” you hiss. “I told you to leave.”
“And I told you I cannot,” he says, arms crossed, expression unyielding. “Might as well get used to it, Your Highness.”
Your lips press into a thin line. “Shouldn’t you be out fighting wars instead of babysitting?”
“Oh, I’d much rather be on the battlefield,” he says, a faint smirk curving his lips. “But unfortunately, this… spoiled child is my current assignment.”
“And you think this gives you the right to speak to me like that?” you demand, fury making your voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“Yes,” he says simply, leaning against the wall, calm, unbothered, infuriating. “I do.”
“You’ll just… wait out here all night, then?”
“That’s none of your concern,” he replies, his casualness grinding against your nerves like sandpaper. Yet, you notice– the faint glint of amusement in his eyes when he says it.
You fold your arms, chest tight, trying to tame the heat of your frustration. “Goodnight,” you mutter, voice clipped.
“Goodnight, Your Highness,” he replies, voice soft but pointed, ignoring the glare you shoot him as the door slams behind you.
And just like that, you hate him.
And just like that, you cannot stop thinking about him.
—
When you step out of your room, you're not surprised to find him standing by the wall– disappointed, but not surprised. His eyes trail over you, lingering at the hollow of your throat before moving back up to your eyes.
“Your Highness,” he murmurs, inclining his head.
You purse your lips, “You're still here.”
“You sound disappointed,” he says lightly.
“Perhaps,” you say, lifting your chin, “I'm going for a walk in the gardens.”
You step away before he can respond, your hand holding your skirts a little tighter when you hear him moving behind you.
“Tell me, Jacob,” you begin, not looking behind you, “How did a knight as noble as yourself get assigned to such a task?”
“Seems to be pure luck,” he mutters.
“Indeed,” you cut back, rounding the corner once you'd reached the bottom of the stairs.
You step forward, reaching for the door handle that leads to the gardens, when he steps in front of you, his hand landing on the handle before yours could.
Your eyes cut to him, wide and annoyed, as he pushes the door open, tilting his head as he watches you walk past with your nose in the air.
You take a sharp right, heading directly for the hedges, hoping you could lose him and give yourself a moment to breathe.
You glance behind you when you reach the opening of the bushes, and you step through. You don't miss the way his jaw tightens, annoyance passing over his face when he realizes what you're planning. You round the corner, grabbing your skirts to move faster.
“You're acting like a child, Your Highness,” you hear him call behind you.
“You're acting like a sour old man, Jacob,” you reply, turning another corner.
You weave your way through the hedges, stopping only when you believe you've put enough distance between you. You breathe out a sigh of relief, turning behind you as you wait for him to appear. When he doesn't, you grin, rounding one final corner–
You jump when you find him standing there, arms crossed as he leans against one of the statues, face drawn into a glare.
“How did you–”
“Perhaps you should try to play one of your games with someone who does not know every square inch of this kingdom, Your Highness.”
You blink, frowning at him, “Forgive me for not knowing you were so skilled, knight,” you say the last word as an insult.
He straightens up, the muscles of his jaw flexing as he steps to you, stopping just a foot away, “You have a sharp tongue, princess,” he observes, tilting his head. “Do you always use it on everyone, or just me?”
Your skin heats, “Whomever I believe deserves it.”
“And I'm so lucky to be deserving of it?” He asks, his eyes flitting to your lips, briefly enough you almost miss it.
“It seems that way,” you whisper, your voice failing you.
He hums, stepping back, “You're not as good at playing as you believe you are.”
Your breath finally leaves you in one big exhale the second he leaves you alone. You stare at the half-covered cobblestone path, wondering what that just was. You raise your eyes, glancing around the hedges. You grit your teeth when you realize you've gotten yourself lost.
“Jacob!” You call, turning to follow behind him.
—
Your breath catches in your lungs the moment Ella tightens the corset. You bring a hand to your chest, your other hand gripping onto the screen in front of you.
“My apologies,” she murmurs, loosening the corset just enough for you to breathe properly once again.
You let out a shaky breath, “This dress is ridiculous,” you say to her.
She gives you an apologetic smile, “You will be the loveliest jewel at the ball, Your Highness.”
“I've told you not to call me that,” you say, your tone softly chastising.
“Forgive me,” she responds, turning to pick up more of the cursed material.
“Jacob, will you be attending the ball tonight?” You ask louder, peeking around the side of the dressing screen.
He's probably the most relaxed you've seen him, sitting cross-legged on your floor with a book in his lap. “Unfortunately,” he responds, not looking up from the pages.
“You sound disappointed,” you point out, “Why go at all?”
“I must,” he says, “You'll be there.”
“You will still be on duty?”
“Yes,” he says quietly.
“Do you dance?” You ask, a smile on your lips.
“No,” he says, glancing up at you. You frown at him, straightening back up behind the screen once more.
“It's a shame he's so boring,” you murmur to Ella, who grins up at you, “He's so handsome, isn't he?”
“I can hear you, Your Highness,” he says softly. Your eyes widen and your hand clamps over your mouth.
“My apologies, Jacob–”
“That's not necessary,” he says. You can hear him move on the other side of the screen, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get ready for this cursed ball tonight.”
You grin despite the shame burning your cheeks, “Try not to act so enthused, Jacob.”
“Yes, well,” he responds, voice flat, “I fear I cannot contain my excitement any further.”
—
Exhaustion hits you like a wave. Annoyance, hunger, and sheer fatigue weighed on your shoulders, but escaping the ball was not an option. Your father had invited Prince Anthony– a man you couldn’t even bother remembering the details of– because of a potential peace treaty.
Anthony was older, unattractive, and personality-deficient on top of it. You were stationed at the edge of the dance floor, where Jacob could keep an eye on you, since he loathed dancing.
Anthony’s hand slid far too low on your waist, and you glanced at Jacob. His glare was sharp, focused, and protective, though he could only act if the man overstepped further. You were tempted to give him the cause just to escape.
The song ends. You excuse yourself with a polite curtsy and quickly leave the floor. Jacob follows, as does Anthony, but you slip to the wine table, grabbing a glass and taking a generous swallow as Anthony tries to speak.
You catch Jacob’s eye– his frown barely concealed beneath his courteous mask– and a small, knowing smile tugs at your lips. You extend a fresh glass of wine toward him. He accepts it with a faint bow of the head, a gesture both polite and familiar.
"Perhaps your father and I might come to an arrangement concerning you," Lord Anthony says beside you, his voice low and grating.
You turn to him, your smile faltering. "I beg your pardon?"
"Yes," he continues smoothly, as though discussing a matter of trade. "I would very much like your hand in marriage, Your Highness. Such a union would be most advantageous– for both our nations."
You hear Jacob choke softly on his wine behind you. The sound nearly draws your gaze, but you restrain yourself, forcing your expression into one of calm composure.
"It may indeed be advantageous, my lord," you say carefully, "yet I have no intention of marrying for politics. I am quite content to belong to myself, for now."
Anthony’s smile does not reach his eyes. "We shall discuss it with your father, then. I am certain he will be persuaded to see reason."
A thin, brittle laugh escapes you. "If you will excuse me, my lord," you murmur, slipping gracefully through the throng before your composure cracks.
"Your Highness–" Jacob begins, stepping toward you, but you shake your head sharply and disappear onto the balcony.
The night air greets you like cool silk, fragrant with roses from the gardens below. For a blessed moment, you are alone– until the door clicks softly shut behind you.
Jacob stands by the balustrade, the city lights gilding his profile. He still holds his glass, though he has forgotten it entirely. His gaze finds yours, steady and concerned.
"Your father will never give your hand to him," he says quietly.
A bitter laugh escapes you. "You do not know my father, Jacob. He would trade me to a throne if it meant securing another alliance. He has never placed his daughter above his crown."
"That is unfair," Jacob replies, his voice gentling. "You cannot fathom how deeply he cherishes you, Your Highness."
"Must you always call me that?" you mutter, folding your arms.
His lips curve faintly. "Would you prefer ‘Your Majesty’? Or perhaps ‘Princess’?"
You roll your eyes. "My name is Y/n."
"Ah," he says with a quiet chuckle, stepping closer, "but I am but a knight in your father’s service. Were I to call you by name, His Majesty might have my head on the block before sunset."
You scoff. "He would do no such thing."
"Come," he says suddenly, setting his glass aside. "We are going to dance."
Before you can protest, he takes your hand– his touch warm, steady– and leads you back into the ballroom. Conversations hush, eyes turn, but he pays them no mind. He draws you close, one hand at your waist, the other enclosing yours, and begins to move with surprising grace.
The orchestra’s melody swells around you, slow and tender. You find yourself almost breathless.
"I was under the impression you did not dance, Jacob," you whisper.
"I do not," he replies, a small smile playing at his lips.
You smile back, cheeks warming. "You conceal it well. You are quite accomplished."
"As are you, my lady," he murmurs, his arm tightening ever so slightly.
Your gaze lingers on him– the curve of his smile, the steady warmth in his eyes. "Have I mentioned how handsome you look this evening?" you ask softly.
He arches a brow. "Still boring, am I?"
