The longboat's hull ground onto black sand with a sound like a sigh, the volcanic grit hissing beneath the keel. William leapt out before the boat had fully settled, his boots landing in the surf with a splash, and he was already grinning up at the ruined watchtower that hunched against the sky like a broken tooth.

"There she is," he said, spreading his arms wide as if presenting the whole island. "Abandoned for forty years. No one comes here. No one watches."

I stepped out onto the sand, feeling it warm through my boots, and turned to see the longboat already sliding backward into the surf. The oars caught the light, flashing, pulling away from the shore with a rhythm that said: we are leaving you here.

My hand went to my belt.

William laughed, a rolling belly sound that echoed off the rocks. "Easy, Your Grace. It's part of the plan."

"The plan," I repeated, watching the longboat shrink toward the barge that waited beyond the breakers. "Your plan involved stranding me on an island?"

"Aye." He was already pulling a flask from his coat, uncapping it with a practiced twist. "Ship returns in twenty-four hours. Plenty of time."

I turned to follow his gaze toward the treeline, and the words died in my throat.

Rosalind stepped out of the shadows between two twisted trees, and the afternoon light caught her like it had been waiting for her all day. Flame-red hair loose and wild, tumbling past her shoulders in waves that moved with each step. A sheer wrap the color of sea foam clung to every curve of her body, doing absolutely nothing to hide what lay beneath—the heavy swell of her breasts, the dark circles of her nipples, the thatch of red hair at the apex of her thighs visible through the gauze like a promise.

She was barefoot. Her toes sank into the black sand as she walked toward us, and her smile was a dare before she even spoke.

"You brought him," she said to William, but her eyes never left mine.

"Aye. Told you I would."

She stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could smell her—salt and something floral, honeysuckle maybe, and underneath it the warm musk of a woman who had been thinking about this moment for days. Her ice-blue eyes traveled down my body and back up again, taking inventory.

"Ship returns in twenty-four hours," she said, echoing her husband's words. "That's a long time, Your Grace."

"Is it?" I asked.

She reached up and untied the knot at her shoulder. The wrap slithered down her body like water, pooling at her feet, and she stood there naked on the black sand with the sun painting her skin gold and her smile sharp as a blade.

"Ten times," she said, stepping closer. "Think you can manage?"

The air went still. Behind her, I heard William settle onto the sand, the flask clinking against his teeth as he took a long drink.

I looked at her—at the full, heavy breasts with their dark nipples already peaked, at the curve of her waist, at the red thatch between her thighs that gleamed with something that might have been sweat or something else entirely—and I felt the answer rising in me before I could speak it.

"Ten times," I said. "And you'll count them?"

"Every single one." Her hand came up and pressed flat against my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my tunic. "I want to feel each one. I want to remember each one. I want—" She leaned in, her mouth brushing my ear, her breath hot. "I want to be so full of you that I can't walk straight for a week."

Behind her, William laughed again, low and approving. "That's my girl."

I looked over her shoulder at him. He was sitting on the sand with his back against a sun-warmed rock, the flask in one hand and the other already working at the laces of his breeches. His eyes were bright with that familiar hunger—the hunger I'd seen in every husband I'd ever cuckolded, the hunger that had built my kingdom.

"You're going to watch," I said. It wasn't a question.

"I'm going to do more than watch." He got his laces loose and pulled himself out, stroking slowly, his eyes fixed on his wife's naked back. "I'm going to count."

Rosalind's hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, stopping at my belt. Her fingers worked the buckle with practiced ease, and she looked up at me through her lashes, that gambler's smile still playing at her lips.

"You said yes," she murmured. "Don't make me regret believing you."

I caught her wrist before she could free me, and I saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes—and the thrill. "I said ten times. I didn't say I'd let you set the pace."

Her smile widened. "Good."

I pulled her toward me, and she came willingly, her body pressing against mine, the heat of her searing through my clothes. Her mouth found mine, and she kissed like she gambled—all in, no hesitation, no fear of losing. Her tongue swept into my mouth, tasting of salt and something sweet, and her hands were already working at my belt again, more insistent now.

I let her win that one. The belt came free, and then my breeches were open, and her hand was inside, wrapping around me, and she made a sound low in her throat that was half gasp, half laugh.

"Oh," she said against my mouth. "Oh, that's—that's going to be—"

"Ten times," I said. "You'd better start conserving your strength."

She squeezed, and my breath caught. "I've been conserving it for a week."

William's voice drifted over from the sand. "You've been talking about it for a week. There's a difference."

"Shut up, William." But she was smiling as she said it, and her hand was still moving on me, slow and deliberate, learning the shape of me like she was memorizing a hand of cards.

I looked past her at the rock she'd been standing near—a slab of black stone, sun-warmed, tall enough to brace a woman against. "There," I said. "Against that."

She followed my gaze and nodded, a flicker of anticipation crossing her face. "That works."

She walked backward toward it, her hips swaying, her hand never leaving me, and when her back touched the warm stone she let out a little sigh, pressing herself against it like she could soak the heat into her bones.

I followed her, my boots leaving deep prints in the black sand. William had settled himself on a flat rock nearby, his breeches open, his fist moving on his cock in a rhythm that had already found its groove. The flask sat beside him, uncapped, forgotten.

"First one," he said, his voice a little rough. "Let's see it."

