Heavy is the Crown is a raw, emotionally charged dark romance about obsession, betrayal, and survival when love stops feeling safe.
James King is a cybersecurity powerhouse who lives by silence, strength, and control. Ellie Sinclair is a world-renowned therapist who saves everyone but herself. Their story begins like a stormâmagnetic, unstoppable, and full of the kind of intimacy most people only dream of.
But when Ellie breaks everything, James is forced to pick up the pieces, clean them off, and hand her his heart again⊠knowing she may leave it on the nightstand like a trophy.
This isnât revenge. Itâs a romance that bites back.
For readers who crave damaged characters, emotional warfare, and the kind of slow-burn obsession that makes you question everythingâHeavy is the Crown delivers a gut-punch and a kiss.
Perfect for fans of angsty, morally grey love stories that donât fade to black.
Heavy is the Crown is a raw, emotionally charged dark romance about obsession, betrayal, and survival when love stops feeling safe.
James King is a cybersecurity powerhouse who lives by silence, strength, and control. Ellie Sinclair is a world-renowned therapist who saves everyone but herself. Their story begins like a stormâmagnetic, unstoppable, and full of the kind of intimacy most people only dream of.
But when Ellie breaks everything, James is forced to pick up the pieces, clean them off, and hand her his heart again⊠knowing she may leave it on the nightstand like a trophy.
This isnât revenge. Itâs a romance that bites back.
For readers who crave damaged characters, emotional warfare, and the kind of slow-burn obsession that makes you question everythingâHeavy is the Crown delivers a gut-punch and a kiss.
Perfect for fans of angsty, morally grey love stories that donât fade to black.
Before the club. Before the worship. Before the fallout.
There was silence.
Not peaceâjust the kind of silence that wraps around two people like a fuse waiting to spark. The kind that simmers beneath the surface of Los Angeles, where power is performance and everyoneâs watching, even when you think they arenât.
This wasnât mythology. It was modern war.
Encryption. Therapy. Smoke. Silk.
They werenât royalty. But they reigned.
James Kingâa senior executive in cybersecurity, known across industries as one of the sharpest, most formidable minds in the field. Governments hired him. Corporations feared him. He spoke in precision, coded in silence, and moved like a man who could shatter your firewall or your soul without blinking. Unshakable. Until her.
Ellie Sinclairâworld-renowned therapist and founder of On Second Thought, a global brand built on emotional intelligence and unfiltered truth. She could dismantle your denial in one session, make your healing go viral, and still leave you wondering if she needed saving too.
Together, they didnât just build something.
They altered the atmosphere.
And when it crumbled, it didnât end in quiet.
It ended in fire, velvet, and betrayal made for reruns.
This isnât a love story.
This is Los Angeles.
This is about legacy crafted from lust, brilliance sharpened by heartbreak, and two icons who tried to hold an empire between their fingertips.
They didnât wear crowns.
But the fall still broke them.
Downtown Los Angeles didnât sleep. It burnedâalwaysâbeneath its glittering skin. On nights like this, it smoldered. Neon lights painted the city in seductive hues, streaking through limousine windows and dancing on sweat-slicked bodies chasing decadence. Beneath it pulsed darker places, places that whispered instead of shouted, places like Club Noir.
Theyâd been doing this for months nowâdrifting in and out of private rooms and late-night calls like it was ritual.
Club Noir's entrance was discreetâa single black door framed by velvet ropes, guarded by silence. No signs. No lines. Just invitation, thick and potent, extended only to those who knew where to knock and those whoâd surrendered their shame long ago. Inside, the rules dissolved, replaced by the intoxicating scent of perfume, expensive liquor, and raw sex.
Dim red and violet lights cast long, hungry shadows across velvet couches and glass tables littered with half-empty drinks. Bodies moved, moans spilling openlyâprimal, unapologetic. Pleasure here was public, expected, worshipped.
In the center of this pulsing chaos, the room bowed visibly, spiritually, to one pair.
The King sat, a predator disguised as royalty. His frame overflowed the throne-like couch, arms stretched along the backrest, chest rigid beneath a fitted black shirt that hugged his powerful build. Thick, tattooed fingers curled casually around a crystal glass of bourbon, the liquid untouched. His caramel skin gleamed beneath dim lights as if brushed by oil and shadow, his sharp beard enhancing his commanding presence.
But it wasnât his formidable stature that silenced the roomâit was how he held his Queen.
She sat sideways across his lap, pale and luminous against his fire. One heel rested casually on the couch edge, the other dangled seductively from her stilettoâs pointed toes. Her body was carved temptation, red lace barely restraining round breasts, soft hips curved invitingly. Her lipstick was dark as blood against porcelain skin, eyes lined heavily, lashes long, intentional. Her hair fell in sensual waves, teasing just above nipples pressing against sheer fabric.
