Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty Two

Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty Two
Leonardo

There was a moment after a day like that when you’d think things would calm down.
The crown was off. The cameras were gone. The palace had finally quieted.

But me?
I was still standing there like a goddamn idiot, staring at him like he was the sunrise and I’d been blind all my life.
Like I hadn’t known—since the second he opened that beautiful mouth of his at that conference—that one day I’d be completely, hopelessly, terrifyingly his.
And now he was looking at me with that voice—low and dangerous—asking if I wanted to fuck his royal ass.

Oh.
Game on.

He stood in the center of the room, barefoot now, still in his coronation outfit, finally at peace—but none of the fire gone from his eyes.

I wanted to devour him.

“Are you undressing me with your eyes?” He smirked.

“Yes,” I said. “You’re lucky I haven’t combusted on the spot.”

He rolled his eyes and started slipping off the formal jacket. Every inch of skin that appeared beneath the silk and gold felt like sacrilege.

“I almost jumped you in the ballroom,” I added, crossing the room slowly.

“Oh, please,” he murmured, “you would’ve tripped over my cape and ruined international relations.”

“And I’d do it again.”

He laughed as I kissed him. Piece by piece, I helped him out of the uniform. Every layer of fabric until it was just him. A glorious, flawless body, warm to the touch and so inviting, my hands gravitated toward it. I brushed my lips along his collarbone as he closed his eyes with the gentle breath and the soft flush of someone finally relaxing after running a marathon.

When I began to remove my shirt, he turned to sit on the bed.

“Wait,” I said, breath catching. “One thing.”

He glanced back, brow raised. “What?”

I walked to the table where the crown rested, lifted it carefully, reverently… then turned to him.

“I want you,” I said, voice a little rough, “naked… wearing just this.”

He blinked. “What?”

“The people crowned you. Now, let me worship you.”

He stared at me for a heartbeat.

And then, slowly, silently, he stood.

Took the crown.

Set it on his head.

And faced me.

My mouth actually dropped open.

He stood there—bare, blushing, but proud. A king, stripped of armor, yet radiating power that made my knees weak.

I stepped closer.

“I’m your living subject, Your Majesty,” I murmured. “Command me.”

He grinned, flushed, and stepped toward me like a walking fantasy.

“My subject, ah? Then get on your knees.”

I stared up at him, stunned.

My prince. My shy Alexander….

Now standing in front of me, crowned and naked.

He looked down at me like he was deciding what to do with his favorite prey.

His voice—usually gentle, almost hesitant—was low and rough. “I said… on your knees.”

My pulse tripped. I dropped without hesitation.

He stepped closer.

His thighs brushed my shoulders, his breath uneven, his fingers grabbing onto my hair.

I looked up, completely wrecked just by the sight of him. “Do you want—”

“Yes,” he cut in, and then his voice broke into something that made my stomach clench.

“I want you to suck my cock.”

That breathy command. That wrecked heat behind his words. That slight tremble of power and vulnerability.

“I want to feel… what it’s like… to be worshiped.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. My dick responded like I was the one about to be sucked.

I leaned in, open-mouthed and reverent, every movement slow and devoted. I teased him at first, just to hear the sharp intake of breath, to feel the way his legs trembled.

His hands fisted my hair tighter as he moaned—deep, desperate—before he guided me down his cock, inch by inch, feeding it to me with confidence. 

The taste of him—salty and clean—flooded my tongue and made me throb against my jeans.

I sucked him eagerly, tracing the length of his vein with my tongue, holding his hips to steady myself. My Charming was taking charge now, his first command as a crowned king apparently being fuck Leonardo’s mouth until he forgets his own name.

He slid free, only to thrust back in harder, deeper. I met him each time, swallowing greedily, welcoming him down my throat until he bottomed out.

“Fuck, Leo… Don’t stop,” he panted, raw. “Don’t even think about stopping.”

It hadn’t crossed my mind.

His hips found a rhythm—brutal and unrelenting. He wasn’t just getting head. He was letting go. Letting himself be worshiped like he wanted. Like he deserved. Messy, raw, real.

And I was loving every goddamn second of it.

By the time I pulled back, my lips were swollen, my jaw aching. His fingers trembled where they brushed my face. We were both gasping, ruined, hungry for more.

Then he dropped to his knees in front of me.

We kissed like we hadn’t just crossed into something filthy and sacred.

“I’ve never—” he started, breathless.

“You’re a god,” I whispered. “And I would fall at your feet a thousand times.”

His cheeks flushed, chest heaving. The crown was crooked now, his hair a mess. My royal mess.

“Make love to me, Leonardo,” he whispered, lifting the crown from his head and setting it aside with trembling hands.

He didn’t have to tell me again.

I kissed him like he was the only thing keeping me alive. Slow. Reverent. Like every inch of his skin was sacred.

I guided him to the bed, our lips parting only for breath. I took my time, undressing him between kisses, whispering things into his skin I could never say in front of anyone else.

From the nightstand, I poured some lube into my hand, stroking myself until I was slick and aching.

“I want you inside, baby. Now,” he demanded.

I raised his legs over my shoulders, opening him wide. “You’re so ready for me,” I breathed, sliding my fingers in to find no resistance. And when I finally pushed inside him, it wasn’t rough or rushed. Just slow, aching devotion.

I moved with him like I knew his rhythm by heart—because I did.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” I muttered against his throat. “You really have no idea…”

He arched into me with a gasp, hips rising to meet each thrust.

I made love to him like I had all the time in the world—but didn’t bother hiding how wrecked I was. He deserved to feel it—how far gone I was for him—as my cock hit his sweet spot over and over, pulling broken sounds from his lips.

“Leo… I’m gonna—oh god, I’m so close. Please, babe…” He clung to me, body trembling. “Leo…”

“Yeah, babe. I’ve got you,” I breathed. “Just let me.”

And he did.

He let me kiss him. Take him. Love him like I was made for this. Every second burned and healed all at once.

I was right at the edge, my whole body shuddering when he clenched around me, trying to hold back.

“Come for me, baby.”

I stroked his cock a couple times, thrusting hard, deep—

“Leo, fuck—”

He tensed, crying out as he came, hot ribbons spilling over his belly, his chest, nearly hitting his face.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I groaned against his mouth, biting his lower lip as I followed, emptying into him with a raw, broken moan.

Later, tangled under the covers, his bare back pressed to my chest, I wrapped my arm around him and kissed his shoulder.

He reached for my hand and whispered, “Don’t let go.”

“Not a chance,” I murmured, lips still against his skin. “You’re mine now. All of you.”

He gave a soft laugh, his voice thick with sleep. “I always was.”

And just like that, Sweden’s brand-new king fell asleep in my arms—completely bare, finally safe, and so goddamn loved.