The words weren't desperate; they were real. A request not born of weakness but longing. She wasn't reaching for lust alone, but for something deeper. A need to feel her body adored again, not desecrated. To rewrite the story of her skin, her soul.
To be kissed, to be touched, not with intent to harm, but to pleasure, and cherish.
Wylis's breath caught in his throat.
His hands slid lower. He gripped her ass. And gods… it was perfect.
She was soft. Full. Gloriously, gluttonously womanly. His massive palms spread wide to cup her entire peach, his thumbs pressing into the center while his fingers curled along the undercurve. Her flesh gave under his palms like heated butter, flesh plush as a dough-filled pillow, her skin warm and creamy. When he squeezed, they molded to his hands.
And beneath all that softness, faint traces of stretched skin. Barely there, but real. Pale lines etched across the delicate underside of her thighs, up near where they met the curve of her ass. He didn't flinch; he loved them. Loved what they said about her. This was a body that had given life. Had endured. A woman who bore her first child at a mere thirteen or fourteen, who still held her head high despite being tied to a monster. And now, here she was, in his arms.
He kissed her again. No restraint now.
One hand slid up the curve of her back, trailing upward until it curled into the hair behind her head. He tilted her slightly, guiding her to him, and then he claimed her mouth. Not like a brute. But like a worshiper, kissing a goddess draped in the veil of sorrow.
His lips crushed hers, tongue pushing gently but firmly between them, tasting the slick walls of her inner mouth. Her drool slicked over his tongue like honeyed nectar. He wanted to drink her in, memorize the shape of her moans, kiss her until time forgot them both.
And she kissed him back. Her lips moved with a need that contradicted her soft body. Her tongue slid against his, wet and eager, her mouth opening wider as she melted into him.
"Mmmmh…"
Her moan broke between them. Small, soft, utterly feminine, as her hips started to move. Slow at first. Testing. But then more certain.
She rocked forward, the delicate petals of her cunt dragging slowly over the thick, clothed ridge of his swollen manhood. The friction made her breath stutter in her throat. She did it again, and again, slow strokes that left wet heat soaking into the fabric of his trousers. Each pass smeared more of her arousal across him, warmth and slickness that made him twitch beneath her.
She was nude. Unashamed. Riding the shape of his cock through cloth, her full thighs tightening around his waist. The way her soft belly pressed against him as she moved, the way her breasts swayed gently with every roll of her hips; he could've sworn the gods themselves would envy him.
They couldn't stop.
Their mouths stayed fused, lips messy and parted. Each slick connection, each breathless exhale into one another's mouths, just made the need spiral deeper.
He was massive; all brute force and raw masculine power, forged of iron and muscle. She was delicate; a silver-haired queen with skin like moonlight and a voice made for song. But as she straddled his clothed manhood, her thighs clamped around his hips, their mouths a battlefield of lust, there was no knight nor queen between them. No bloodline. No duty.
Only hunger.
"Ummmh… Oh, Wylis," she moaned softly.
Wylis finally pulled back, just an inch, panting. Their lips glistened. Wet, swollen, and smeared with each other. Her spit shone on his lower lip, his chin damp with desire. They locked eyes in that small space, faces flushed, utterly drunk on each other.
"Take me," she urged.
"In time, Rhaella."
Before she could speak, he moved. One thick arm curled around her upper back, the other strong at her hip. He cradled her with shocking gentleness and laid her down onto the bed, lowering her like she was spun from gold. Her silver hair spread across the pillow as she stared up at him, her chest rising and falling, her breath trembling in her throat.
He hovered above her like a tidal wave held back by will alone. Broad shoulders and thick arms boxed her in, his knees still tucked beneath her thighs, his massive frame perfectly balanced so none of his weight crushed her.
But she felt him, utterly. The heat of his covered shaft dragging along her wet folds, clothed still but searing against her sensitive core. It was maddening, delicious.
His eyes lingered for a moment on the small, ornate circlet that still clung to her head. Slightly tilted, yet somehow still regal. It suited her perfectly.
"Let me treasure the Queen first."
Then he braced himself, lowering down, and pressed his lips back to hers. His elbows landed softly beside her ears, framing her in his strength, and he drowned her. The kiss was no longer tender. It was deep. Possessive. Tongue, lips, and breath. He consumed her until her toes curled, like a man giving her everything.
His legs stretched wider under his weight, her thighs spread, forcing her knees to lift higher and fold around him. The angle parted her completely. She could feel more of it now, not just the weight of him, but the hard length of his cock, dragging against her sensitive heat.
Every shift of his hips sent pressure pulsing against her cunt, dry humping her with maddening friction.
His tongue moved like a tide she couldn't fight. Relentless, overwhelming, leaving her gasping between the strokes of his tongue. She couldn't breathe. Not properly. His kiss sucked the air from her lungs and replaced it with heat, with hunger, with him. He was the one moving, dominating, claiming her with breathless precision… but she was the one left shaking.
Abruptly, Wylis pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet. His lips hovered above hers, and he exhaled with a hunger he barely kept in check.
"It's getting in the way, isn't it?"