She sipped from his bourbon. Not because she wanted itâbecause she could.
The music slowed, allowing moans to resurface more clearly. Around them, indulgences intensifiedâwomen touching themselves openly, lovers moving rhythmically against furniture. But eyes watched the King and his Queen.
She adjusted herself on his lap, pressing her thigh firmly against his hard length, clearly defined through tailored pants. Her hand traced along his chest, dragging nails slowly before brushing over his belt.
âYouâre tense,â she murmured against his ear.
âIâm in control.â
She laughed softly, dangerously. âNot the same thing.â
His jaw tightened. âI donât need this place.â
âThen why are you hard?â
His gaze burned into her, unflinching. âBecause youâre sitting on me like you want to be taken in front of them.â
Her laugh was dark, indulgent, hips grinding subtly forward. His breath caught slightly.
âLet them watch,â she said, defiant.
He looked away briefly, tension rippling through powerful shoulders. She reached up, caressing his beard.
âGive them what they want.â
âI donât perform,â he growled.
âNo,â she whispered, lips brushing his. âYou rule. Tonight, let them see their King.â
He downed the bourbon swiftly, set the glass aside, flexed his neck, and exhaled.
The Queen rose from his lap, standing directly before him. Every eye followed her, tension thickening through the club.
She spoke softly, âDo you see anyone worth watching?â
He looked up at her, eyes dark. âNo one touches me.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
He shook his head.
âI do,â she murmured, scanning the crowd.
Her eyes landed decisively on a caramel-skinned beauty, curves inviting sin beneath black lace, thighs strong, lips glossy and parted. The Queen raised a finger slightly, beckoning. The woman obeyed silently, kneeling before them both.
The Kingâs fists clenched tightly.
The Queen circled the new woman slowly, fingers tracing the curves of her shoulders, cupping her breasts possessively. The woman trembled, moaning softly as the Queen kissed her neck.
âYouâre here,â the Queen whispered to the woman, loud enough for him to hear clearly, âto feed a god.â
She glanced back to her King, smiling wickedly.
âDo you trust me?â she asked.
âI always have.â
Her smile deepened. She kissed him fiercely, possessively, before returning to her chosen prey.
Kneeling behind her, the Queen slid her fingers between the womanâs thighs beneath the black lace. The woman gasped, body arching, moans growing louder as practiced fingers found her rhythm.
The King remained still, watching intently, silent. His discipline unshaken, his claim absolute without a single touch.
She locked eyes with him, her voice thick with desire and power.
âNow,â she said clearly, letting her hand tease deeper, âletâs make them beg to be us.â
The club's breath stopped at her command. Her words were more than an invitation; they were law. The King sat immovable, tension coiled like a storm within him.
The Queenâs fingers moved expertly beneath delicate lace, driving her muse toward an undeniable climax. Moans filled the space, urgent, uncontrolled, echoing openly.
His jaw tightened visibly, but he remained still, his eyes fiercely locked onto her.
The Queen leaned forward, whispering to the writhing woman beneath her, "Heâs listening. Donât disappoint him."
The muse's moans spiraled higher, louder, reaching a breathless climax that shook her visibly. She collapsed, shaking and spent.
The Queen stepped back slowly, licking glistening fingers as her gaze met his again, unwavering and hungry. The club erupted in applause, awe-driven and worshipful.
She approached her King deliberately, lips brushing his ear.
"Your throne is waiting."
He rose, towering over everyone, stripping off his shirt in one motion, revealing muscle, ink, dominance. The Queen's eyes glowed, fingertips grazing his carved abs reverently.
âYou were made to be worshipped,â she whispered, awed.
âI was made to serve you,â he replied, dropping purposefully to his knees before her.
Gasps filled the club.
He pulled her closer roughly, burying his face between her thighs without hesitation. She cried out instantly, gripping his head as his tongue devoured her mercilessly, relentlessly, bringing her swiftly toward release.
Her climax shattered through the room, raw and unrestrained.
And as the Queen trembled under his mouth, a single stranger watched quietly from the edge, eyes fixed intensely upon herâunafraid, uninvited, undeniably aware.
The King lifted his head slowly, lips glistening.
Their eyes met across the room.
The air shifted with dangerous possibility.
She guided him effortlessly into the heart of Club Noir, threading through corridors that dripped with shadows, where bodies writhed slowly, whispers merging with moans into a sensual symphony. Her fingertips trailed lightly along his lower back, the subtle touch a silent assertion of claim. They moved as if they owned not only the place but the air itself.
Their destination waitedâa blonde temptress with honey-toned skin and curves that spoke softly of submission, but whose eyes glittered dangerously with forbidden curiosity. She leaned languidly against a pillar, a vision in sheer black lace that promised sin beneath innocence, her presence begging to be unraveled.