You laugh, and he spins you gracefully before drawing you close again. "No," you breathe, eyes fixed on his. "Not boring at all. I just dislike you when you tell me no."
He chuckles quietly, his voice low. "You look exquisite tonight, Y/n. Truly… breathtaking."
Your breath catches as his fingers brush lightly against your cheek. "And this blush," he says with a smile, "it suits you far too well."
Silence stretches between you, delicate as glass.
"Have you been drinking too much, Jacob?" you whisper at last, trying– and failing– to hide your smile.
"Not a drop beyond what duty permits," he replies. "I am still on guard, after all."
"Then why so bold, sir knight?" You ask coyly.
His grin softens into something almost reverent. "Because it is you, my princess," he murmurs.
—
You lie upon the blanket with eyes closed, the breeze threading tender fingers through your hair. The murmuring leaves above whisper softly to the wind, while the brook nearby sings in its ceaseless hush. The sun is warm upon your skin– golden, indulgent, like a lover’s hand lingering too long.
Jacob stands a short distance away, ever the sentinel, his posture unyielding even in such gentle peace.
You lift your head, squinting toward him. He is already watching you– measured, intent, as though his gaze itself were part of his duty.
“Do you ever relax?” you ask, rolling onto your stomach and resting your chin upon your palm.
“Not while I am guarding you, Your Highness,” he replies, his tone quiet but unbending.
“Guarding me from what, precisely?” Your eyes sweep over the tranquil glade. “Come. Sit with me.”
He hesitates.
“I demand it,” you add, soft yet imperious.
“Oh, she demands it now,” he mutters, though a faint smile threatens his composure. At length, he steps forward, surveys the clearing once more, and lowers himself to the grass beside you with visible reluctance.
“I do indeed,” you reply airily, turning onto your back. You are close to him now– closer than propriety might allow– and you can feel the tension ripple through him like a held breath. You close your eyes, feigning ignorance, though your heart is not so easily stilled. A tender silence unfolds between you– Jacob plucking idly at blades of grass, you lying there beneath the dappled light, your thoughts adrift.
“Jacob?”
“Princess.”
You tilt your head toward him, studying the solemn cast of his face. “Have you ever been with a woman?”
His eyes widen, a flicker of astonishment crossing his features before he recovers himself, the ghost of a smile curling at his lips. “That is a most improper question.”
“I only ask,” you murmur, voice softened by the hum of the stream, “because it seems everyone has done it– everyone but me.”
He exhales, a low sound that might be amusement. “Then I fear my answer shall disappoint you, Your Highness.”
“What is it like?” you ask quietly, turning onto your side to face him.
“It is… different for me than it would be for you.”
“I know that,” you say, a hint of impatience in your tone.
“If it is done in love,” he says after a pause, his voice low and deliberate, “it can be a beautiful thing.”
You study him, searching his face. “And have you ever done it in love?”
“You ask a great many questions,” he murmurs, though his tone holds no rebuke.
“You are the only one who ever answers them.”
He glances away, his voice dropping to something quieter. “No. Never in love. It was… a passing folly, perhaps. A cure for loneliness. Whatever poor excuse one gives for emptiness.”
You watch him for a long moment. “Have you ever been in love, Jacob?”
“I have not,” he says at last, slowly, as though confessing something half-forgotten.
“Are you in love now?” The words escape you before you can stop them, trembling with something you cannot name.
“I am,” he says, steady as a vow. “Since the moment I first saw her.”
Your pulse stirs. “Who?”
He allows a faint smile, the barest tilt of his lips. “That, I fear, is none of your concern, Your Highness.”
“Tell me about her,” you whisper.
He regards you for a moment, the blade of grass forgotten between his fingers. “She is fiery,” he says softly. “Quick-tempered. Prone to defiance when she should be cautious. But she is… passionate. Kind beyond measure. Fearless in ways that shame me. And she cares little for the judgment of others. I admire her– more than I should.”
You turn your gaze upward, the sky blurring through the sting in your eyes. “Does she love you?”
He hesitates, and when he speaks, his voice is almost a breath. “She would be a fool to do so.”
—
The situations you found yourself in were almost comical– if not for how weary they’d become.
Once again, you were in the gardens, arm in arm with yet another suitor your family insisted you entertain. Jacob followed a few paces behind, silent and steady, a constant shadow among the rose-lined paths.
This one was younger than the usual– fair-haired, tall, and irritatingly sure of himself. He spoke as though every word were a favor, every glance a gift. You could hardly remember his name.
As you round a bend, he glances back at Jacob with a curl of disdain. “Must he always follow so closely?”
“It is his duty,” you reply lightly, careful to keep your tone pleasant.
The man’s smirk deepens. “And if I were to kiss you, would he still be lurking?”
You stop walking. “I do not believe that would be appropriate,” you say, quiet but firm.
He laughed softly, stepping closer. “Come now– you needn’t pretend at propriety with me. We both are well aware of how alliances work.”
“No–”
Before you can step back, his hand catches your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin. You gasp, pulling against his grip–
–and then he was gone.
Jacob is there, faster than a breath. He seizes the man by the shoulder and wrenches him away from you, the motion so sudden the suitor stumbles back into the stone edge of the fountain.
“I believe the lady said no,” Jacob says, his voice low and steady, though the anger in it was unmistakable.
The young lord straightens, eyes flashing. “You overstep yourself, guard.”
Jacob takes a measured step forward, his expression unreadable. “And you’ve done the same.” He doesn’t look at you as he says, “Go back to the castle, Your Highness.”
“Jacob–” you begin, breathless.
His tone softens, just slightly. “Please.”
You hesitate only a moment before turning and hurrying back up the path, your pulse still racing.
You barely remember the walk back to the castle– only the pounding of your heart and the sound of gravel crunching beneath your shoes. The cool corridors feel stifling now, the scent of roses replaced by cold stone and the faint echo of your own steps. You don’t slow until you reach the great hall, where your father sits with his advisors.
“Father,” you say, louder than intended.
The conversation halts. The king’s gaze lifts to you at once, sharp and assessing. “What is it?”
You glance at the watching faces– lords and courtiers murmuring among themselves– and your father immediately dismisses them with a flick of his hand. The heavy doors shut behind the last of them, leaving the two of you alone.
You step forward, breath trembling. “It’s Lord– ” You hesitate, grasping for the name you’d barely cared to remember. “Lord Everett. He– he behaved improperly. Jacob intervened, but I think he may need help.”
Your father rises without another word, his chair scraping against the marble. “Guards!”
Two soldiers enter almost instantly.
“Find Jacob in the south gardens,” the king orders, his voice hard as iron. “He is with Lord Everett. Ensure that no harm comes to either man– and ensure that Lord Everett does not come back here.”
The guards bow and hurry from the room. When the doors close again, your father turns back to you.
“Tell me,” he says quietly. “What happened?”
You explain as best you can– the walk through the gardens, Everett’s arrogance, the hand that had catches your wrist, and Jacob’s sudden, fierce defense. You try to keep your voice steady, but when you reach the part where Everett had touched you, your throat closes.
Your father’s jaw tightens. For a moment, silence fills the room, heavy and sharp. Then he exhales slowly, the sound more like a growl than a sigh.
“You will not be alone with that man again,” he says, his tone final. “In fact, you will not see him at all. I’ll see to that personally.”
You nod, the words settling over you like a shield.
His expression softens– just slightly– as he steps closer and brushes a hand over your shoulder. “You did the right thing by coming to me. And as for Jacob…” He pauses, something unreadable in his eyes. “It seems I owe him my gratitude.”
You lower your gaze, the heat of the moment finally fading into something else– something you can’t quite name.
“Yes, Father,” you murmur.
He nods once, “Perhaps you should go to bed, my dear.”
You nod, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he murmurs, voice gentle as you make your leave.
—
You storm into the war-room, the door flying open, and you find your father sitting– defeatedly– at his desk. He sighs, “Y/n.”
“Where is Jacob?”
He doesn’t respond for a moment, his eyes tired, “He has been… relieved of his duties for a fortnight.”
“For what purpose?” You ask, crossing your arms.
“As punishment,” he says, “I assumed you'd be content with him gone– You're insistent about ridding yourself of a guard.”
“You've replaced him with an imbecile,” you say haughtily, “He does not even know I left my chambers.”
“Jacob overstepped last night– He almost killed a man, Y/n. I am being generous.”
Your breath catches, “He did what?”
“The guards were late,” he says, waving a hand, “He nearly killed Lord Everett– Although it was for your honor, it could have been a tragedy.”
Your jaw tightens, "Your gratitude, indeed,” you say coldly, his words from last night replaying in your head. I owe him my gratitude.
“It's a mere two weeks.” Your father says, pretending your words didn't make his shoulders sink slightly.
You sigh, “I fear I'll be kidnapped before the fortnight is finished,” you say, making one last dig at Jacob's replacement.
You leave without another word, slamming the door shut behind you.
You storm back to your room, shooting daggers to the man standing across the hallway. He merely blinks at you, his eyes averting.
You slam the door to your room, huffing a sigh when you find Ella, your handmaid, readying your tea.
“Ella, can you believe it?!” You snap, crossing your arms haughtily as you sit at the small table.
