Hail to the New Queen

Chapter 23

[Daniel’s POV]

The words leave Christina's mouth so casually I almost miss their significance entirely.

"Hunter knows about the pregnancy, by the way."

She says it while reviewing documents, not even glancing up. Like she hasn't just dropped a grenade into my carefully constructed equilibrium.

"He knows?"

"Figured it out himself. The clothes. The way I move." She shrugs. "He's observant when motivated."

Hunter Valdren knows. The biological father. The coward who humiliated her publicly and somehow still occupies space in her life I cannot touch.

Christina returns to her documents. I leave without explanation.

My study offers no sanctuary. I pace like something caged, imagining Hunter's reaction. His claim on this child. His presence in our lives forever.

He's twenty-four. I'm forty. The mathematics mock me.

"You're going to break that desk."

Christina stands in my doorway, grey eyes sharp with assessment.

"Want to tell me what's actually wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Liar." She positions herself between me and any escape. "Is this ego or trust? Because I genuinely cannot tell which one I'm dealing with."

"He has a biological claim I can never match," I hear myself say. "He'll always be the father, no matter what role I play."

"You're jealous." The accusation lands without mercy. "Jealous of a man I rejected. Jealous of biology I cannot control."

"He's younger. Less complicated. Someone who could offer you a future without scandal."

Christina laughs. "Less complicated? Hunter Valdren, whose family stole my inheritance? Nothing about my life has ever been simple, Daniel."

"I should have handled this better."

"Yes. You should have." Her grey eyes hold mine. "But I won't be punished for making decisions without your permission."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

She crosses the remaining distance. Her hands grip my lapels. She shoves me backward until my spine hits the desk's edge.

Then she kisses me.

Hard. Demanding. Her tongue sweeps into my mouth without asking permission. This isn't reconciliation. This is conquest. Her teeth catch my lower lip, tugging with just enough pressure to make me groan.

"I chose you," she growls against my mouth. "Let me prove it."

Her fingers attack my shirt buttons with furious efficiency. Cool air hits my chest as fabric parts. Then her palms press flat against my skin, exploring the planes of muscle, nails raking down toward my belt.

My cock throbs in response, already straining against my trousers.

I reach for her, but she catches my wrists. Pins them against the desk behind me with surprising strength.

"No." Her eyes blaze with authority. "You don't get to touch. Not yet. You questioned my choice. Now you watch me make it again."

The command shoots straight to my groin. I'm already hard, straining against my trousers while she maintains that maddening distance.

She releases my wrists to work my belt. The leather slides free with a hiss. She pops the button. Drags down the zipper with agonizing slowness.

Her hand wraps around my cock through my boxers. The pressure makes my hips jerk involuntarily.

"Christina—"

"Quiet." She strokes once, twice, feeling me pulse against her palm. "You don't get to speak either. Not until I'm finished with you."

She pushes my trousers and boxers down together. My erection springs free, flushed and aching. Christina's gaze drops, appreciation flickering through her commanding expression.

Her fingers wrap around my bare shaft. Skin against skin. She strokes from base to tip, thumb circling the sensitive head where moisture already beads.

I grip the desk's edge to keep from grabbing her. The wood creaks beneath my fingers.

She releases me suddenly. Steps back. I nearly groan at the loss, my cock jutting obscenely between us, slick with arousal.

Then she reaches beneath her skirt. Hooks her thumbs into her underwear. Slides the fabric down her thighs with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact. The scent of her arousal reaches me. Musky. Intoxicating.

The scrap of lace drops to the floor.

She steps between my spread thighs. Lifts her skirt around her hips, baring herself completely. The sight of her—wet, ready, wanting—makes my cock twitch with desperate need.

"Still questioning my choice?" she asks.

"No."

"Good answer."

She climbs onto the desk. Onto me. Straddles my hips while I lie back across scattered papers. Her heat hovers just above my straining erection. So close. Not close enough.

She reaches between us. Positions me at her entrance. The slick warmth of her makes my entire body shudder with anticipation.

Then she sinks down in one smooth motion.

The sensation overwhelms everything. Tight. Hot. Impossibly wet. Her inner walls grip me like she's claiming ownership of every inch. I groan, hands finally finding her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.

She doesn't reprimand me this time. She's too busy adjusting to the stretch, breath coming in sharp gasps, walls fluttering around my shaft. Her palms press flat against my chest for balance.

"Mine," she breathes. "You're mine, Daniel. Not Hunter's ghost. Not your insecurities. Mine."

She starts to move.

Slow at first. Rising until only my tip remains inside, then sinking back down with torturous control. Each descent drives deeper. Each roll of her hips grinds her clit against my pelvis.

I watch her take her pleasure from my body. Her head falls back, dark hair cascading down her spine. Her breasts strain against her blouse with each breath, nipples visibly hard through the thin fabric. The slight swell of her belly—our future—presses against me with every movement.

The pace increases. She braces her hands on my shoulders, using the leverage to ride me harder. The desk shakes beneath us. Papers scatter to the floor.

"Fuck," she gasps. "God, Daniel—"

I thrust up to meet her. The angle changes, drives me impossibly deeper. She cries out, inner muscles fluttering around my cock.

"That's it." My voice comes out wrecked. "Take what you need."

She does. Harder. Faster. Using my body with absolute authority while pleasure builds in my spine like electricity seeking ground.

Her movements turn frantic. Desperate. Her inner walls squeeze me rhythmically as she approaches the edge. I feel her tightening around me, her thighs trembling against my hips.

I reach between us. Find her clit with my thumb. Circle the swollen nub in time with her thrusts.

She shatters.

Her orgasm clenches around me in rhythmic waves. My name tears from her throat like confession, like prayer, like the only word that matters in any language.

I follow seconds later. The climax rips through me, pleasure exploding outward as I spill into her. Pulse after pulse while my vision whites out completely. My hips jerk upward, burying myself as deep as possible.

We collapse together. Her body draped over mine, both breathing hard. Sweat cools on heated skin. I'm still inside her, softening slowly, reluctant to separate.

Eventually, we end up on the floor. The carpet scratches my back. Christina sprawls across my chest, satisfied and sleepy.

"Hunter," I manage. "What role does he play going forward?"

"He helps protect the baby. From the Montclairs. From his family." Her voice is drowsy. "That's all."

"That's all?"

"That's all." She lifts her head, meeting my eyes. "He's not you, Daniel. He never will be."

I can live with that.

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