Without hesitation, the Queen approached, heels clicking like a heartbeat of anticipation. She leaned in close, her lips brushing the girl's ear, voice dripping like venom-laced honey. "Do you know what you're asking for?"
The girlâs breath hitched visibly, pulse fluttering at her throat. She nodded eagerly, eyes wide and filled with promises she was too naĂŻve to fully comprehend.
"Good girl," the Queen whispered, voice both comforting and cruel.
She turned slightly, glancing toward the King, her gaze sparking with silent challenge. He watched her with dark intensity, restraint carved into the tightness of his jaw. The Queen smiled knowingly, reaching out one hand toward the Kingâa silent request, one he understood immediately.
He didn't hesitate, stepping closer, tension radiating from every inch of his massive frame. His chest strained against the thin barrier of his shirt, tattoos vivid beneath sweat-glistening skin, eyes alight with molten anticipation.
She pressed herself against him, her body molding into the hard lines of his frame, fingers tracing the sharp angles of his jaw. Her voice was silk, edged with venomous command. âSheâs waiting, my King. You could taste her⊠if I allowed it.â
His jaw flexed beneath her fingertips. "You know the rules."
A smile ghosted her lips, wicked and knowing. "Yes. And I made them."
He didn't move, didnât flinch. But tension tightened along his jaw. His eyes darkened, storm clouds gathering in their depths. She stepped away slowly, savoring the battle that played behind his carefully composed expression.
She circled back to the temptress. Her fingers grazed down the girl's bare arm, eliciting a shiver, before leaning in and kissing her throat softly. The girl moaned quietly as the Queenâs mouth explored upward, along her jawline, finally claiming her lips.
The kiss deepened, ruthless, demanding total submission, making clear exactly who held power and who knelt in service. The girl melted beneath the onslaught, her legs trembling, knees weakening. She sank back onto plush velvet, completely surrendered.
The Queen glanced at the King once more, eyes glinting with challenge.
âYou wonât touch her?â she asked softly, taunting him gently, provocatively.
He gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head. âThis is your game.â
âThen watch me win,â she purred.
She lowered herself gracefully, silk pooling around her knees, mouth finding warm skin, teeth biting softly, leaving red marks of ownership. Her hands explored gently at firstâthen harder, more insistent, leaving trails of red marks that spoke of promises the girl hadn't known she was asking to fulfill.
Her lips met the temptressâs mouthâdeliberately slow, ruthless in their dominance, a claiming kiss. Her tongue explored, tasting submission, drawing whimpers, fueling desire until the girl beneath her was breathless, dizzy, helplessly undone.
Still, the King didnât move. But his eyes never left her. A primal growl, nearly inaudible, vibrated deep within his chest.
The Queen withdrew, slowly licking the taste of conquest from her lips, before walking deliberately back to her King. He met her gaze, rigid but unwavering, disciplined restraint battling raw temptation beneath his dark eyes.
She straddled him without hesitation, claiming his lap as her throne.
âNow,â she commanded softly, âfuck your Queen.â
His control crackedâjust slightly. He shifted beneath her, powerful thighs tensing. His cock, hard and impatient, pressed firmly between her parted thighs. His mouth found her neck, teeth grazing dangerously, hands gripping her hips with unyielding strength. His hips rocked up slowly at first, then harderâdeeperâuntil pleasure spiraled through them both.
She rolled against him, rhythm building faster, matching the beat of the club around them. Their bodies collided again and again in primal rhythm, each thrust more possessive, more desperate than the last. She clutched his shoulders, her moans dissolving into cries of pleasure, nails digging into his skin as she rode him mercilessly.
Their climax shattered all pretense, a mutual surrender so intense it left them breathless, shaking, joined in sweat-soaked silence.
But afterward, as they caught their breaths and bodies cooled, something lingered beneath the surfaceâsomething sharper, colder.
His hands didnât hold her close. His breathing slowed, disciplined once more. A distance returned, more pronounced now than before, like a shadow slowly growing between them.
She rose silently, adjusting her dress. The King remained seated, eyes fixed forward, unreadable.
The room had gone quiet around them, the crowd sensing the fracture beneath the spectacle.
She tilted her head slightly, watching the King carefully. âAre you satisfied?â
âAre you?â he replied, his voice deceptively calm.
She swallowed hard, seeing the barely hidden wound she had inflicted.
Neither answered the otherânot directly. And the club sensed it.
The Queen walked away, heels clicking against marble, leaving her King to the silence. Her pulse thudded heavily in her chest, pleasure replaced now by an emptiness she hadnât felt before.
Something had changed between them.
She just didnât know yet what had been lost.