She gives you a small smile, hesitantly taking a seat across from you. It pained you to realize she was still uncertain about having tea with you.
“Where has he gone?” She asks, pouring your tea into your cup before filling her own.
“He's been relieved,” you say, crossing your arms as you glare out the window. “For two weeks.”
“Oh,” she says, frowning at you, “For what purpose?”
“Father said he almost killed Lord Everett,” you say quietly.
“Did he?” She says, her eyes wide. “Forgive me if this is too bold, Your Highness, but Jacob seems to be… quite fond of you.”
Your cheeks heat, “He is only doing his job,” you murmur.
“Perhaps a bit too well, then?” She says with a shy smile.
Your eyes land on the table, before moving up to her as your own smile grows, “Perhaps,” you sigh, “I only wish there was a way for me to see him before the fortnight is up.”
Ella pauses, “I assume you wouldn't mind knowing where he lives?”
You blink, foregoing all false senses of propriety, “You know?”
It's her turn to blush, “He lives beside–” she cuts herself off, “–a friend of mine.”
You grin, “Tell me where Jacob lives,” you say quietly, “Then you must tell me about this friend of yours.”
—
You knew the new guard would be asleep.
You had to give Jacob credit– he’d always been sharp, vigilant. This one… wasn’t.
It made sneaking out easier, though. You could thank him for that.
You whisper Ella’s directions over and over in your head as you cross the dew-soaked field: The last cottage, furthest from the training grounds, across from the castle. Your cloak brushed the grass. The air was cold enough to sting, but you hardly felt it.
You had to make it there unseen. You had to.
Jacob’s life depended on it– so did your reputation.
By the time you reach the cottage, the castle lights had been out for hours. You raise your hand and knock before you can talk yourself out of it.
The door swings open a moment later.
Jacob stands there– disheveled, bare-armed, the firelight catching in his hair. His eyes widen, then narrow. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, voice low and sharp as a drawn blade.
“I–” you falter, your shoulders sinking. “I wanted to see you.”
Something flickers behind his eyes– something dangerously close to softness. Then it vanishes. “Do you have any idea what you’re risking? If someone saw you–”
“Then let me in,” you interrupt.
He hesitates. The silence stretches. Finally, he steps aside.
You slip past him, your pulse hammering. The door shut behind you, sealing the two of you inside that small, warm space.
You’d been alone with him before, but never like this. Not when he wasn’t wearing armor. Not when he looked… human.
You glance around. The place is simple: a small fire in the hearth, a chair draped with a half-folded shirt, another cluttered with books and parchment. A painting hung above the mantle– an older woman, strong-jawed, familiar. His mother, perhaps. His boots were tossed by the door, one toppled over as if he’d kicked it off carelessly.
“I know you’re used to finer things,” he mutters.
“I love it,” you say honestly.
He breathes out, slow and measured. “How did you escape the castle?”
“Your substitute does a poor job,” you say, half a smile tugging at your mouth.
That earns the faintest smirk. “I’m sure you’re thrilled.”
“I’m not,” you reply. “I’ve stayed in my room… mostly.”
“Mostly,” he echoes.
“This is only the second time I’ve left.”
“And you come here?”
“Should I not have?”
“No,” he says softly. “You should not have.”
The words sting, though you know he’s right. “I missed you,” you murmur.
He doesn’t answer. He only moves into the small kitchen, the sound of glass clinking against wood filling the silence. You stare into the fire, trying not to feel foolish. When he returns, he holds out a glass. You take it with a quiet thank-you.
You glance at the contents and smile faintly. “My father has warned me of drinking with despicable men.”
He tilts his head. “You think I’m despicable?”
“No,” you say. “Just unpredictable.”
He gives a short, amused breath. “Unpredictable,” he repeats.
Silence stretches between you again, taut as a bowstring.
“Who replaced me?” he asks finally.
“Alfred. He sleeps in the hallway. Most of the time.”
His jaw tenses. “I’ll deal with that when I’m back.”
Your fingers tighten around the glass. “How?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“I believe it is,” you counter.
“It isn’t.”
You glare. “By all means, Jacob, make it worse for yourself.”
He exhales through his nose, steady and irritated. “You speak freely of things you don’t understand.”
“Perhaps. But I do understand that the man charged with my safety was dismissed, and I was left with someone who cannot even sheath a sword.”
“You’re very adept at getting under my skin,” he says evenly.
“Thank you. You’re very adept at running from your problems.”
His eyes darken. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means.”
He stares at you, weighing whether to bite or retreat. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Do I not?” You turn fully toward him. “Why were you relieved of duty, Jacob?” You know why. You want him to tell you the details.
He takes a drink, eyes on the fire.
“Why?” you press.
“It’s not your business.”
“Perhaps it’s your temper,” you say lightly, making your way to the kitchen. “Unpredictable.”
His gaze snaps to you, sharp as a strike. He says nothing, only sets his glass down on the mantle.
“Or perhaps,” you continue, feigning interest in the kitchen’s spice bowl, “you’re simply incapable.”
He moves. You feel it before you see it– the air shifting, the low scrape of boots. When you turn, he’s there, close. Too close.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says, voice quiet but dangerous.
“And what’s that?” you ask, breath catching as you back into the edge of the table.
“You think if you provoke me enough, I’ll tell you what happened.” His hands brace on either side of you, gripping the wood.
“It seems the only time you’re honest with me is when you’re angry,” you murmur.
“I’m always honest with you, princess. I tell you what you need to know.”
“If it's something that I believe I need to know rather than what you believe I need to know, the only way for me to know is to get you angry.”
He hesitates, his eyes lifting as he goes over your words, and his brows furrow. “You willingly admit to being a spoiled brat?”
“Better a spoiled brat than an incapable ass.”
His jaw tightens. “Watch your tongue.”
“Or what? Will you tell my father?” you taunt.
“No.” His voice drops lower. “I’ll do what I should have done long ago.”
“And what’s that?” you breathe.
His gaze burns into you. “Bend you over this table and teach you to listen.”
Your breath hitches. Heat floods your face, your throat. “You wouldn’t dare.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Or what? Would you tell your father?”
Your pulse jumps. “Perhaps,” you lie.
“No,” he says softly. “You wouldn’t.”
“You’re arrogant.”
“I’m certain.”
You swallow hard. “Why must you always argue with me?”
He raises a single brow. “I could ask you the same.”
“I came to see you, Jacob. I didn’t come to argue.”
“Then stop arguing,” he murmurs.
“Fine.” You seize his face in your hands and kiss him before your courage fails. It’s brief– barely a brush of lips– but it feels like a storm breaking.
He goes still, then straightens abruptly, eyes wide. He turns away, a hand brushing his mouth. “Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to,” you say, though your heart thunders like a drum.
He faces you again, torn between anger and something else entirely. “Your father would have my head if he knew.”
“Only if you told him.”
His jaw clenches. “Have you lost your damned mind?”
“No.”
“You can’t– You shouldn’t–” He breaks off, dragging a hand down his face. “You are the princess.”
“I’m aware.”
“And I’m a knight,” he snaps. “Sworn to your father. To your safety.”
You stare at him, eyes burning. “Then what is this, Jacob? Why do you look at me like that if I’m just your duty?”
He freezes. The question hung in the air, fragile and fatal. His voice drops to a whisper. “Because I want you,” he says. “God help me, I do. But I cannot have you.” Your breath catches. He steps closer, his restraint trembling at the seams. “Do you understand what it would mean if anyone found out? If your father did?”
You shake your head, voice trembling. “I don’t care–”
“You should,” he interrupts harshly. “Because I do. Because one word– one rumor– and I’m dead. And you–” He stops himself, jaw tight. “You’d be ruined,” he says softly. “And I’d never forgive myself for it.”
Silence. The fire pops, throwing sparks between you. You can feel the war inside him– duty versus desire, oaths against instinct.
You take a small step forward. “And if it were just us?”
He laughs once, bitter and low. “Then I would already be kissing you again.” Your pulse stumbles. He reaches up, fingers brushing a stray curl from your face, his touch trembling. “But I am a knight,” he whispers. “And you are the princess. That is the beginning and the end of this.”
You swallow heavily, “It does not have to be.”
He hesitates, warring between duty and something else, something you can't name. He tilts his head, “You do not know what you ask.”
“Then show me,” you say, feigning your confidence.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The fire crackles; your breath is caught; the world holds its breath with you. Then he reaches for you– slowly, reverently– as though afraid you might vanish. His fingers trace the line of your jaw, the corner of your mouth. His touch trembles, worshipful.
When he finally kisses you, it was not with hunger but with reverence. His lips meet yours as though in prayer, soft at first, tasting of fear and longing.
Then the dam breaks– his hand slides to the back of your neck, drawing you closer, his breath shuddering against your skin. The world narrows to the warmth of his mouth, the steadiness of his heart hammering against yours.
He kisses you like a man who knew he would burn for it– and chose the fire anyway.
He draws a ragged breath, then steps closer until the edge of the table meets the back of your thighs. His hands, rough from swordwork, finds your waist.
“Jacob–” you whisper, but your voice fails as he lifts you gently, settling you upon the table’s edge.
