novellaaa Chapter 427 Documentary
Chapter 427 Documentary
Not satisfied, Riley carried Monique back to the bed and flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up until she was on all fours.He knelt behind her, hands gripping her waist as he slammed into her from behind—deep, punishing strokes that made her ass ripple and her toes curl into the sheets.
The new angle let him hit spots inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids; she buried her face in the pillow to muffle her screams, only for him to tangle a fist in her hair and pull her head back, forcing every sound out into the open.
Later, he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top, letting her straddle him like a wanton cowgirl.
His large, strong hands clamped onto her sexy, rounded ass, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he guided her up and down his length with effortless power.
He lifted her and slammed her back down again and again, impaling her completely each time.
Monique rode him frantically, grinding her swollen clit against his pelvis, chasing every spark of friction.
Her hands braced on his sculpted chest, nails leaving fresh red trails as another orgasm built and crashed through her, making her squirt messily over his abs.
He wasn’t done.
He flipped her onto her side, spooning her from behind—one arm hooked under her knee to spread her wide while the other hand snaked around to rub tight, relentless circles over her throbbing clit.
He thrust slow and deep now, grinding against her ass, letting her feel every thick inch dragging along her walls until she was whimpering and begging incoherently.
Then back to missionary, but rougher this time—he folded her nearly in half, ankles thrown over his shoulders as he leaned forward, caging her beneath him.
The position let him pound straight down into her, watching every flicker of ecstasy on her tear-streaked, flushed face. Their eyes locked, his dark with possessive fire, hers glazed with overwhelming pleasure.
He took her standing, her back against his chest, one hand cupping a breast while the other held her thigh high so he could drive into her from behind.
He bent her over the dresser, making her watch their reflection in the mirror—her mouth open in constant moans, his jaw clenched in fierce concentration as he claimed her again and again.
Hour after hour, position after position, Riley used her body with masterful, insatiable skill.
Monique lost track of time, of everything except the endless tide of pleasure he forced upon her.
She came again and again—practically nonstop—each climax more intense than the last.
Her pussy clenched and gushed around him in endless waves, squirting in hot, forceful bursts that soaked his cock, his thighs, the floor, the ruined sheets.
Her voice grew hoarse from screaming his name, her body trembling uncontrollably as orgasm after orgasm wrung her dry.
By the time the first pale hints of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains, Monique was a beautiful, trembling wreck—sweat-drenched hair clinging to her face, skin marked with love bites and fingerprints, thighs sticky with their combined releases.
She lay limp in his arms, chest heaving, barely able to move.
Yet even then, Riley’s cock still twitched inside her, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered promises of more to come.
He had claimed his duchess completely, body and soul, and this night of unrelenting passion was only the first Chapter in what he intended to be a very long, very thorough conquest.
***
Monique stirred slowly beneath the tangled sheets, her body heavy with exhaustion and a deep, satisfying ache that pulsed between her thighs.
She was starving—her stomach growled insistently—and every muscle felt tender, deliciously used.
Memories of the night flooded back in vivid flashes: Riley’s powerful hands gripping her hips, the way he’d stretched her beyond anything she’d ever imagined, that impossibly thick 15-inch cock driving into her again and again until she lost count of her orgasms.
Wave after wave had crashed over her, leaving her trembling, screaming his name into the pillow.
Her first time with a man hadn’t just been good—it had been mind-shattering, peak-tier perfection.
A lazy, satisfied smile curved her lips as she stretched, wincing slightly at the pleasant soreness.
She could still feel him inside her, like a ghost of the pleasure he’d given her.
With a soft groan, she pushed herself up, the cool morning air raising goosebumps on her bare skin.
Her clothes lay scattered across the floor where Riley had tossed them hours earlier.
She gathered them slowly—her thin tank top, the tiny lace panties that had been ripped off in a frenzy, her shorts—and slipped everything back on, the fabric brushing against sensitive spots and making her shiver.
When she finally padded barefoot out of the bedroom, the scent of something rich and savory hit her immediately: sizzling bacon, fresh coffee, and something buttery and warm.
Her mouth watered instantly.
Riley was in the open kitchen area, shirtless as usual, his broad back turned to her while he crouched over a toolbox, fixing what looked like a loose cabinet hinge.
Sweat glistened faintly on his tanned skin from the early morning work he always seemed to be doing around the place.
He must have heard her approach because he glanced over his shoulder, those piercing eyes lighting up when they landed on her.
A slow, knowing grin spread across his face—the same grin he’d worn when he’d made her beg for more last night.
"About time you woke up, sleepyhead," he teased, his deep voice rumbling through the room like distant thunder.
He set down the screwdriver and stood to his full height, towering over her even from across the space.
"Thought I might have to come in there and wake you up myself... again."
Monique felt heat rush to her cheeks—and lower—as the memory of his "wake-up methods" flashed through her mind.
She bit her lip, trying to play it cool. "I needed the recovery time. Someone wore me out completely."
Riley chuckled, low and warm, as he wiped his hands on a dish towel and crossed the room toward her.
He stopped just close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"You handled it like a champ," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushed her cheek gently. "Come on, food’s ready. You’re gonna need the energy."
He led her to the small dining table already set with plates piled high: fluffy scrambled eggs flecked with herbs, crispy bacon, golden toast slathered with butter, fresh fruit, and steaming mugs of coffee.
It looked like a feast, far more than two people needed, but Monique’s stomach didn’t care—it demanded everything.
They sat across from each other, knees brushing under the table.
Riley watched her with quiet amusement as she dove in immediately, moaning softly at the first bite of bacon.
"God, this is amazing," she said between mouthfuls. "When did you even have time to cook all this?"
"While you were snoring," he replied with a smirk, pouring her more coffee. "Figured you’d be starving after... everything."
She kicked him lightly under the table, but couldn’t hide her grin.
The easy banter, the lingering glances, the way his bare foot occasionally slid against her calf—it all felt intimate in a new, exciting way.
They ate slowly, talking about nothing and everything: his endless list of repairs around the old cabin, her plans for the rest of her stay, the ridiculous amount of stars they’d seen through the window last night.
By the time their plates were clean and the coffee mugs empty, Monique felt warm, full, and content in a way she hadn’t in a long time.
Riley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her with that same heated look that promised the day—and night—ahead might be just as intense as the one before.
***
In the days that followed, everything unfolded with breathless haste.
Messengers rode day and night between the ducal estate and the capital, invitations were penned in gilded ink, seamstresses worked around the clock, and the entire region buzzed with the news.
The Duchess Monique Flint was to be married—an event grand enough on its own to set tongues wagging from the lowland villages to the royal court.
But the true scandal, the whisper that spread like wildfire through drawing rooms and taverns alike, was the unprecedented arrangement Riley had insisted upon.
He would not marry Monique alone.
Evelyn, the quiet, strikingly beautiful girl who had followed Riley from that faraway village, would stand beside her as co-bride.
A single ceremony, two wives, one husband. Riley had stated it plainly, his voice calm but immovable, in the privacy of Monique’s solar the morning after their first night together.
His dark eyes had held hers with that same intensity that had undone her in bed, and he had said, "I will have you both. Only weaklings need to choose."