The Queen's thighs trembled slightly as she rose from her throneâthe King's lapâstill damp with evidence of their climax. Her heart raced, her breathing shallow from lingering pleasure, yet beneath it coiled a tension she hadnât anticipated. A silence had fallen, heavier and colder than she'd ever felt between them.
"You didn't touch her," the Queen murmured softly, her voice laced with quiet accusation and subtle confusion, echoing intimately between them. "Not once."
The King's gaze, distant now, narrowed with a quiet intensity. "You didn't need me. You needed an audience."
His words sliced through her, sharp and precise, revealing a wound she hadnât intended to inflict. Before she could answer, the air around them shifted palpably, sensing vulnerability. From the shadows, bodies emerged slowly, emboldened by the fracture between them.
A group of men approached firstâfive powerful figures, boldly encircling her like predators drawn by the scent of vulnerability. Their eyes openly devoured the sight of her flushed skin, lingering over her breasts beneath the silk, the curve of her hips, the glistening moisture still visible on her thighs.
The King sat motionless, deliberately indifferent, a dangerous stillness radiating from him.
One man stepped closer, reaching boldly, fingers brushing gently along her bare arm, eliciting an involuntary shiver from her. The King's voice, deep and commanding, broke through the tension instantly.
"No one touches my Queen."
But even as he spoke, three women began to circle slowly toward him, their eyes heavy with desire and unmistakable intent. The King stiffened slightly, sensing their approach but refusing to break his focus on the Queen.
Jealousy surged fiercely inside her, hot and possessive.
"No one touches my King," she echoed sharply, voice loud, commanding absolute authority.
She moved quickly, pushing past the circle of men, reclaiming her space. The three women paused in their approach, cautious but unyielding, their eyes challenging her silently even as they respected her command.
The Queen reached the King swiftly, reclaiming her position before him, facing him directly, her voice hard with command and possession.
"Strip," she demanded coldly, her gaze locked onto his, unwavering.
Without hesitation, he obeyedâremoving every shred of clothing until he stood gloriously bare, his muscled, ink-covered body radiating strength and dominance that only she could command. She circled him slowly, deliberately, fingertips tracing along his powerful frame, reclaiming every inch as hers.
"You are mine," she whispered, voice lethal, possessive, daring him to challenge.
"Then prove it," he challenged quietly, voice edged with restrained anger and desire.
She sank to her knees before himâproud, dominant, uncompromising. Her lips parted deliberately, tongue slowly tracing the hard length of him, savoring the taste of his arousal, reclaiming the territory she momentarily risked losing.
He groaned softly, fingers instinctively threading into her hair, guiding her mouth deeper along him. The room watched in rapt silence, the voyeuristic tension mounting.
Suddenly, he pulled her upward sharply, crushing her lips beneath his in a possessive kiss before turning her around abruptly and bending her roughly over the velvet throne.
"Tell them," he growled harshly against her ear, his cock pressing firmly against her slick entrance, teasing her cruelly. "Who fucks you? Who owns your pleasure?"
"You do," she gasped loudly, body trembling beneath his powerful grasp. "Only you, my King."
He thrust inside her mercilessly, deep, punishing, reclaiming her before the entire room. Her screams echoed through Club Noir, pleasure and dominance blending fiercely, unmistakably. Her hips bucked hard against his powerful thrusts, fingers gripping velvet desperately, losing herself completely in his ruthless possession.
Their shared climax ripped through them violently, voices mingling in raw, primal release, their bodies locked together fiercely in a public reaffirmation of their power.
Yet afterward, breathing heavily, bodies still joined, he whispered darkly into her ear, "You tested the throne tonight. Next time, I may let you lose."
Withdrawing from her abruptly, he left her shaken and exposed. He dressed quietly, refusing to look back, and left her standing aloneâclaimed yet abandoned, victorious yet defeated.
The room returned cautiously to life, whispers and speculative murmurs rising softly. The Queen adjusted her dress slowly, chin raised defiantly despite the vulnerability beneath. Her eyes briefly touched upon the five men still observing her hungrily from the shadows, and the three women lingering nearbyâwatching, waiting, sensing an opening.
She moved quietly toward her King, determined to repair the damage she'd inflictedâknowing their fracture might be deeper than she'd ever realized.
The king let a slow smirk tug at the corner of his lips, amusement gleaming in his dark eyes as he began to move. His powerful frame stalked in a slow, deliberate circle around the three kneeling women, his inked skin slick with the remnants of his queen. Each step was intentional, calculated, designed to feed the heat in his queenâs bellyâthe fire of jealousy, of rage, of helplessness.
And they knew it.
The three women had no intention of making this decision easy for him. They wanted to be chosen. Needed to be chosen. And they would make sure he knew exactly what he would be missing if he didnât.
The golden-skinned woman lifted her chin, her full lips curving into a knowing smile. Her red silk dress clung to her in ways that left nothing to the imagination, the curves of her breasts spilling out, nipples peeking through the sheer fabric.