For a heartbeat, neither of you move. The firelight paints him in gold and shadow, his eyes glinting faintly. Then he sinks to one knee before you– not as a knight before his princess, but as a man before something sacred.
“Jacob…”
He looked up at you, eyes fierce, reverent. “Hush,” he says softly.
You feel the words like a touch. His hands trace slow paths along the hem of your gown, his fingers brushing your skin as though memorizing every breath. He presses a kiss to your knee, light as a vow, then another higher, until you shiver.
“Jacob, what are you–”
“Don’t speak,” he murmurs, voice unsteady.
Your heart flutters like a trapped bird as his lips follow the edge of your gown, each kiss a promise he has no right to make. The air between you throbs with want and fear and something unbearably tender.
And when he lifts his head again, his expression breaks you– devotion and torment, worship and ruin in the same breath. “You are the undoing of me,” he whispers.
You stutter out an uneven breath when his hands meet your legs, pushing the material away to reveal your bare skin. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, and you swallow when his lips meet your knee.
He breathes out, warm against your skin, “Why would you leave the castle wearing so little?” He asks, referring to your simple nightgown under your robe. Nothing else. You hadn't thought, but now it made you blush as you realized the implications.
“It wasn't my intention,” you whisper, your cheeks flaming.
He hums, his fingers unmoving on the edge of your gown, “Tell me to stop,” he says, voice rough. You shake your head, and he repeats it, firmer.
“No,” you say, breathless.
He looks broken, like he'd lost the war when his hands move up your legs, easing the edge of your thin dress up further. Your face burns when he lifts you up, pulling it up to your waist, leaving your lower half bare to him. Your thighs shut instinctually, eyes wide as he resettles on his knees before you.
His lips find your skin again, his hand slipping between your knees to separate them. You weaken, shuddering out a sigh when his hands part your legs.
Part of you feels shame, embarrassment at someone seeing you this way. But the other part of you is aching, focusing on a strange, unfamiliar warmth building in your lower belly.
Your hands find the wooden table on either side of you, holding you upright as you lean back, eyes watching his every move.
He kisses up your leg, pausing at your inner thigh, before he moves to your other knee, repeating the same thing.
Your eyes flutter shut, your breathing uneven. You feel his mouth at the crease of your inner thigh, moving just an inch over. You gasp, your eyes popping open when he presses a kiss to your heated center.
Your palm finds his forehead, pushing him away, “What are you doing?!” You ask frantically.
He smiles knowingly, his hand reaching up to move yours away, “Do you trust me?” He asks softly.
“Yes, but–” You pause, your eyes searching his face, “Why is your mouth there?!”
He grins, “Oh, you sweet little thing,” he whispers, endeared.
Your heart pounds against your ribs as you realize this is what you'd heard whispers of– a man with his head between a woman's legs, his mouth on her most private area. It was a rumor, something you never imagined to be true.
His hands find your inner thighs, opening your legs further. You watch him closely, your fingers tightening against the wood as he presses another, firmer kiss to your core.
Your breathing is uneven, unsteady as he kisses at you. Gentle, barely there kisses that make your thighs tremble. Then finally, you feel the warmth of his tongue, soft and sure, licking a single stripe up your slit. You breathe out a quiet, “Oh,” as your muscles constrict around nothing.
He hums against you, smug as he wraps his lips around your aching bud. Your hips jump, and his hands– rough and calloused– grab you, holding you in place.
He suckles lightly, as if he's teasing you, working you up further. He flicks his tongue gently, suckling at your bud as he babies it with his tongue. Your hand finds your mouth, covering it when the tiniest sound escapes you. It almost embarrasses you, makes your cheeks burn and your body heat.
There's a different type of heat curling in your lower stomach, one you've never felt quite so intense. One that causes your legs to tremble and your breath catch as it burns hotter with every stroke of his tongue.
You can't help but watch him, your eyes locking with his, flitting between his own gaze and where his mouth was.
It's lewd. It's indecent and you should be ashamed. But you're not– you can't be. Not when he's making you feel this way.
You breathe his name as a warning, the warmth spreading through your body, still centralized in your lower half but building. He hums against you, a soft mm-hmm that tells you this is supposed to be happening, it's supposed to feel like this, you're supposed to fall apart for him.
“Come on, princess,” he murmurs against your skin, "Let go.”
You feel it begin as a quiet hum somewhere deep inside, a rhythm you hadn’t noticed until it grew stronger. The world seemed to narrow around you, every thought dissolving into the pull of the moment. Your breath catches, shallow and quick, as a warmth spreads through your chest and down your limbs– a kind of electric calm.
Then came the release, sudden and unstoppable, like the crest of a wave folding back into the sea. For an instant, everything blurs– time, sound, the edges of yourself.
When it passes, you’re left suspended in stillness, your heartbeat echoing softly in your ears, a fragile calm wrapping around you like a blanket.
Afterward, the quiet felt full– not empty– as if the whole world had exhaled with you.
He leaves a single kiss to your throbbing bud, pulling away like he didn't want to. He stays on his knees, kissing your thighs, palms warm and rough as he soothes them over your bare skin.
You let out a shaky sigh, “That was–” You cut yourself off with a shy laugh, your head falling back as your eyes shut.
He finally rises, standing between your thighs as his hand settles on the nape of your neck. You lift your head again, your eyes fluttering open as you take him in.
He presses a chaste, tender kiss to your lips, stepping back to pull your nightgown back down. You frown at him, “Is that all?”
He smiles lightly as he pulls you to your feet. You continue to frown as he readjusts your robe once again. “For tonight, yes,” he says, his voice low.
“Why?”
His hand pets gently at your hair, “I will not fully disgrace you just yet, princess.”
“Quit calling me that,” you mutter.
His jaw tightens, “Y/n.”
Your heart melts even further, softening at the way his voice curls around your name like a secret. You smile, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.He presses his forehead to yours, letting out a heavy breath.
“You need to go,” he says softly, “Before they realize you're gone.”
You nod, unmoving, until he steps back.
You swallow heavily, “Goodnight, Jacob.”
He gives you a soft smile, “Goodnight, Y/n.”
You leave without another word, knowing if you stayed a moment longer you wouldn't be leaving. You make it to the castle unseen, unheard. But your heart doesn't stop pounding even after you've quietly shut your door.
You grin to yourself, your body heating again as you recall what had just taken place.
You let out a dreamy sigh, moving to your window. In the distance, you can see his cottage, the light still flickering brightly.
Your heart aches. Two weeks would not be over fast enough.
—
You wake with a start, eyes wide when you seize there's a hand over your mouth. You let out a muffled cry, your fists connecting with the stranger's chest.
You hear someone shushing you, and a hand brushing your hair away, as if your fight wasn't affecting him in the slightest.
“You need to be quiet,” he whispers.
Your body immediately relaxes as you realize it's Jacob's hand over your mouth. You tense again when you realize it's his body hovering over yours indecently. He pulls his hand away, quickly replacing it with his own lips. You hum softly, your hands immediately tangling into the front of his shirt to pull him closer. He breaks away after a moment, and your eyes adjust to the moonlight creeping in through your window, highlighting his features perfectly.
“What are you doing here?” You ask softly, eyes wide as he pulls back.
“I missed you,” he repeats your own words from the night before back to you, making your heart thunder loudly in your chest.
“You could be killed, Jacob. If anybody were to catch you in here–”
“Then stay quiet and do not let us get caught,” he says, moving to settle between your thighs. Your face flames as he adjusts your legs, settling each of yours over the tops of his.
“How did you get in here?” You ask, biting your bottom lip when you feel his mouth brushing over your throat.
“You're not the only one who can sneak into places, princess,” he whispers, breath warm as it hits your skin.
“Are you drunk?” You ask with a frown, the faint scent of alcohol drifting into your nose.
“No,” he says, pressing his lips reverently to your throat. “Had to get my courage up,” he clarifies, his tongue darting out to lick along your collarbone.
“Oh,” you breathe, melting further into him. “Jacob?”
“Princess,” he replies softly.
“You remember you told me you were in love?” He pauses, pulling to watch you with furrowed brows.
“Yes,” he says slowly, cautiously.
“Have I gotten in the way of that?” You ask, nervous.
He blinks at you, his mouth falling open, “Are you dense?”
“I don't want to come in the middle of that–”
“Y/n, it's you,” he snaps lightly, a disbelieving grin pulling at his lips. “I'm in love with you, you incorrigible woman.”
Your breath stops, your mouth falls open, and you stare at him with widened eyes, “I– Oh.”
“Oh, you sweet, foolish little thing,” he says, huffing a besotted laugh.
You shake your head, “How was I supposed to know?!”
“I thought it was quite obvious,” he whispers. brushing your hair from your face.
“It was not,” you argue.
“Was my head between your thighs not a clear enough indication?”
“Do you always have to say such vulgar things?” You say, pushing lightly at him as a smile turns your lips upward.He simply hums, his lips falling back to your skin. You let out a shaky sigh, “How'd you get past Alfred?” You ask dryly.
