The scent of jasmine hung heavy, laced with the faint bitterness of wax and the musk of sothing unspoken. It was a room that breathed intimacy, a place where the outside world—its crowns, its wars, its duties—dissolved into a distant hum.
Viscount Nobel Aiden stood bare before the Queen, his chiselled fra gleaming like marble sculpted by divine hands. His blonde hair fell in soft, unruly waves, catching the candlelight, while his yellow eyes glinted with a storm of emotions—fear, defiance, desire.
His shoulders bulged with muscle, his back a broad expanse of strength, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. Steel-hard abs rippled down his stomach, each ridge a testant to the brutal trials of the Dark Continent, where survival had forged him into sothing more than a man. And yet, stripped of armor and title, he was vulnerable, his skin prickling under her gaze.
"So, can I wear my clothes now?" His voice was rough, a low growl that betrayed the effort to hold himself together. He shifted, the muscles in his thighs flexing, a subtle ripple of power beneath his stillness.
Queen Isabella’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her breath quickening as her erald eyes traced every line of him. In her thirties, her beauty was a weapon—sharp, unyielding, and devastating. Her deep green hair spilled over her shoulders like a cascade of eralds, shimring faintly in the dim light, and her lips, plump and painted blood-red, parted slightly as
she drank him in. She had seen n—kings, warriors, lovers—but none like this. Between his legs, his cock stood massive and proud, a warrior’s weapon in its own right, twitching under her scrutiny. Her pulse thundered in her ears, a rhythm she couldn’t ignore.
"Aiden," she murmured, her voice a silken thread laced with command, "don’t take it as humiliation. It’s... necessary." She stepped closer—too close—her massive chest pressing against his, the thin silk of her gown doing little to conceal the hardness of her nipples. They grazed his skin, sharp and insistent, a jolt of heat that made his breath catch.
Aiden’s mind reeled. ’’Control, control... ’The mantra pounded in his skull, desperate and fraying. He could feel her—the softness of her curves, the warmth radiating from her body, the faint tremor in her touch. His cock throbbed painfully, a traitor to his will, and he clenched his fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms.
She was the Queen, a sovereign draped in power and treachery, her beauty as toxic as it was intoxicating.
Up close, she was overwhelming—plump breasts straining against her gown, hips swaying with dangerous grace, her height matching his own, her presence a force that could crack stone. And those eyes—erald and piercing—held him captive.
Damn you, he cursed inwardly, damn these cursed hormones. He was no boy, no stranger to desire, but this was different. This was her.
"Aiden," she purred, her voice wrapping around him like a velvet noose, "we are partners now.....Working together for the betternt of the kingdom." But before she could finish, she felt it—his cock, hard and unyielding, pressing against her stomach. The heat of it seared through her gown, a brand against her skin.
"Oh my, my, my... Aiden," she gasped, her tone teasing, her eyes widening in mock surprise. "You truly know no sha.... I am the Queen, rember?" Yet her hand moved, deliberate and slow, brushing against his length. The contact sent a shiver through her, her breath hitching as she felt its girth, its pulsing heat.
Aiden’s jaw tightened, his yellow eyes darkening. "Your Highness... this is—" His voice cracked, a plea swallowed by the storm inside him.
"Shhhhh...," she cut him off, her cold fingers wrapping around his shaft. The contrast—her icy touch against his burning flesh—made him shudder, a low groan escaping his throat. "In your papers, you were still single. It’s really hard to imagine... why?" Her hand moved, up and down, a slow, deliberate stroke that tested his limits. Her grip was firm yet soft, her fingertips barely eting around his thickness, a testant to his size—and her experience.
His mind spun, a whirl of lust and dread. She’s a viper, he thought, beautiful and deadly, and I’m already caught. Yet beneath her steady gaze, he saw sothing flicker—lust, yes, but also a shadow of loneliness, a glimpse he’d caught once before when wine had loosened her tongue. It stirred sothing in him, a pang he couldn’t na.
She took his hand, rough and calloused from years of wielding a sword, and guided it beneath her gown. The fabric parted, revealing the damp silk of her underwear, already useless against her arousal.
His fingers brushed her slick valley, and she trembled, her breath catching in her throat.
"Your Highness..." His voice was a whisper, a plea, his hand hovering for a heartbeat—ti stretching taut—before she pressed it deeper.
"I said shush....," she commanded, her tone soft but edged with steel. "If you speak any further, you’ll be charged with treason for assaulting the Queen and..... beheaded... imdiately." Her threat lingered, a blade in the air, but her hand never faltered, stroking him with a rhythm that made his vision blur.
There was no retreat now. His heart pounded, a drumbeat of lust and fear, as his fingers slid into her, curling slightly. She moaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through him, and his thumb found her clit, pressing gently. Her body arched, her grip on his cock tightening in response.
"Aah!" Isabella’s head tipped back, her green hair spilling like a river over her shoulders. The air grew thick with the sound of their breathing—ragged, uneven, a symphony of need.
The scent of her arousal mingled with the jasmine, heady and overwhelming, as the candle’s fla guttered, casting wild shadows across her face.
Aiden’s thoughts fractured. This is wrong, he told himself, even as his fingers moved inside her, drawing out another moan. She’s the Queen, and I’m ....I’m her stepso — not to want. But her eyes held him, and in their depths, he saw more than power—saw the woman beneath, aching for sothing beyond the throne.
It was the sa vulnerability he’d glimpsed when she’d stumbled into his arms, drunk and unguarded, whispering of burdens no crown could lighten.
She’s not just the Queen, he realized, his chest tightening. She’s alone.
The thought softened his touch, his fingers slowing, exploring her with care rather than urgency. Isabella felt it, her breath hitching as the shift rippled through her. Her strokes on his cock grew languid, almost tender, a mirror to his gentleness. For a mont, the room stilled, their breaths syncing—inhale, exhale—a fragile thread binding them.
"Aah!....Aiden," she whispered, her voice trembling, "i have seen your profile papers.....if you want extra gold or....ohh!...lands....just make your priority?"
He swallowed, his throat dry as sand. ".....well..as you know, i like to... priorities work.." His words hung between them, raw and unguarded, a confession he hadn’t ant to make.
Her erald eyes softened, a flicker of sothing unspoken passing through them. "A workaholic? Haha...that does not seem to be the case right now...." Her voice was barely a breath, her hand pausing on his length, her thumb brushing its tip in a slow, deliberate circle.
Aiden’s gaze dropped to where their bodies t—his fingers buried in her heat, her hand wrapped around him. "Well....," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Sotis....too much work ....makes one lonely...so i dont mind..."
The air crackled, the tension shifting from lust to sothing deeper, more perilous. Isabella’s heart raced, her chest heaving beneath her gown. She had co to dominate, to wield her power over him, but now she felt exposed, her armor cracking under his touch.
She pulled his hand from her core, her body aching at the loss, and brought his fingers to her lips. Slowly, she licked them clean, her tongue tracing each ridge, tasting herself on his skin. The act was deliberate, possessive, yet intimate—a queen claiming her due.
"Aiden....You taste like sin," she purred, her voice a velvet caress, "...and I’ve always craved the forbidden."
User Comments
0 comments from readers