âI will worship every inch of you, my king,â she purred, voice dripping with seduction. âMy mouth was made to serve youâto bring you to the edge again and again until you can take no more.â She licked her lips slowly, deliberately. âI will take you so deep youâll forget anyone else exists.â
The green-eyed woman was next, her soft, sculpted body wrapped in lace that barely held her. She tilted her head, her hands gliding down her own curves as if presenting herself.
âMy king,â she whispered, her voice velvet, her fingers tracing the swell of her breasts. âYou have never known true pleasure until you have felt my tongue and my hands work in perfect unison to please you.â Her legs shifted, parting just enough to reveal the wet heat between them. âLet me show you what it means to be devoured.â
The dark-skinned beauty was last, her eyes simmering with wicked delight. She was a vision of pure temptationâhips full, thighs pressing together, her body made for indulgence. Unlike the others, she turned her gaze to the queen first, smiling.
âBut why choose just one, my king?â she mused, her voice a sultry melody. âWouldnât it be a shame to deny yourself the pleasure of all three of us at once?â She leaned forward, her breasts heavy, her scent intoxicating. âAnd wouldnât it be even more divine⊠if your queen joined us?â
The air grew thick, charged with the weight of it all.
The queen stood frozen, her jaw tight, her body trembling.
She was suffocating.
Her stomach twisted violently as she watched them, their shameless offers laced with sin, their bodies poised to take what belonged to her. She fought to keep her composure, but inside, she was unraveling. If he took them⊠if he let them touch him, taste him, claim him, she would never forgive him.
Her hands clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms as the worst thought plagued herâwhat if he enjoyed it? What if he found something in them that she could never give?
What if he decided he wanted more?
She bit down on her lip hard enough to taste blood, her heart hammering as she forced herself to breathe.
But then she saw it.
The kingâs hand.
Slowly, he moved as if to grab his thick, still-perfectly-imperfectly curved manhood, still slick with her essence, his tatted thighs glistening with their shared sins.
Her vision blurred for a split second, rage and despair warring inside her.
She turned, her eyes landing on the man who had knelt before her, the one who had licked their combined juices from the floor. He was staring at her nowâhope flickering in his gaze, a silent plea.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
No.
No, she could not bear this.
And as if sensing the depths of her agony, the king spoke.
âChoose.â
The word was a dagger to her chest.
He turned to her fully now, his voice steady, unyielding. âChoose one⊠or all three,â he commanded. âAnd exact their pleasureâor their punishment.â
The room fell deathly silent.
A single tear slipped from her eye. She stiffened her chin, refusing to let the rest follow.
Her breath was shaky, her lips parting, but the words wouldnât come.
Before she could force them out, the women spoke again, desperation clinging to their voices.
The golden-skinned one pressed her hands together, pleading. âLet me make you forget, my king. Let me take all of your pain and turn it into pleasure.â
The green-eyed womanâs fingers ghosted over her own throat, her breath hitching. âCommand me. Use me. Take me any way you desire.â
The dark-skinned beauty smirked. âOr let me bring your queen to her knees beside you, my king⊠let us both worship at your feet.â
The queenâs hands trembled.
Her throat was thick, her voice barely above a whisper as she finally spoke.
âPleaseâŠâ Her voice cracked, her dominance shattered. âSpare me the pain of watching you take them all. If you must⊠let only one serve you with her mouth.â
The room exhaled as if they had been holding their breath.
The king, however, remained silent.
His heart clenched at the raw ache in her voice.
He had brought her to this breaking point. He had reduced his queen to this fragile, desperate thing. And though he burned with the need to comfort her, he wasnât done yet.
His eyes darkened, and he turnedânot to the women, but to the man.
The one who had tasted their remnants.
âCome forward,â the king commanded.
The man obeyed instantly, rising from his knees. He wiped his mouth, his jaw tight, his body gleaming with sweat. And as he approached, the queen couldnât help but noticeâhis manhood was impressive, thick, hard, twitching with need.
A ripple of anticipation went through the room.
The womenâs faces flickered with disappointment, realizing he was not being called for them.
The queen, still trembling, assumed her king would use him to service oneâor allâof the women instead.
Relief flooded her.
Untilâ
The king turned to her once more.
âWhisper your choice to me,â he commanded.
Her breath hitched.
She hesitated.
And then, with reluctant steps, she moved closer, her lips barely brushing his ear as she gave him her answer.
His body tensed. His tattoos stretched as his muscles clenched, the lion on his chest flexing, the spartan warrior on his back seeming to come alive.
He pulled back, his gaze burning into hers.
âSo you have chosen who you would deem worthy of my life force?â His voice was low, filled with an unreadable emotion.
Her throat bobbed. Slowly, she nodded.