I stepped between Rosalind's thighs, and she spread for me eagerly, her legs wrapping around my waist, her arms around my neck. The heat of her cunt was a physical presence, radiating against my belly, and when I reached down and slid my fingers through her wetness, she gasped and bucked against my hand.

"Fuck," she breathed. "I've been thinking about this—about you—"

"Tell me."

"Every night." Her hips rolled against my fingers. "Every single night, lying in that bunk, listening to the water, thinking about you filling me up." Her eyes met mine, and there was something raw in them, something beyond the game. "Thinking about what it would feel like to be so full of your cum that I couldn't tell where you ended and I began."

I pushed two fingers into her, and she cried out, her head falling back against the stone. She was drenched, slick and hot, clenching around me like she was trying to pull me deeper.

"That's it," William said from behind me, his voice strained. "Look at her. Look at my wife, Your Grace. She's been aching for you."

Rosalind's hand found my cock, guiding me to her entrance, and she looked up at me with those ice-blue eyes. "I want to feel it," she said. "I want to feel you go in."

I gave her what she wanted. I pushed forward slowly, letting her feel every inch, watching her face as I sank into her. Her mouth fell open, her eyes going wide, and she made a sound that was almost a sob—a sound of pure, uncomplicated relief.

"Oh," she whispered. "Oh, that's—"

I drove in the rest of the way, and she screamed.

Not a cry of pain. A cry of victory.

Her legs locked around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, and she was already grinding against me, taking me deeper, her cunt clenching in waves that rippled around my cock.

"That's one," William said, and I heard the wet sound of his hand on his cock. "That's the first one."

I pulled out almost all the way and drove back in, and Rosalind's head cracked against the rock, but she didn't seem to feel it. Her nails dug into my shoulders through my tunic, and she was saying something—a stream of words, half prayer, half filth—that I caught only in fragments.

"—so deep—fuck—right there—don't stop—"

I didn't stop. I found a rhythm, hard and fast, the way she clearly wanted it, and she met me thrust for thrust, her hips rising to meet mine, her cunt gripping me like a fist. The rock was warm against her back, and the sun was warm on my shoulders, and the only sounds in the world were the slap of our bodies and her moans and William's breathing behind me.

"Look at you," William said, his voice thick. "Look at my wife taking your cock, Your Grace. She's beautiful, isn't she? She's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen."

I looked down at her—at the flush spreading across her chest, at the way her breasts bounced with each thrust, at the wild abandon in her eyes—and I couldn't argue. She was beautiful. She was glorious. She was every inch a woman who had decided she wanted something and was going to take it.

"Faster," she gasped. "Please—faster—"

I gave her faster. I drove into her with everything I had, the rock grinding against her back, her legs wrapped so tight around me I could barely breathe. She was making sounds now that weren't words—keening, gasping, whimpering—and I could feel her cunt fluttering around me, her climax building.

"That's it," I said. "Come on my cock."

She came with a scream that echoed off the rocks, her body convulsing, her cunt milking me so hard I had to grit my teeth to hold back. Her nails raked down my back, and I felt the sting through my tunic, and it only made me want her more.

"Don't stop," she begged, her voice ragged. "Please, don't stop, I need—I need—"

I didn't stop. I kept driving into her, through her climax and into the oversensitive aftermath, and she took it, sobbing with it, her body trembling around me.

"One," William said hoarsely. "That's one. Nineteen more for me, nine more for you."

I looked over my shoulder at him. His cock was slick with his own fluid, his fist moving fast, his eyes fixed on the point where I disappeared into his wife.

"You're counting," I said.

"I'm always counting." His grin was wild, unhinged. "It's what I do."

Rosalind's hand grabbed my chin, pulling my face back to hers. "Don't look at him," she said. "Look at me. I'm the one you're fucking."

I looked at her. Her face was flushed, her hair plastered to her forehead, her eyes bright with something that was half lust and half triumph.

"You want to be queen," I said.

"I want to be your queen." She clenched around me, and I groaned. "I want to be the one they all bow to. I want to be the one they all envy. And I want—" She leaned up, her mouth brushing my ear. "I want to be so full of you that everyone knows it."

I drove into her harder, and she cried out, her back arching off the rock.

"Say it again," I said.

"I want to be full of you."

"Say my name."

Her eyes met mine, and there was a flash of something—surprise, maybe, or recognition. "Xavier," she breathed. "Please, Xavier—"

I gave her what she asked for. I drove into her until I felt my own climax building, until I couldn't hold back anymore, and I buried myself deep inside her and came with a groan that was half prayer, half curse.

She felt it. I saw it in her face—the moment my cum flooded her, the way her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open and her cunt clenched around me like she was trying to keep every drop. She came again with a shuddering cry, her body convulsing around me, and I stayed inside her until I was empty.

William's voice drifted over, hoarse and reverent. "One," he said. "That's one. Nine more to go."

I pulled out of her slowly, and my cum leaked from her cunt, running down her thigh, dripping onto the black sand. She looked down at it, then up at me, and her smile was slow and satisfied.

"That's a good start," she said. "But you promised me ten."

I looked at William. His hand was still moving on his cock, his eyes gleaming. "She's right," he said. "You promised."

I looked back at Rosalind, at the cum on her thigh, at the hunger still burning in her eyes, and I felt myself hardening again.

"I keep my promises," I said, and I pulled her off the rock, turning her around, bending her over the sun-warmed stone.

She braced herself on her forearms, looking back at me over her shoulder, and her smile was a dare. "Prove it."

I proved it.