[ Daemon had yearned, had wanted, for longer than he might ever be able to tell her. There is some truth to the nightmares that he'd had, perhaps, to the things that burn down on him and have crushed him; he had wished for her, in part, perhaps, because of her closeness to his brother, to her closeness to the throne. But beyond that, stepping away from the promise of the mantle of kingship that he had wanted for such a huge part of his life, was the desire for her and nothing else.
She preyed on his mind, claimed him, wrapped her arms around him and stole his heart into her own body. Daemon would bend the knee for her time and time again now, would accept that his purpose is to be at her side, that he would be able to support her in her claim, to lay the foundation for a dynasty that would never falter. Daemon loves her, adores her, wants her, and would show her that with word and deed.
He is her sword, her knight, her consort, her right hand, in violence and in peace.
Clutching, pulling at her, making him groan from the pleasure of the pinching pain, he leans into her and lifts her up, aligning her better. It is easy enough to shove his breeches further down, to press her harder against the garden wall, the leaves around them tangling in their clothes and hair, and adjust to shove up and push his cock into her, to take her.
It has been too long, too desperately long, and he groans aloud as he slips in, mouth trailing down and along her jaw, to her neck, where he rests there and just breathes. Carefully, without hesitation, he begins to rock into her, to fuck her properly, giving him all that he has. ]
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She preyed on his mind, claimed him, wrapped her arms around him and stole his heart into her own body. Daemon would bend the knee for her time and time again now, would accept that his purpose is to be at her side, that he would be able to support her in her claim, to lay the foundation for a dynasty that would never falter. Daemon loves her, adores her, wants her, and would show her that with word and deed.
He is her sword, her knight, her consort, her right hand, in violence and in peace.
Clutching, pulling at her, making him groan from the pleasure of the pinching pain, he leans into her and lifts her up, aligning her better. It is easy enough to shove his breeches further down, to press her harder against the garden wall, the leaves around them tangling in their clothes and hair, and adjust to shove up and push his cock into her, to take her.
It has been too long, too desperately long, and he groans aloud as he slips in, mouth trailing down and along her jaw, to her neck, where he rests there and just breathes. Carefully, without hesitation, he begins to rock into her, to fuck her properly, giving him all that he has. ]