[ even when debased at court, she was treated as a fragile, breakable thing. every bite and bruise soothes something animal inside her, too long neglected. she strokes his temples, twists his hair, presses him to an already darkening mark at her breast to give her the same pleasure-plain of touching a bruise. all in reward for treating her to his teeth.
alicent whines as he removes his fingers, clenching around nothing. near desolate at the emptiness, begging with the hand squeezing his cock, for want of words. even when forsaking saintliness in her chambers, she has never felt so needful, on the verge of ruin. her curls have fallen everywhere, wild until saber tames them with a strangely gentle touch, at odds with the filth that follows.
she can hardly catch her breath for the sight of his fingers disappearing into his plush mouth. impossibly, this — of all things — pinks her cheeks, the unfamiliarity of it demanding her full attention, too-big eyes blown wide. why did she deny herself his tongue? now commanding her so prettily. it’s more debaucherous than any subject would dare and all the better for it. criston would not dream of instructing her so, and he certainly wouldn’t expect anything of her prim lips, tentatively parting first to accept, then lap at his fingers, moaning as she takes them. proof she can take him elsewhere just as well, she hopes, eager to please and be pleased in turn (a foreign instinct, after holding herself above others for so long).
it must work, for how he finally pushes into her, an inexorable slide that stretches her beyond what his long fingers could manage. her eyes shutter, momentarily, before she recalls his ask that she look at him, cracking open again to take in his ravenous expression. has anyone wanted her this much? she whimpers, aching to accommodate him faster, hand flitting to his hip to urge him onward, even as her mouth parts on a ragged breath. ]
Oh. [ it’s never felt like this before, like carving open a space made for him alone, filling her up as no one else can. her back arches as he sinks to the hilt, hands sliding from hips to chest to neck, seeking purchase in the tidal wave of overwhelm, every nerve alight with pleasure at having accomplished the first goal of the hunt, to be taken. ]
You feel — [ she drags him in for a bite-kiss, teeth nicking his lip, before she noses into his neck, scraping his pulse. impossibly, she’s still burning. her legs cinch tighter at his lower back. ] Gods, don’t you dare stop.
[ not for anything, when she’s teetering at the edge, and she still needs him to spill inside her. ]
no subject
alicent whines as he removes his fingers, clenching around nothing. near desolate at the emptiness, begging with the hand squeezing his cock, for want of words. even when forsaking saintliness in her chambers, she has never felt so needful, on the verge of ruin. her curls have fallen everywhere, wild until saber tames them with a strangely gentle touch, at odds with the filth that follows.
she can hardly catch her breath for the sight of his fingers disappearing into his plush mouth. impossibly, this — of all things — pinks her cheeks, the unfamiliarity of it demanding her full attention, too-big eyes blown wide. why did she deny herself his tongue? now commanding her so prettily. it’s more debaucherous than any subject would dare and all the better for it. criston would not dream of instructing her so, and he certainly wouldn’t expect anything of her prim lips, tentatively parting first to accept, then lap at his fingers, moaning as she takes them. proof she can take him elsewhere just as well, she hopes, eager to please and be pleased in turn (a foreign instinct, after holding herself above others for so long).
it must work, for how he finally pushes into her, an inexorable slide that stretches her beyond what his long fingers could manage. her eyes shutter, momentarily, before she recalls his ask that she look at him, cracking open again to take in his ravenous expression. has anyone wanted her this much? she whimpers, aching to accommodate him faster, hand flitting to his hip to urge him onward, even as her mouth parts on a ragged breath. ]
Oh. [ it’s never felt like this before, like carving open a space made for him alone, filling her up as no one else can. her back arches as he sinks to the hilt, hands sliding from hips to chest to neck, seeking purchase in the tidal wave of overwhelm, every nerve alight with pleasure at having accomplished the first goal of the hunt, to be taken. ]
You feel — [ she drags him in for a bite-kiss, teeth nicking his lip, before she noses into his neck, scraping his pulse. impossibly, she’s still burning. her legs cinch tighter at his lower back. ] Gods, don’t you dare stop.
[ not for anything, when she’s teetering at the edge, and she still needs him to spill inside her. ]