Copyright © 2016 Marianne Stephens
   Some images from:
Excerpt:One Night With the Alpha King by Belle Scarlett
READER ADVISORY: NSFW! By reading further you agree you are at least 18 years old.

“She did what?”
The low whip crack of His Majesty’s voice caused the two men in his presence to flinch.
Then Shade, the Alpha King of Baria, the Beloved Barbarian Benefactor of Nisca, and the Prime
Protector of Atlantia, etcetera, etcetera, snapped the stem of wine glass gripped between his
fingers as though it was a charred twig.
The finely aged glanesberry wine he had been attempting to savor ran in thick rivulets
across the table like spilled blood. A splash of crimson dribbled onto the lap of his Niscan wine
tutor’s pristine robes. The older man moaned in panic over the loss of the vintage considered
by connoisseurs the tamed world over to be drinkable art.
Shade didn’t understand the fuss. It tasted like armor marinated in ditch water. Give him a
dipper of frothy ale from the communal barrel behind his soldiers’ barracks any day.
The messenger quaking in front of Shade swallowed hard before repeating his news.
“Senator Fortune begs your Highness’ indulgent forgiveness. B-but she finds she’s unable to
attend the Promised One’s Festival on the morrow due to a…a sudden mite infestation on her
farm in Crimon.”
Shade regarded the man through narrowed lids. The messenger added, “That’s in the
southern quarter of Nisca, near our western boarder, Majesty. ”
“I know where it is,” Shade blasted between clenched teeth.
Tossing glass shards from his fingers, he rose to his full height of six feet and five inches
and stalked the long length of the palace terrace on the marble promenade, in only a few
His fingers curled around the railing and dug into the cold metal as he fought fury laced
with jagged edges of panic that bubbled up from his gut. He focused on an ancient breathing
technique. He let the cool, perfumed breeze from the garden wash over his tense body in relief.
Inhaling the calming scents of minta and jalavender that wafted up from the flowering plants
below kept his blood from rioting. Which, he acknowledged grimly, was his usual state
whenever Senator Anya Fortune of Nisca was involved.
“Problem, sire?” Shade didn’t turn his head as an aged warrior in seasoned leather armor
emerged from his silent vigil by one of the palace columns. He stood quietly beside him at the
railing. Nearly as tall as Shade, with the same superior musculature common amongst the
people of Baria, Navvo’s hair might be iron gray but his warrior’s body barely showed signs of
his advancing years. Well into his sixties, he was still combat ready.
The older man scrutinized Shade, coolly assessing his liege lord’s features to make certain
the High King was in full control of himself. Those were Shade’s standing orders to his small
court of trusted advisors these past few days.
“She’s done it to me again, Navvo,” Shade muttered. “My armies saved her district’s ass
from the Troggs, yet she’d rather keep company with pestilence than attend me.” The High
King laughed without mirth.
“I’m sure that’s not the case, Majesty,” Navvo demurred.
Shade shook his head in dazed chagrin. “What in the Thirteen Hells does a High King have
to do to get a woman to notice him these days?”
At the mere thought of the impudent senator, Shade felt his erection stir under his knee-
length tunic. Staring out at the grounds he saw not the complex, Barian hanging gardens he’d
designed months ago to make his intended queen feel more at home in her new surroundings.
Instead, now he envisioned Senator Anya Fortune, her nude body stripped of her prudish
senatorial robes. Her hair, the color of pale moonlight, was unbound for once from its
customary coronet. The facinating stuff spilled in silver ripples over bare shoulders to her
waist. His hands itched to wrap the soft strands around his knuckles and hold her head still
while his lips possessed hers.
In this fantasy, like all the others, she wore only his gilt collar that encircled  her graceful
neck. The small lock on the delicate choker was enraved with his personal royal seal. The
wedding collar was specially devised by the collar-smithy never to open again once Shade
clicked it closed around her neck during the Promised One’s ceremony.
In his mind’s eye, Anya was spread before him willingly on silkette cushions, ready for his
inspection. Her glistening, pink sex peeked coyly at him from the midst of the blond fluff that
covered sweet spot at the apex of her legs. Her generous mouth begged prettily to receive his
kiss. Instead of her customary sedate stare, her violet eyes fringed with inky lashes lit up with
desire for him alone.
In his mind, she pled for him to fill her wet opening with his shaft made stiff with his
unrelenting desire for her. When he entered her slim body with hard strokes, she writhed under
him, canting her hips to receive every inch of his hard length. Holding her still for his final
thrusts, his tongue dueled with hers. 
He wouldn’t come, he vowed to himself, until she screamed her climax into his mouth.
When she arched against him and he felt her clench in spasms around him, then he would hold
his seed back no longer and pour himself into her with a roar. For good measure, he’d take her
again immediately from behind and just as hungrily.