His jaw tightened.
He turned to the man.
âHas she chosen?â he asked, though his voice carried no expectation of an answer.
The room was suffocating with tension.
And then, suddenly, he exhaled, his voice turning sharp, filled with bitter disappointment.
âIs there any one woman that can equal my fucking queen?!â he bellowed.
The women gasped, kneeling deeper, salivating, desperate.
The queenâs heart pounded, her panic taking over.
âNoââ she gasped, a strangled sound, stepping forward. âPleaseââ
The kingâs gaze snapped to her.
His voice was razor-sharp.
âHow many menâincluding your selectionâcan match the bedding pleasures your king gives you?â
The silence stretched.
Her lips quivered.
Her answer came as a whisper.
âAll the men in this room⊠and it still would not be enough.â
The air was electric.
And thenâhe moved.
He carefully selected five of the most handsome, well-endowed men from the crowd.
âStand before her,â he commanded.
The men rushed forward, their bodies chiseled, their excitement evident.
The room vibrated with energy.
The kingâs voice dropped to ice.
âDo not touch her unless I command it.â
He turned back to his queen, his eyes cold, his pain raw.
âSay your selection.â
She shook her head.
He clenched his jaw.
Then, as if testing her further, he called forth two more women.
His voice cracked with heartbreak.
âChoose who you will share the life force of your king with, my love.â
Tears welled in his eyes.
She would not say.
He glanced down.
All were ready.
And the room held its breath.
The kingâs voice split the air like a lionâs roar.
âIf you wish to worship your queen, my queen with your mouths, drop to your knees.â
The command sent a violent pulse through the room. Bodies shuddered in anticipation. All around them, the electric scent of sex, sweat, and sin thickened as the tension snapped into something raw, something primal.
And thenâthey fell.
Five men.
Five sculpted, powerful, well-endowed men.
Five wolves kneeling before a queen stripped of her throne.
The first was a towering god of muscle and dark, polished skin, his sculpted abs flexing as his hands rested on his powerful thighs. His cockâlong, thick, veined like a warriorâs bladeâpulsed with hunger.
The second was golden-brown, a chiseled Adonis with tribal ink licking up his forearms, his tongue slowly tracing his lips, his dark eyes locking onto her exposed thighs.
The thirdâs chocolate skin glowed beneath the clubâs heat, his dreadlocks falling against his broad shoulders as he exhaled sharply, his heavy shaft twitching as if he could already taste her.
The fourth was lean but lethal, abs carved like a Grecian god, his long fingers twitching in anticipation as he stared at the place between her legs that still dripped with the ruin of her king.
The fifth and others looking onâa perfect mix of strength and stamina, of wicked grins and hung cocksâwere already fisting themselves, the sight of the queen standing before them with her thighs quivering too much to bear.
Their queen.
They wanted to feast.
And she wanted to be devoured.
But not like this.
At first, her lips parted in pleasure at the sight of them kneeling, offering themselves to her in submission. Her body still hummed, her muscles weak from her kingâs brutal, unrelenting claiming of her. She should be reveling in this, in the hunger in their eyes, in the throbbing ache between their legs meant only for her.
But then she felt it.
The disconnection.
The chasm between her and her king.
It was a subtle shift at firstâan ache in her chest, a weight pressing against her ribs. And then, as if the weight grew claws, it dragged her down.
She wobbled, her dominance flickering, her balance shifting dangerously.
And he saw it.
The king stiffened from where he stood, his jaw locking, his muscles tightening. His heart screamed for him to yell, to stop this before it was too late.
But he didnât move.
He couldnât.
He was paralyzed, watching in slow, agonizing motion as his queen swayed slightly, as her legs shifted, as her thighsâhis thighsâprepared to part.
And then, his mind betrayed him.
The image hit him like a warhammer to the ribs.
He saw itâhis queen, pinned beneath their mouths, her head thrown back, her body offered to them. He saw them licking into her, fingers spreading her open, tongues diving deep, drinking every drop of her.
He saw her whimpering. Shaking. Taken.
And thenâthe skulls on his chest ached.
Another five.
Another five deaths in his collection if she let them touch her.
The queenâs cold stare flickered, and thenâŠ
It softened.
And he knewâshe saw his pain.
The club around them was a fever dream of sex and chaosâwomen moaning, bodies writhing, men groaning as they spilled onto waiting tongues.
And yet, the stares of the onlookers were on them.
âGoddamn, sheâs gorgeous.â
âIâd kill to be in their place.â
âThatâs a fucking queen right there.â
But none of them mattered.
Because her king was breaking.
The seconds stretched into minutesâthe entire world balanced on a single, fragile moment.
The queenâs mind flickered backâto her king beneath the mouths of other women, their lips wrapping around the thick weight of him, their tongues exploring what belonged to her.
