tear me to pieces, skin and bone

Chapter Six

Despite what the people of England thought, Anne was not a whore.

Growing up in the French court, Anne's young eyes had watched powerful women control men with nothing more than a smile, a flutter of their eyelashes and a whispered word in their ear. Twas then Anne began to realize that though she may have been born just a woman, a delicate creature with little use but bearing a child and warming her husband's bed, she could still have some power in this world.

Anne had watched her sister be used and discarded numerous times at the whim of the French King and vowed that she would not let any man treat her so. Learning from her sister's mistakes, Anne flirted with men above her station, her smiles coy and inviting, her kisses chaste and rewarding as she learnt the ways of men and their fickle hearts.

Despite it all, the flirtations and kisses and the thrill that came with the knowledge that she could control a man with just a smile, Anne had never ventured beyond a kiss. She was not ignorant of what happened between a man and a woman. Mary had been very descriptive in regards to her affairs and during her short relationship with Thomas Wyatt, Anne had felt the flutter of want in the pit of her belly. Yet she never gave into her desires, no Anne's ambitions ran far higher than to be a mistress.

She would not be like Mary, and thus her husband would be the only one she would allow into her bed. It was a proclamation she would stand by for years.

Until she met Henry.

Henry, who she was meant to seduce for her Father's benefit. Thomas Boleyn had already whored one daughter out to two Kings, and he had no qualms about whoring out the other. But Anne is not her sister. No, she is far more ambitious and intelligent than Mary who was content to warm the King's bed for a few weeks until she was pushed in the direction of her next conquest.

So she went above and beyond and before she even met the King, Anne vowed that if he was to have her, she would not be content with a few weeks or months.

No, Anne would have him for a lifetime.

Alas, she did not count on loving him. She did not count on every fiber of her being lighting up in desire and want when he was in her presence, her skin lighting up under the tips of his fingers. She did not think she was able to feel such burning rage and jealousy as she had the moment Anne found out that Catherine carried his child. In that moment it mattered not that she may never be Queen, for the title mattered little in comparison to Henry, the man who captured her heart with every word he wrote and every smile he gave to her.

She wanted him to be her husband, the father to her children, her King.

But when it came to Henry, Anne was a complete and utter fool.

-&&-

Anne woke to the feel of a King's naked body pressed up against hers. A smile tugged at her lips despite her tiredness. Her limbs felt heavy and weightless at once after a night of merriment and-

His lips upon hers, hard and wanting as his fingers traced the bare skin of her legs, higher and higher-

"Henry," she panted, tearing her mouth away from his and gasping for breath. "I.. I have never.." Anne trailed off, an uncharacteristic blush staining her cheeks as she met her King's heated gaze. "I have never.. touched a man. Nor seen one."

Henry kissed her gently. "And I have never seen another as beautiful as you."

An uncharacteristic blush bloomed upon Anne's cheeks and she bit back a girlish giggle. She had to resist the urge to pinch herself to confirm that she had not dreamt the whole affair because the truth of the matter was that she had spent many nights dreaming about the things that had occurred last night between them.