“He was asleep,” he says absentmindedly as his fingers play with the strap of your chemise at your shoulder, “Anybody could've gotten to my princess,” his tone turns just a little darker, “I should kill him.”
“You should not,” you argue, your lower half warming when he slips the strap down your shoulder.
He hums, pressing another kiss to your skin, “No, I should thank him. For making it so easy for me to come see you.”
“For you to have our way?” You ask, gasping when he presses his hips against yours.
“If I were here to have my way with you, you would not be able to walk tomorrow, my darling girl.”
Your eyes widen, your mouth opening at the sheer audacity. Nobody had ever spoken to you in such a salacious manner. Yet still, you stare between you, “You're not going to–” You cut yourself off, unable to make yourself say such words.
“Not going to fuck you?” He asks, grinding against you firmly. “No,” he says, grabbing your thighs to spread them further open. “Not yet, anyway.”
Your face burns hot at his language. “Then– What are you doing?” You ask, breathless as you feel something large and hard pressing against your core, restrained by his pants, but solid and unyielding.
“There's so much more to it,” he says, rocking his hips slowly, the length of him rubbing against your clit just right, “So many ways to make you feel pleasure.”
“Oh,” you breathe the word, your eyes fluttering as that newly familiar heat grows inside of you.
“Have you ever touched yourself?” He asks, “Ever played with that beautiful little pussy of yours, princess?”
You stare at him like he's grown two heads, “No,” you say, scandalized. He grins, lifting his hips only to replace them with his hand.
Your mouth falls open with a soft cry when he presses his palm against you, cupping your most sensitive area in his hand. Your breathing accelerates when the pads of his fingers brush over your throbbing bud, circling with a feather light touch.
“I could spend the rest of my life between these pretty thighs,” he says, tone gentle as he applies more pressure to your clit.
Your eyes flutter shut as he plays with you, working at your bundle of nerves just right.
Your eyes fly open again when he slips a single finger inside of you to the knuckle, letting it rest there as he watches you closely.
“What are you– Jacob," you whine, feeling absolutely horrified at how much you loved it.
He whispers a quiet curse, curling his finger gently, “Just relax, love,” he murmurs, “It’s alright.”
Your face flames hot, “You're– You're depraved.”
He grins, pressing a kiss to your jaw, "Maybe a little. Does it feel good?”
You nod despite yourself, almost pouting when he slips his finger out of you. Before you can question him, he eases two fingers back inside, still as your walls squeeze around him. “Still alright?” He asks, jaw tight with restraint.
Your eyes fall shut as you nod, steadying your ragged breathing. “It– It feels good.”
He nods once, curling both fingers almost teasingly slow. You bite your lip to keep from crying out when the pads of his fingers press against a place inside of you that makes you see stars. “Oh, that's it, isn't it?” He asks quietly– smugly.
“That's– what?” You ask, your hands grappling your bedsheets.
He readjusts, his hand moving to the pillow beside your head, “Can you stay quiet, princess?”
“Yes,” you say, unsure of yourself.
“Good,” he replies.
Before you can question him, he's moving inside of you, his fingers curling faster. Your mouth falls open, and your legs tighten around him. The fire is burning low, each twist and curl of his hand stoking it. His eyes hardly leave your face, only doing so to occasionally watch his hand move between your thighs. He moves his thumb, rolling your clit underneath it in circles, and you're nearing your end. You hiccup a small sob, one that he intercepts as he presses his lips to yours. It only takes a few more circles, a few more thrusts of his wrist, and you've hit your peak.
You whine into his mouth, your hands grabbing his shirt to yank him closer to you. How he manages to work his hand at you while he's in that position makes your mind reel, and a hint of jealousy almost reveals itself. You come down slowly, your body thrumming with the aftershocks as he eases his hand away.
Your eyes feel heavy, but you blink it away, “How much longer until you're back to work?” You ask teasingly.
He smiles, pressing soft kisses along your skin, up your throat, along your jaw, your cheek, “Twelve days.”
You sigh heavily, “How cruel.”
He pushes himself up, “If you'll excuse me, my dear, I have to make my leave now.”
“Why?” You ask with a pout.
“Would you prefer someone to find me disgracing you?” He asks rhetorically.
“Let them,” you say softly. He huffs a laugh, leaning back. Your eyes trail down, lingering on the crotch of his pants, “Jacob?”
“Princess.”
“What– What about you? Are you not… ready?” You ask, blushing at your lack of wording.
“I'll take care of myself,” he murmurs, leaning back in to press a kiss to your lips, “Go back to sleep.”
“That hardly seems fair,” you argue, watching as he moves to his feet.
“In due time,” he promises. “Just get some rest.”
You sigh, your heart softening as he fixes the blankets around you, leaning over you and leaving a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, Jacob,” you say softly.
“Goodnight, princess.”
You watch as he leaves, sneaking out the door like a shadow. Your heart aches, your mind is spinning. But you smile to yourself as you lay there, your body easing into a peaceful sleep.
—
The sun is too harsh when you wake.
The light is too bright as it falls into your eyes through your window. You push yourself up, frowning as you drag yourself out of bed. You ready yourself for the day, pinning your hair away from your face, choosing a simple dress to mope in.
You square your shoulders, pulling your door open, “Alfred, I'm going to the gardens, do not bother escorting–”
You freeze when you find Jacob standing across the hall, casual, yet alert. “What are you doing here?” You ask quietly.
“I've been reinstated,” he says softly, eyes intense as they stick to yours.
Your shoulders sink, “I suppose you're not going to let me sneak out to the gardens, are you?”
“No,” he says, “But I can escort you there.”
You almost smile. “Very well.”
You shut your door behind you, walking toward the stairs without another word. At least out here you can breathe. You can clear your head and think about things. Nobody ever came to the gardens. It was empty and vast, an entire little world for you to wander freely and think freely.
Or so you thought.
It only takes about ten minutes before he's got you hidden behind a large statue, pressed against it as his fingers fuck into you. He's got one hand over your mouth, keeping you quiet as his eyes continue their watch, ensuring it was only the two of you.
He whispers filthy things, telling you how beautiful you looked, telling you you felt around his fingers, making your face blush hot and your walls squeeze around him tightly.
You finish with a soft moan, weak and muffled against his palm as you melt against the hard marble pressing against your back.
And he's slipping his hand from under your skirt, fixing it back so nobody could ever tell what he'd just done to you.
You run your hands over the material, cheeks still warm as you look away from him, “I suppose it's time to– Go inside.”
He watches you with darkened eyes, giving you a single nod as you step away. You lift your chin, pretending as if you hadn't just come undone in the open garden. As if you were still the graceful princess you were painted to be.
He sighs quietly as you walk ahead, and you turn your head back to him. He tilts his head slightly, a smirk playing at his lips, “Moments like these, I have come to appreciate the armor,” he murmurs.
“Why?” You ask softly, turning back around as you walk the cobblestone path.
His only response is a quiet chuckle.
—
“I'm to escort you on a play date?”
You frown at the flatness of his tone, turning around from where you were sitting at your vanity. “My friends are coming in to visit,” you say, “It's hardly a play date.”
“Sounds riveting,” he mutters.
“Perhaps it'd be more riveting for you to waste the day away between my thighs?” You ask, a dig at him. It doesn't land the way you meant it to, as an insult toward his seemingly overinterest in being indecent. You can tell immediately by the way his eyes darken and his lips curve upward.
“Now there's a brilliant idea,” he murmurs.
“Jacob–”
“You said it,” he counters.
“I did not mean it that way–” You cut yourself off when the door opens. Ella pauses, glancing between the two of you.
She curtsies, “Forgive me, I just–”
“You're not interrupting,” you cut in, giving her a smile. “Could you help me fix my hair, Ella?” She nods with a soft smile, making her way to you. Jacob stays silent as she pins your hair perfectly in place. You catch her reflection in the mirror, her cheeks flushed and a smile resting on her lips. You grin, “Did you visit your friend?” You ask, whispering so Jacob wouldn't hear you. Her cheeks flush further as her eyes move towards Jacob's direction, before she nods wordlessly.
Jacob sighs quietly, moving to the door, “I'll be in the hallway, Your Highness.”
Ella looks embarrassed, but the second the door shuts behind him, you both bust out in a fit of giggles.
—
The afternoon sun filters through the tall windows of the receiving hall, painting the marble floors in warm gold. You can already hear the laughter echoing before you even step in– familiar, bright, and just a touch too loud.
Annabeth spots you first. “There she is!” she cries, sweeping across the room in a flurry of silk and excitement. Her arms wrap around you before you can even speak, the scent of rosewater and home clinging to her.
“Annabeth,” you breathe, smiling into her shoulder. “You look–”
“Older? Happier? More well-fed?” she teases, pulling back with a grin. “All true, I assure you.”
“More dramatic than ever,” you counter with a laugh, before your gaze drifts to the man standing a few steps behind her.
“Henry,” you greet, tone polite but measured.
“Your Highness,” he replies, bowing just a bit too shallowly to be respectful and smiling just a bit too smugly to be charming. “Still as radiant as ever. I was beginning to think palace life might dull your shine.”
You ignore the bite behind his words, keeping your smile steady. “I assure you, the palace hasn’t managed to dim me just yet.”