She saw them suck him. Worship him.
She saw them stroke the pulsing length of him, their hands gripping his thighs, their mouths eager to claim his pleasure.
And thenâ
She came back to herself.
The king did too.
Their eyes finally locked.
And their hearts ached to embrace.
She movedâstepping toward him, toward her king, toward home.
But she never reached him.
Because in an instantâ
Two of the men at her feet grabbed her thighs, their tongues darting out, tasting the sweat-slicked skin that led to her most intimate place.
A third moved in, mouth parting, breath hot against her swollen clit.
At the same timeâ
A man behind her groaned at the sight of her pink, gaping pussy, fully exposed, glistening, her full, untouched bush adorning the base of her pleasure.
The king saw red.
He movedârage flooding his veins.
But the three women stopped him.
One gripped his thick, sensitive cock in her palm, wrapping her lips around the head, sucking him deep before he could push her away.
Another grabbed his massive arms, fingers running over the carved muscle as she tried to steal a taste of his lips.
His queen screamed.
Tears erupted down her cheeks.
Her plea for reconciliation had become a battlefield of lust and betrayal.
And it was too much.
They both ripped away.
Clothes were snatched, bodies shoved aside.
The kingâs voice was a death sentence.
âAny man who touched her without my commandâyour punishment will be harsh. And unforgiving.â
And they knew he meant it.
The battle scars on his body were nothing compared to the war inside him.
As they dressed, the silence between them was so deafening it screamed.
And then, she did something that shattered him.
She reached for his hand.
And heâhe grabbed her like she was air in his lungs.
He picked her up, his arms wrapping around her with a force so desperate it broke him.
And for the first time, the king wept.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
But silently.
His tears slipped against her skin, his torment unspoken.
She kissed his lips.
But he wasnât in the present.
His mind was a battlefield.
He saw her under them.
She saw him under them.
It had only been moments.
But it had felt like eternity.
âAre you okay?â he asked, his voice masking the storm inside him.
She swallowed her own despair.
Forced a small smile.
âYes.â
But everything had changed.
Her hand slid onto his thigh.
His fingers curled against her skin.
She kissed him again.
But neither could shake the truth.
What had once been impenetrable now had a crack.
And through it, something dark, something unspoken, something waiting to consume them bothâ was slipping in.
The Queen stood in silence, one heel still on the throne, her inner thighs glistening with the final traces of the Kingâs worship. The heavy beat of Club Noir continued to pulse around them, but it felt distant nowâlike the sound of war drums echoing from beyond castle walls. Her eyes remained fixed on the King, who had retreated several paces back, his breath still uneven, his broad chest rising and falling with the weight of what they had just done.
The crowd began to shift again. Lust hadnât faded, but reverence had been replaced by uncertainty. Something unseen had cracked beneath the spectacle. And the Queen felt it too. Felt it like the echo of a scream locked behind stained-glass eyes.
She stood tall, chin high, though a tremble teased her knees. Her body hummed with pleasure, but her heart felt like it had been scratchedâjust beneath the surface. It wasnât pain. Not yet. But the knowing that pain was coming.
The King fastened his pants in silence, his hands slow and deliberate. The air clung to his sweat-damp skin, tracing the deep grooves of his inked muscles. His gaze remained low for a beat too long, as if something within him refused to meet hers just yet. And that alone chilled her more than a thousand jealous stares from the room.
She moved to him, slowly, the same way she had approached prey in the pastâbut this was no conquest.
This was a plea.
âI meant what I said,â she whispered, reaching to brush his jawline with the backs of her fingers. âThey all want you. But only I own you.â
He didnât flinch. But he didnât soften, either.
âYou gave them a show,â he said quietly. âOne that mightâve cost us more than it earned.â
Her hand dropped from his face. âDonât you dare put this on me. We were fire tonight. Untouchable. We made gods jealous.â
His head finally lifted, and his eyes met hersâdark, worn, and glinting with something ancient.
âGods fall too.â
That struck her harder than it should have.
For a moment, her breath stalled, her lip parting to offer a retort. But nothing came. The King turned from her again, retrieving his shirt from the back of the throne where it had been tossed. He didnât put it on.
She followed, bare beneath the lace that still clung to her curves like melted sin. âSo thatâs it? You let me ride your face in front of a room full of sinners, and now youâre too broken to look at me?â
His shoulders tensed. âIâm not broken.â
âThen say something real.â
He turned abruptly, the full weight of his body towering before her again. The intensity in his voice cut through her like a blade laced with history.
âYou played the crowd like a violin. You invited a stranger into our space. You demanded I kneel like some conquered knight. And still, I gave you everything.â
âI never took what wasnât mine,â she snapped back.
