I melted against his hungry mouth. I clung to him, a new desire swelling in me.A pure desire.My tongue danced with Sven. I was his wife. He was my husband. My prince. I clung to him tightly, my arms locked around his neck. His hands stroked down my back, rustling the fabric of my dress, pulling the cloth tight over my breasts, my nipples aching.The rest of my family appeared around me as the light faded. They were all my wives, even the sex slaves. Their faces beamed around me as they reached in at me. Their hands fumbled at my clothing, searching for the laces holding my dress closed.Fingers found them. My bodice grew loose. Gentle hands pulled at my dress, sliding it down my shoulders. Sven broke the kiss to stare at my small breasts quivering, topped by my upswept, dusky nipples.Armor clinked as hands went to Ealaín’s grab. Others were ripping off Sven’s leathers as I settled naked before him. Zanyia grinned down at me as she tugged off my skirt, already naked, already prepared to. "She's with you now. Just deal with it."With that, Eden heard her click off the phone."Fuck," said Eden. He put the phone back into the inside pocket of his jacket and gazed out of the window onto the leafy square below. He was in the top floor study of his Mayfair house and had a perfect view of the protest march that was wending its way through the plush streets. Undoubtedly it was concerned with something the bloody Americans had said or done to arouse the ire of the good-for-nothing layabouts. Was it something to do with petrol subsidies? Was it the nukes they'd sold to Kazakhstan? Was it the use of fire-arms to suppress protests in Detroit and Chicago? God knows. These greenies and lefties and bloody pooftahs just didn't know right from wrong.Reluctantly, Eden strode out the study and descended a flight of stairs to Zoe's childhood bedroom. The decor hadn't changed for ten years and preserved a snapshot of his daughter's principal interests from a time before they'd transferred.
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