From the corner of your eye, you can feel Jacob’s presence like a shadow– silent, watchful, leaning against a marble column near the doorway. His expression is impassive, but you’ve known him long enough to recognize the tightness in his jaw.
Henry’s gaze flicks to him, faint amusement glinting in his eyes. “And you must be the famous guard I’ve heard so much about. The one who never leaves her side.”
“Captain,” Jacob corrects evenly.
Henry hums, the sound condescending. “Of course. My mistake.”
You can practically hear the unspoken how quaint underneath it.
“Jacob has been indispensable,” you say smoothly, stepping between them before Jacob’s patience can wear any thinner. “Now, tell me– what have the two of you been up to? I feel I’ve missed a lifetime.”
Annabeth beams, taking your arm. “Oh, so much. You’ll be shocked, truly. Come, sit– we’ll tell you everything.”
You let her pull you toward the seating area, but as you pass Jacob, your gaze catches his for a heartbeat. His eyes are sharp, fixed on Henry, and though he says nothing, the message is clear: he doesn’t trust him. You offer him the smallest shake of your head– a silent don’t start– before turning back to your friends. Henry’s laughter fills the air again, light but cutting in all the wrong places, and for the first time that afternoon, you find yourself wishing Jacob would say something.
—
The gardens are quieter than the hall, the hum of cicadas and rustle of late-blooming roses soft against the chatter of your companions. The three of you walk along the gravel path, Jacob trailing a few paces behind– as he always does. You can almost feel him there, a steady presence at your back, grounding you.
Annabeth loops her arm through yours, animated as ever. “And then Henry insisted the duke’s speech was dreadful, right there in front of him,” she laughs. “I thought I might faint.”
Henry grins, unabashed. “Someone had to be honest. Everyone else was too busy fawning.”
You smile politely. “Honesty can be a virtue. Tact, however, keeps one alive.”
He chuckles. “Perhaps. But I find bluntness rather refreshing, don’t you?” His gaze slides to you, a hint of challenge in it. “Surrounded by courtiers and servants, how do you ever know who’s truly honest with you?”
You keep your tone even. “I know enough.”
“Do you?” His voice drops, teasing, but sharp at the edges. “Or do you simply prefer when people lie prettily to you, Your Highness?”
Annabeth’s eyes widen. “Henry–”
“It’s quite all right,” you cut in quickly, forcing a smile. “I appreciate your concern for my–”
But you don’t finish. Because Jacob’s voice cuts cleanly through the air. “Mind your words.”
It’s quiet, but it lands like a blade. Henry turns, brows lifting in mock surprise. “Pardon?”
Jacob steps forward, no longer pretending to be just an escort. “You’re addressing the Princess,” he says evenly, though there’s a dangerous calm in his tone. “You’d do well to remember that.”
Henry laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I didn’t realize her guard had taken to policing her conversations now.”
Jacob doesn’t flinch. “Only when someone forgets their manners.”
Henry laughs lightly, though the sound doesn’t reach his eyes, “The Princess needs someone to speak for her. Fitting.”
Jacob doesn’t move, but there’s something in his posture– a coiled warning. “I speak when someone forgets how to show her respect.”
Henry tilts his head, amusement flickering across his features. “Respect? Is that what you call it?” His gaze drifts lazily between the two of you, a smirk curling at his lips. “I’ve heard the whispers, Sir Knight. That your duties extend well beyond guarding doors and drawing swords. Tell me– is that loyalty or just a convenient arrangement?”
The words hit the air like a crack.
Annabeth gasps softly, her hand flying to her mouth. You feel your chest tighten, heat rising up your neck– part fury, part disbelief. Jacob takes a step forward. Just one. But it’s enough to make Henry’s smile falter. Jacob speaks quietly, “You’re treading dangerous ground.”
“Oh, please,” Henry scoffs, his gaze narrowing on Jacob. “We all know you’re nothing more than the princess’s little plaything.”
Jacob stiffens. You freeze, your mouth falling open. “Watch your tongue,” Jacob warns, his voice sharp and low. “I will not have you speak of the princess in such a manner.”
“It’s only the truth,” Henry snaps. “You’re just a bed servant– something to keep her occupied until she’s wed.”
Your face burns hot, the words hanging heavy in the air. Jacob doesn’t move, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
“Draw your sword,” he says quietly.
A flicker of fear crosses Henry’s face– barely visible, but enough for you to see. “You’re a brute,” he sneers. “Do you really think violence will solve this?”
“No,” Jacob replies evenly. “But I did warn you not to speak of my princess that way.”
“Jacob,” you say softly, stepping forward, “please, let’s go back to the castle.”
“Lady Annabeth,” Jacob says, his tone clipped, “see Her Highness to safety.”
“No,” you cut in sharply. “I will not leave.”
Annabeth’s eyes are wide, her hands trembling. “Y/n, we should go,” she whispers.
“Jacob,” you command, your voice firm, “I am ordering you to escort me back to the castle.”
His jaw tightens. “Your Highness–”
“Now,” you snap.
He exhales through his nose, eyes still fixed on Henry. “As you wish,” he mutters.
“Run along then, Jacob,” Henry taunts with a smirk. “Lest the princess’s bed grow cold.”
Before you can even breathe, Jacob’s fist connects with Henry’s face– a sickening crunch echoes through the air. You gasp as Henry’s head snaps to the side and rush forward, grabbing Jacob’s arm to pull him away.
His hands catch your waist, pushing you back with more force than necessary.
“Jacob!” you cry, voice sharp.
But Henry’s fist swings next, landing squarely against Jacob’s jaw.
“For heaven’s sake!” you yell, throwing your hands up. “Are you serious?!”
Annabeth stumbles back, eyes wide. “Y/n, please– we should get help–”
“I will not!” you shout, stamping your foot. “You’re behaving like children– stop it!”
Neither listens. Annabeth grabs your wrist, trying to pull you away. “They’ll kill each other!”
You yank your hand free and storm into the fray. You grab Henry by the shoulders and shove him hard. He stumbles back, falling to the ground with a grunt. Jacob catches you immediately, pulling you out of reach.
“What are you thinking?” he snaps. “Stay out of this!”
“You’re being ridiculous!” you fire back, pushing him in return. You whirl on Henry, still on the ground. “Get up! Both of you– enough!”
Jacob breathes hard, glaring at you. Then his shoulders drop. He looks to Henry, hesitates, and finally holds out a hand.
Henry eyes him for a moment before taking it. Jacob hauls him to his feet.
“My apologies, Your Highness,” Henry says quietly, brushing off his coat. “I should never have spoken so.”
You cross your arms, glaring between them. “Are you finished now?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Henry answers.
You arch a brow at Jacob until he sighs. “Yes,” he mutters.
“Good. Clean yourselves up,” you say, gathering your skirts. “Annabeth and I are going to tea.”
They both bow their heads, but as you turn to leave, you feel Jacob’s gaze linger on you– dark, unreadable. You know this isn’t over.
—
“If you ever step into the middle of something like that again, I'll bend you over my knee.”
You smile at your reflection in the mirror, before your eyes lift to Jacob's reflection. He's standing in the doorway, arm outstretched as he leans his weight into it. He's mad. Very mad.
“If you ever start something like that again, I'll step into it,” you retort, setting your hairbrush down as you spin around to face him.
His jaw tightens, “You could have gotten hurt.”
“You did get hurt,” you counter.
“I got hit, not hurt,” he corrects. “You, however, could have gotten hurt. And I would have killed him.”
“You cannot fight everyone who insults my honor, Jacob.”
“Yes, princess, I can indeed.”
“Well, you should not.”
He fixes you with a level stare, "Nobody will speak to you as such and get away with it as long as I am alive. That is a promise.”
You sigh, turning back to your mirror, fidgeting with the necklace sitting in the small dish, “You are not my plaything, Jacob,” you say, “I pray he did not make you believe that.”
You don't look up when he moves, but you feel his chest against your back, and his fingers ghosting up your arms, “I would be so honored to be your plaything, Your Highness.”
Your breath catches around a laugh, your skin quickly heating when he brushes your hair away from your shoulder, “You are far more to me than that,” you admit softly.
“And you to me,” he says, his lips landing ever so gently on the bare skin where your neck met your shoulder. You let out a shaky sigh, tilting your head as you lean against him. “My princess,” he whispers, kissing you once again.
Your eyes flutter as you watch him in the mirror, his mouth leaving warm, open mouthed kisses up your throat, up to your jaw, where his tongue darts out.
You hum when his mouth pauses just below your ear, before he nips teasingly at your earlobe.
Your own hand lifts, cradling his jaw in your palm as he continues to kiss your skin reverently. Your heart hammers in your chest, the feeling of his jaw moving under your touch with every kiss is driving you mad.
He tilts his head just enough to make eye contact with you in the mirror, his lips turning up when you swallow heavily, “You are the undoing of me,” he whispers.
“I believe that is the other way around,” you manage to whisper in return.
He hums as his hands land on either side of you, gripping the dresser tightly as he watches you in the mirror, “Would you like to see how pretty you are when you come undone for me?” He asks, jaw tight.