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. âAnd yet⊠you stood above me like a Queen proving to the world she could control her King.â
The Queenâs spine stiffened. âIsnât that what this was always about? Power. Pleasure. Spectacle.â
âNo,â he said, voice now low, broken at the edges. âIt was about us.â
She faltered.
He pressed forward. âAnd tonight⊠it wasnât.â
The space between them tightened. Not physicallyâthey were still close enough to feel each otherâs heatâbut emotionally, the chasm widened. And for the first time, she didnât know how to close it.
âYou let that stranger stay on his knees longer than you kept me at your side,â he said bitterly.
Her brows furrowed. âHe was never a threat.â
He didnât reply.
She whispered, âYouâre jealous.â
âIâm betrayed,â he corrected.
Her chest tightened. âNo one touched me but you.â
âAnd yet,â he said, stepping back again, âit still feels like something was taken.â
His words hung in the air, heavy and raw.
She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of how exposed she was. âI canât undo it.â
âI donât want you to,â he said.
Her eyes met his, confused.
He continued, âI just want to understand if tonight was about us⊠or just you.â
She stepped forward again, brushing her lips near his ear.
âI donât want anyone but you.â
âThen stop testing me like you do.â
That cracked something in her.
She pulled back, blinking fast. âSo what? Youâre saying I went too far?â
He nodded once. âIâm saying I donât know how far you plan to go.â
That silence returnedâthe one that came not from peace, but from the threat of something sacred unraveling.
She turned away first this time, adjusting her dress slightly, straightening her spine.
âYou always said you loved how dangerous I was,â she said softly.
âI did,â he replied.
She paused, almost afraid to ask. âAnd now?â
âIâm wondering if I shouldâve been more dangerous too.â
That stung more than anything else heâd ever said.
She turned to him, tears fighting for purchase in the corners of her eyes, but she would not let them fall. Not here. Not now.
Not in the kingdom theyâd built on dominance and desire.
The Queen stood still, arms wrapped across her body as if she could hold in the ache swelling beneath her ribs. The weight of his words echoed in her skull: âIâm wondering if I shouldâve been more dangerous too.â
She turned her head slowly, as if afraid that any sudden movement might shatter what remained between them. But he was already walking away.
No fire. No farewell.
Just silence.
She wanted to call after him. To grab his hand. To demand he not leave her alone in a room still reeking of lust and their unraveling. But the pride that had built her throne, that had made her Queen, kept her lips sealed.
He walked to the far side of the room, muscles still taut, his skin glowing beneath the velvet lighting. Womenâs eyes followed him, still dripping with desire, but now tempered by fearâbecause they knew what had just passed between their King and Queen was not a performance. It was prophecy. Something sacred had broken. Something theyâd all believed was unshakable.
The Queen turned back toward the throne, her heels clicking with finality on the marble floor. She sank onto the plush seatânot to rule, not to commandâbut to feel something beneath her again that didnât shift. That didnât tremble beneath the weight of uncertainty.
Her fingers traced the edge of the seat, the same one where sheâd knelt earlier, where sheâd begged his mouth to remember every inch of her. The memory made her clench involuntarilyâbut the heat turned to ash.
She looked down at herself. Her thighs were still sticky with the remnants of his devotion, but instead of pride, she felt hollow.
She had everything.
And now, she wasnât sure she had him.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her heels, slipping them off slowly, letting them fall to the floor with two dull thuds that seemed louder than the clubâs pulsing music.
Heavy is the Crown by James E. Lorraine wrecked me...in the best way possible. I wasn't sure what to expect going into this, but it was an unforgettable experience! I'm so glad I got the chance to read this!
This isnât your typical romance, and it doesnât even read like a traditional novel. It wasnât just romance; it was about soul growth, hard truths, and forgiveness. From the first page, I was completely captivated. This book pulls you into something raw, poetic, and emotionally unfiltered. The writing is abstract at times, but the scenes unfold so vividly in your mind that youâre not just reading them; youâre experiencing them. It was different from anything I've ever read! And I so desperately want to read more books like this!
Our main characters, James and Ellie, arenât your typical romantic leads. I just loved them! Their love was sweet yet chaotic, raw, and deeply flawed, but it felt so real. I loved their connection, watching them become the version of themselves that could endure that kind of storm? Thatâs the kind of love story Iâll always root for.
And the spice!? Oh my god!đ€ Honestly, as steamy as this was, it was more than that, especially with how poetic the writing was. The characters experienced a profound connection, power, and vulnerability during those scenes.
I really enjoyed getting to know James and Ellie! I also loved all the side characters, especially Jean and Danielle!! I wish we got more of them; they were the perfect chaotic relief in a story with so much depth as this one.
Overall, Heavy is the Crown was different and exciting. It was a story that cracked me open, gutted me, and somehow put me back together again. I'm looking forward to reading more by this author.