Without waiting for her reply, he sat up, his thick thighs still locking her hips in place. He didn't shift away, didn't even pull out of that perfect alignment. Instead, he reached for the hem of his tunic and yanked it over his head in one smooth, brutal motion.
And Rhaella… stared. Her breath, a sharp inhale.
His body, sun-kissed, chiseled, forged in the brutal fire of a hard life, was on full display now. Wide, heavy pecs with the faintest dusting of hair. Veins crawling along boulder-thick biceps. An abdomen carved into ridges of taut muscle, flexing with every breath. Hard-earned.
Her violet eyes widened, drinking him in like a vision. Her lips parted, and something warm pooled low in her belly.
He came back down.
No hesitation now, deeper than before, more demanding. Passion poured through the kiss like a flood. Their bodies met, skin to skin, no more barriers. His bare chest pressed firmly down against her full breasts, flattening them with delicious pressure. The heat of him poured into her, and she moaned into his mouth.
Her hands were no longer shy.
They drifted up, palms dragging over the curves of his wide shoulders, feeling the dense strength there. Her fingers slid across his back, marveling at the terrain. The defined valleys of muscle, the ridges along his spine, each bulge earned in steel and sweat. She dragged her nails slowly down his back, just enough pressure to feel him shudder.
She didn't guide him. She didn't need to. She wanted this. She needed this. And so, she let him lead. Let him make her forget.
And it worked.
The past… blurred. Those nights, those bruises, the sharp pain, the shame. It all faded under his kiss, under his weight, under the scent of clean sweat and firelight and the feel of this man who wanted her.
She found herself again. A woman. A lover. Not a vessel. Not a prisoner.
His lips moved lower.
Wylis trailed down, first to her chin, grazing it with gentle reverence. Then lower still, dragging along the graceful column of her neck. He paused at the base, where her ornate necklace, all rubies and gold, still lay against her skin. He nudged it aside with his nose and kissed the now-bared spot with care.
"Umm.." A sudden, breathy noise from her throat told him she liked it.
He didn't nibble. He didn't bruise. Just soft, slow kisses. His lips were warm and wet against her skin, moving deliberately along the most delicate places. The fluttering pulse beneath her jaw, the soft dip beneath her ear, the ridge of her collarbone. Each kiss lingered. His breath was fire against her skin.
"Ah—" She twitched and squeezed her own neck instinctively, her fingers brushing over the spot he kissed as if to hold the warmth there.
Then she giggled, actually giggled, as his lips ghosted over the side of her neck. A tender, innocent sound that hadn't escaped her in years. Her fingers curled reflexively at the sensation, squeezing the curve of her own neck as if trying to trap the warmth inside her flesh. She was already lost to him. Fully, passionately, recklessly lost.
"God! You're burning hot, Rhaella." Wylis murmured against her skin.
And he meant it. Her body radiated like a hearthfire, molten with need. He trailed lower, kissing her collarbone with reverence. Then slower, even lower, until his lips hovered over a bruise. A vicious, sickening blue mark stained the flawless fairness of her shoulder.
He didn't hesitate.
His mouth fell open and drooled warmth onto it, lips sealing wetly over the injury as if he could suck the pain away. She flinched, the pain still fresh, but her voice betrayed her.
"Oh… Wylis…"
It came out breathy, yearning. Not from the bruise, but from his mouth. His intention. The warmth of his tongue.
He moved again, mirrored the kiss on her other shoulder where another dark mark had bloomed. Then down her upper chest. His large hands closed around her bosom, so delicate against his own.
Then, the claw marks on her forearm.
He kissed each one. Slowly. Deeply. Like penance.
Rhaella's lips trembled.
"Oh…"
It hit her then. Not just the passion, not just the pleasure, but what he was doing. Why he was doing it. This wasn't about seduction anymore. This was his way of relieving her. Each kiss was a blade severing her from the ghosts of her abuse. Where once a claw had torn her skin, now a warm kiss lingered. Not to ravage, but to heal.
She knew it was her mind playing tricks. No kiss could erase what had been done. But still… she felt it. She felt him. And that illusion was a balm, a relief covering her open scars.
Then his hands slid down her body, broad, hot palms cupping the underside of her breasts. He lifted them, worshipful in how gently he gathered the soft weight of them. Full, supple, swaying with just the movement of her breath. They were ample, more than a handful each, and her nipples stood pink and ripe like sweet buttons begging to be kissed.
"Rhaella." He looked up at her from between the pale swell of her bosom.
"Hm?" she whispered, dazed.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"
She barely managed a soft laugh before it turned into a breathless moan. His mouth had closed over one of her nipples, warm and damp, his tongue swirling in lazy, unhurried strokes while his lips suckled greedily. Her head lifted with a startled gasp, eyes fluttering, hands threading into his dark hair.
He suckled her with the desperation of a man starved of kindness.
But then his brows furrowed. His gaze locked on the side of her left breast. A mark. Another bite; Not a love mark. Not a teasing nibble in the heat of passion. No, this one was cruel. Planted to mark her, not love her.
Wylis' blood boiled.
Fucking animal.
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