Your eyes widen at the implication. It was one thing for him to do what he does to you– his mouth, his fingers– but for him to ask you to watch it, had your cheeks flaming with embarrassment despite the obvious ache in your lower half. “That is incredibly lewd, Jacob.”
He nods, his hand moving up to toy with the knot at the front of your robe, “It is.” He tugs the belt loose, before his hand slips past the material.
“I do not think we should–”
He cuts you off with his other hand lifting to your mouth, “Do not think, princess,” he whispers, his fingers under your robe lifting your chemise.
Your eyes are locked on his, yours wild and desperate, his own hooded and dark. You hum softly when his hand slips between your legs, the pads of his fingers brushing over your clit.
“Jacob,” you warn, your hand capturing his wrist in a tight grip.
“Your Highness,” he murmurs, a teasing glint in his eyes when your fingers loosen around his wrist.
His lips find your skin once more as he works you to the edge. It's unsurprisingly fast, you're like putty in his hands and you both know it. When you whisper his name again, his hand finds your jaw, angling your face back toward the mirror.
You look a mess, absolutely unsuitable for someone of your stature, and that's what ultimately sends you careening over the edge. Your legs nearly give out as you ride through it, but his hold on you keeps you upright.
You tug his hand away, turning around to press your lips to his. Your shaky hands hold his face, gasping into his mouth when he pushes you harder against the dresser behind you.
You break away, your fingers gently tracing over his face. “I love you.”
“I love you,” he returns, firm. “You're the air I breathe,” he says, softer.
“You're a sap,” you tease, your finger lightly tapping him on the end of his nose.
He smiles as you pull away, tying your robe closed once again.
“Will you stay tonight?” You ask.
“If you wish for me to,” he says, his hand falling habitually to his sword.
You frown at him, “Do you not wish to?”
He stares at you for a beat, the corner of his mouth turning up, “You're mad if you think otherwise.”
Your cheeks flush, and you turn away, “You're an insatiable rogue.”
“Perhaps,” he says, his fingers falling to where his sword was tied to his waist. You huff as you make your way to your bed, pulling your robe off.
You feel his eyes burning into your skin as you pull the blankets back, “Quit staring,” you mutter as you climb onto the bed.
He only smirks as he undresses, leaving nothing but his breeches on. You let your eyes trail over him, the lean curves of his stomach, the cut of his muscle.
“Remind me who's staring, princess,” he says quietly, making his way to you.
You avert your eyes as you move over, your heart pounding when he moves to lay beside you.
You swallow heavily, staring straight at the ceiling as he blows out the candle on your bedside table. He settles in, letting out a quiet breath.
“You're nervous.”
“You've never– slept beside me,” you whisper.
“No,” he says softly, “I've never slept beside someone.”
“Nor have I,” you return, before you frown, “But you've… bedded other women,” you say, turning to face him.
You can barely make out the shape of his face in the moonlight. He stays silent, “I never stayed.”
“You– You just left?”
“It was never like this,” he says, turning onto his side, “It was carnal, never more than that.”
You hum, your hand reaching out to trace over the line of his jaw, “An insatiable rogue indeed,” you tease.
His hand finds your hip, pulling you closer to him, “You wound me,” he murmurs, moving until his nose is brushing against yours. “You think so lowly of me?”
“I could not think more highly of you, Jacob.”
He says nothing, but his lips find yours, soft and sure. You melt into him, your head and your heart quieting.
“Goodnight, princess,” he says gently.
“Goodnight, Jacob.”
You're not sure how long you stay awake, your eyes memorizing him as he sleeps.
When rest finds you, you're the most comfortable you've ever been.
—
Lunch is quiet. Too quiet.
Your father eyes you carefully as you eat. You pretend not to notice. It isn't until the dishes are cleared away and you're alone that he speaks.
“I have heard the rumors, Y/n,” he starts, watching you closely, “Rumors of a certain young man charming my daughter.”
Your blood runs cold. You stare at him with the slightest furrow in your brow. It's panic, but you hope to play it off as confusion, “I beg your pardon?”
“I have seen it,” he says, voice quiet, “The way he looks at you. The way he watches you,” he pauses, “It is more than duty, my dear. Isn't it?” You can't respond, your heart is beating too loudly, and your stomach is twisting into knots. “Has he disgraced you?” He asks, a loaded question.
“No,” you finally manage to speak, “He is an honorable man,” you say.
“Most such situations would not be allowed,” he says slowly, “A princess marrying a knight. Lower class.”
You look away, your heart pounding still yet, “I am aware.”
“He is a highly decorated knight, Y/n. A noble man. Powerful,” he tilts his head, “It would not be shameful for you to marry him.”
Your cheeks flame hot, “I do not think we–”
“It will be done,” he says, finality in his tone. “You will marry him.”
“Father,” you breathe out, shaking your head lightly, “What if he does not wish to–”
“He swore his life to the crown, dear girl,” your father interrupts, a smile teasing at his lips, “I do not believe he would be inclined to say no.”
“He deserves a choice,” you argue.
“You think he would say no to you?”
You pause, your heart racing, “I am unsure.”
“I am not. You're too marry Jacob,” he says standing, letting you know this was the end of the conversation. “I'll allow you the honors of telling him.”
You say nothing further as he leaves, but your mind is reeling. You stand so quickly the chair screeches across the floor. You set off to find Jacob, fear and worry making your hands tremble as you search the halls.
He's nowhere to be found in the castle, which is strange for him, but you set off to the training field. You all but run there, pausing when you get close enough to see him. He's standing off to the side of the field, commanding and shouting at the other knights. The raucous jesting from the others dies down when you walk closer, and you cross your arms as you wait for Jacob to notice you.
He turns finally, a frown setting on his face when he sees you, and he immediately crosses the field to you.
“What are you doing here? Are you mad?” He asks before he's even made it to you.
“I have to talk to you,” you say, shaking your head, “My father–”
“This is no place for you, Your Highness,” he snaps, “Go back to the castle–”
“I have to tell you something, dammit!” You all but yell. His eyes light with fire, his jaw sets.
“I'll be back in half an hour, princess,” he says evenly.
“Jacob– Please listen to me!” You say, stomping your foot, “My father has arranged my marriage!” You yell.
He pauses, his jaw working, before he stiffens once again, “Go back to the castle, Y/n,” he mutters, “I'll be there in half an hour,” he repeats, turning away from you. “Do not make me tell you again.”
“It's you,” you call weakly, “I've been commanded to marry you.”
He freezes at that, turning to face you with narrowed eyes, “I beg your pardon?”
You glance around at the field, taking note of how it's emptied rather quickly. “He said–” You take a deep breath, “He said he's seen the way you watch me– as if it's more than duty. And that it would not shameful for me to marry you in your high rank–”
“I am to marry you?” He asks slowly, his expression unreadable.
“Yes,” you say, exasperated. “I begged him to give you a choice, but he–”
“Why would you think I would say no?” He asks, stepping closer to you once again.
You swallow, “I do not know, I assumed–”
“If the king commands it,” he interrupts softly, a small smile playing at his lips, “It must be done.”
You huff out an annoyed laugh, “I assumed you would want to make your own decision on who you marry, Jacob.”
He looks appalled, “You truly believe I would not marry you?”
“Would you?!”
“Without a second thought, you daft woman,” he says firmly.
“I am not daft,” you argue.
“Stop arguing with me,” he says, grabbing you and pulling you to him. Before you can respond, his lips are on yours. You relax into him, forgetting any argument you might have conjured up.
And you kiss him back, in the open field. Unhidden. And irrevocably happy.
—
You find yourself in his cottage again.
It's nearing the evening, the sun sinking low in the sky. He moves around like a man on a mission, muttering something to himself as he cleans up the room unnecessarily. You can't help but smile as he picks up his books, moving them back to the bookshelf.
“Jacob,” you say, your eyes softening when he freezes, then straightens up.
“Yes?” He asks, book tucked under his arm.
You shake your head, “Have we come here to spend time together or to tidy up your home?”
His shoulders sink slightly as he looks around the sitting room. You loved every bit of it. The books still piled up, the shirt still folded over the chair. Every bit of it was pieces of the man you love. “It's unkempt,” he mutters, “Perhaps we should have just gone to the castle–”
“I prefer it here,” you say softly, “Just us.”
He eyes you, before he slowly sets the book back on the table, “I'm nervous when you're here.”
“I can see that,” you say quietly. “There is no need for it.”
He sighs, nodding once, “Are you hungry?”
“No,” you murmur, a smile curving your lips.
“Thirsty, perhaps?” He offers.
“Jacob,” you say softly, “Kiss me.”
He softens all at once, closing the distance between you. His lips are warm, steady and sure, working at yours with such expertise it makes you weak. You're unsure how it leads you to his bedroom, but you're there, pressed against the wall by his body, your lips still moving together.
Your heart races when his mouth detaches from yours as he steps back to allow you both to breathe, and in a moment of faux confidence you choke out your request.
He stares at you with darkened eyes, “What?”
“Make love to me,” you repeat, weaker. “Please.”
“Princess, we–”
“Jacob, please. I love you, I want you– Please.”
