Investing in My Crippled Wife: My Duchess Makes me Overpowered

He studied her, heartbeat quickening. Could she be—? The thought flared, then he crushed it. No. She couldn’t be. Not now. Not when everything is about to change.

Isolde drew a shaky breath. ”I’m all right. Just... empty.”

Emeric nodded, pushing the thought aside. ”We need food.” He moved to the kitchen, kindling a fire beneath the pot.

From the pantry he pulled a heel of yesterday’s bread and a slab of salted pork.

The knife thudded rhythmically as he diced onions, carrots, the pork. Oil hissed when he dropped the meat in; steam rose, fragrant and rich.

Isolde watched him from the bench, eyes tracing the flex of his forearms, the way his shirt clung where sweat had already begun to gather at the small of his back. The simple domestic scene felt suddenly charged. She shifted, thighs pressing together beneath her skirt.

He felt her gaze. Without turning he said, ”You’re staring.”

”Remembering last night.” Her voice was low, still hoarse from sleep and sickness. ”How you took control this morning.”

Emeric’s cock twitched against the lacing of his breeches. He kept stirring the stew, but his free hand dropped to adjust himself. The motion did not go unnoticed.

Isolde’s lips curved. ”Come here.”

He crossed the small space in two strides. She reached up, fingers hooking in his waistband, drawing him between her spread knees. Her palm cupped the growing bulge, rubbing slow circles through the fabric. Heat bloomed under her touch.

”Already hard for me,” she murmured, squeezing. ”Even after everything.”

He groaned, hips pushing into her hand. The stew bubbled behind them, forgotten for the moment. Emeric leaned down, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss, tongue sliding against hers. His fingers found the laces of her bodice, loosening them enough to slip inside and cup one breast. Her nipple hardened against his palm; he rolled it between thumb and forefinger until she gasped into his mouth.

Isolde’s hand worked faster, unlacing him fully. His penis sprang free, thick and flushed. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft, stroking from root to tip, thumb smearing the bead of precum over the head. Emeric’s breath stuttered. He pushed two fingers between her thighs, finding her already slick. He circled her clit, matching the rhythm of her strokes.

”Emeric,” she whispered, hips canting toward his hand. ”Don’t stop—please—”

He sank one finger inside her, then two, curling against the spot that made her thighs tremble. Her grip on his cock tightened, twisting on each upstroke. The wet sounds of her pussy around his fingers mingled with the bubbling stew. She was close—her inner walls fluttering, breath coming in short pants.

Then the sound of hooves on the dirt path outside. A trumpet blast, bright and commanding, shattered the moment.

Isolde’s hand froze. Emeric’s fingers slipped free, hands glistening. Both of them stared at the door, chests heaving, arousal left hanging like an unfinished sentence.

”Today,” he muttered, voice rough. ”The estate. The queen’s escort.” He had won the trials only three days ago; the elevation to baron came with a new holding, servants, a fresh start away from the modest cage that both families had thrown them into, hoping they would never embarrass them. Today was the day and they were meant to leave at noon.

Another trumpet call, closer now. Emeric hastily tucked himself away, lacing with shaking fingers. Isolde straightened her bodice, cheeks flushed with frustration.

The door opened without ceremony.

Queen Sylvia stepped inside, her riding cloak brushing the threshold. Behind her, the queen’s uncle—Lord William—lingered in the doorway, smirking. The modest kitchen suddenly felt smaller, poorer. Sylvia’s nose wrinkled at the scent of the boiled food that was .

”Baron Emeric,” she purred, eyes sliding over him like a caress. ”And Lady Isolde. How... quaint.”

Emeric bowed. ”Your Majesty. We were not expecting you so early or at all.”

Sylvia’s gaze lingered on the undone laces of his shirt, the faint sheen of sweat at his throat. ”I like to inspect my new barons personally. Especially those who show such promise in the trials.” Her smile was sharp, appraising. ”You showed quite a bit of promise.”

Isolde’s fingers tightened on the edge of the bench.

”And I’d like to think you would come to me if you see or hear anything — untoward.” She said, lingering on the last word.

Did she know something ? No.

She couldn’t, right ? He had been very careful to back away.

Sylvia drifted closer, the hem of her gown whispering across the uneven floorboards. She stopped just inside Emeric’s space, close enough that he could smell her perfume—jasmine and something darker.

”Loyalty like that is valuable,” she murmured, voice low enough that only he could hear. ”Play your cards right, Baron, and you’ll find stronger allies than a modest estate can offer. My uncle and I reward those who prove themselves... generously.” The word dripped suggestion.

Emeric’s penis, still half-hard from the interrupted foreplay, gave an involuntary twitch. Sylvia’s eyes flicked downward; her smile deepened.

Lord William cleared his throat from the doorway. ”The carriage awaits, Majesty.”

Sylvia stepped back, but not before letting her fingers trail down Emeric’s chest, nails grazing the fabric. ”Think on it,” she said. ”You ride for the new estate at noon. Do not disappoint me.”

She turned, cloak swirling, and swept out. The door closed behind her. Silence settled, thick with the scent of stew and unresolved heat.

Isolde exhaled shakily. ”She wants you.”

Emeric ran a hand through his hair. His body still ached, denied release.

”We need to finish packing,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. The queen’s offer hung in the air like smoke—dangerous, tempting, unfinished.

He turned off the stew that was simmering.

That was weird, even by the queen’s standards. Was she flirting with him ? That would be treason.

Then again; he did witness treason and this was just another day in the park for her.

”I don’t think so.” He replied Isolde.

She crooked her eyebrows as if saying really.

”Okay. I admit that it was very weird.”

”Oh really?” She said; offering a small cheeky laugh.

”Yes really.” He replied, running up on her and kissing her neck.

She laughed heartily.

”Let’s eat.”