He swallows, and you focus on the way his throat moves. His eyes feel too intense, like if you look at them, you'll fall apart. “Are you certain?”
“I'm certain,” you say softly.
He steps closer, his fingers gripping your chin lightly as he angles your face up, “Look at me and tell me that,” he whispers.
Your lips turn up just barely, but you lock your eyes onto his, “I'm certain, Jacob.”
He lets out an uneven breath, “If you wish to stop, tell me,” he says softly, his hand unclasping the buttons of your gown one by one, painfully slow. You swallow with a nod, before you turn your head over your shoulder to glance back at his fingers working the buttons.
Your heart stutters when he reaches the last button, and the material falls away. He helps you step out of the dress, the cool air kissing your skin when you're left in only your chemise.
You take in a shaky breath, your eyes locked onto his as his fingers find the hem of your slip. He lifts it achingly slow, his eyes staying on your own until he pulls the thin silk over your head.
And just like that, you're completely naked in front of him.
Your face burns with the shame you think you should feel, but your body is telling another story. Your nipples tighten under his gaze, alert and eager for his touch. You can feel the uncomfortable slick between your thighs, aching with a dull throb.
He finally drags his eyes off of you to meet your eyes once more, “You're the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld,” he says, his voice low and reverent.
You give a shy smile, your hands twitching by your sides as you fight not to cover yourself. “May I– May I see you, Jacob?”
He lets his eyes roaming over you once more, before his hands move to the buttons of his shirt. You watch with bated breath as he pulls his shirt away, your own eyes curiously and selfishly exploring every inch of skin revealed to you. You shyly glance up at his face when his fingers unclasp the button at the top of his pants. He bears no indication of shame– only desire, the same way he always looks at you.
Your eyes widen as he reveals himself to you, and you find yourself unable to look away. You quiet the part of you that tells you that you shouldn't be looking, that you should cover yourself and your eyes, and you stare.
You weren't quite sure what you were expecting. You'd seen depictions of a man's member in books and statues and artwork before. But his own was… beautiful. It was large, thick and proud, as it stood at attention against his lower stomach. The head was flushed pink, and there was a thick vein that ran along the underbelly. You almost miss the smile at his lips when you finally drag your wide eyes back up to his, “Are you sure that will fit?” You ask dumbly.
“It will,” he says surely, his voice soft as he steps forward. His hands cup your face in his palms, “You're certain about this?”
“I am,” you reply, your hands lightly holding his wrists.
“You're nervous.”
“I am,” you admit, quieter.
“Why?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Talk to me.”
“I worry I won't please you,” you say, your voice falling to a whisper, “And– I've heard it hurts, I'm a little worried about that.”
“It might hurt at first,” he says, his hands trailing down, his touch searing heat wherever it goes. “I'll go slow and make you feel good, my love,” his fingers brush over your nipples, “And as for the other part–” he shakes his head, “Do not ever worry of that. I promise I will enjoy this far more than I could say.”
You huff a laugh, your eyes fluttering as they drop to where he's ghosting his touch over your breasts.
He grabs them in his palms, squeezing just enough to make you gasp, “These are beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes watching the way your flesh spills out between his fingers.
You swallow heavily, incredibly aware of the way your lower half was now throbbing in tandem with your heartbeat. He places a hand at your hip, moving you backward until you’re at the edge of the bed. With his other hand moving to splay over your sternum, he pushes you back lightly until you're laid on the mattress, spread out before him.
He lowers to his knees, his eyes reverently tracing over you as he separates your thighs. You lean up on your elbows, frowning in confusion, “I thought we were–”
“We will,” he assures you, leaving a warm kiss on your inner thigh. “I have to get you ready,” he says gently, his fingers spreading you open, “Need to stretch you out so you can take my cock, darling.”
Your cheeks flame hot– The things he says! You relax only a little as he closes his mouth over you. You ease back into the mattress, your heart settling with comfort of familiarity– at least you'd had this, you knew what to expect and how good it felt.
You gasp when his fingers slips inside of you, your hips jerking when his tongue lolls over your clit. And your body reacts quickly, your hands tighten in the bedsheets, your thighs quiver. You'd had his mouth, and you'd had his fingers, but never at the same time. It was intense, the warmth built quicker this way.
He pauses his hand only to ease in a third finger, and your eyes widen at the fullness, “Jacob,” you cry out, your chest heaving as you catch your breath.
“You're alright,” he soothes, his voice humming against your throbbing bud as he works his fingers, “Relax for me, princess.”
You feel your body loosening, easing into a puddle of mush as he speeds his hand up, twisting and curling and scissoring his fingers.
It sounds as lewd as it is, the wet sounds with every thrust of his wrist, the smacking sounds of his mouth over your clit, the heavy, shaking breaths escaping both of you.
You meet your end rather quickly, spasming and pulsing around his fingers, your body twitching and trembling as you come down. He eases away, his mouth trailing hot, open mouth kisses along your skin as he climbs over you.
“That was beautiful,” he says, his mouth landing at the base of your throat, kissing up until his lips ghost over yours. He gives you a respectful moment to recover, but you can feel his length pressing against your still-throbbing center, and you unsurely roll your hips.
“Give it to me,” you plead softly.
A shaky breath leaves him, but you feel the backs of his knuckles as he wraps a hand around himself. He presses the blunt head against you, painting it up and down your soaked heat, slow and purposefully, and you lift your head to watch.
“Look at me,” he demands, voice gentle. Your eyes jerk back up to his, and before you can respond, he's pushing inside of you.
Your mouth falls open, eyebrows tilting up as you feel your walls reluctantly give way to the intrusion. It stings, a dull ache inside of you as he settles to the hilt, but it's manageable. Your hands find his arms, your nails digging in as he stills.
His eyes flutter, his jaw is tight, and you can feel the slight tremble in his muscles as he stays unmoving. Your grip on him relaxes, and when you move your hands to his shoulders, you find little crescent-shaped marks of your nails in his skin, “I'm sorry,” you whisper, trailing a finger over them before your hand goes back to his shoulder.
His lips turn up at the corners as his own eyes land on them, “Don't apologize,” he says with a light shake of his head, “Leave as many marks as you need to.” He lifts a hand from where it was tightened in the sheets, brushing your hair away from your eyes, “How are you feeling?”
“Um,” you swallow heavily, absentmindedly wiggling your hips. His jaw tightens again as you breathe, “Good, I think.”
“You think?” He says with a breath of a laugh.
“You– You can move,” you say, your fingertips moving to tangle into his hair.
“Are you certain?” He asks, his eyes intense as they study your face. You nod, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as he eases out of you. He watches closely for any signs of discomfort as he pushes back in. There's no discomfort at all, all you feel is him.
You breathe out a soft sigh as he moves, slow and tender, like he's worried to push too far too fast. You almost laugh at yourself, your cheeks hot as you realize three fingers were nowhere near as filling as this. He sets a steady rhythm, still easy, and he fucks into you with lewd, wet sounds that make you squeeze around him.
“You're fucking perfect,” he murmurs, giving you a particularly harsh thrust.
You huff a breath, “Watch your language,” you chastise weakly.
He grins lightly, leaving a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “You've got my cock inside of you and you're worried about my language,” he says, clicking his tongue. You hum tightly, your eyes fluttering. You need more, you're not sure of what, but your body is aching for a touch you can't quite place your finger on. He reads you like an open book, eyes knowing as he leans further over you, settling on his forearms on either side of your head, “Touch yourself.”
Your eyes widen, “What?!” You ask, mortified.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, his hand moving just slightly to cradle your head, “Do it, Y/n.”
You hesitate, glancing down at where the two of you met. You could hardly see past his body covering yours, but you shyly slip your hand between the two of you, “I don't–”
“That pretty little thing right there,” he encourages when your fingers brush over your clit, “Touch her nice and slow, darling, be sweet to her.”
You burn hot with initial shame, but even hotter with desire as you heed to his instructions. You try to mimic what he's done to you, slow but firm circles that make your body melt, but it doesn't feel the same as his own touch. He murmurs a quiet demand of faster, his hips working into yours hard enough that the entire bed is creaking. You move your fingers faster, sobbing weakly when your orgasm dangles just out of reach.
“I can't,” you cry, despondent. His own hand moves, knocking yours out of the way as he replaces your fingers with his own. Your body reacts to his touch immediately, the fire burning hot in your core. “Jacob–”
“I know,” he says softly, “Let it happen,” he urges, letting his hips slam into you unrelentingly.
You melt as it hits you, your hands grabbing onto him to ground you as your body floats through your release.
He groans, jaw tight, and with a few more thrusts of his hips, he's reached his own ending. You feel him spill into you, a wet warmth in your core as he fucks you both through it. He stays sheathed inside of you, his hands moving to your face as he beholds you. His eyes are soft, a tired smile pulling at his lips as he admires the effect of what had just transpired.
“You,” he whispers softly, “are everything.”
You let out a broken sound, weak and besotted, “I love you, Jacob,” you say, your own hands cradling his face shakily.
“I love you,” he replies, ardently.
“My knight,” you whisper, tracing a finger over the curve of his cheek. He tilts his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist.
“My princess,” he whispers.
⚔
