“You make me mad,” he whispers. “And I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”
He grabs me, his fingers digging painfully into my hips. I can feel his erection rubbing against me through my dress, and I hate, hate, hate that it ignites my desire.
He pushes into me and kisses me deeply, his tongue hot and demanding, and I can’t help but moan into his mouth.
“Yes, my Queen, never forget who makes you feel this way. You are all my desires, all my hurt, all my dreams wrapped in silk and satin,” he murmurs as he trails kisses along my throat.
He slowly sinks to his knees in front of me, one hand reaching up behind me to keep me steady. There is no table Ican hold onto, no wall nearby that would allow me to keep my balance. I am at his mercy to not let me fall.
With his right hand, he lifts my dress over his head and disappears under it.
Without a warning, his mouth pulls away my undergarments, and his lips and tongue land on my already swollen clit.
I suck in a breath as he starts pushing his tongue into my pussy, fucking me hard and fast, while his fingers pinch my clit.
“Devil’s mercy, yes, please don’t stop,” I moan, already so close to orgasm.
He abruptly stops his ministrations and starts kissing my inner thigh.
I groan in frustration.
“Not yet,love. I need you to want me as much as I want you. I need you to feel how desperate I am for you, how you occupy every single one of my thoughts. How sometimes I want to…” He breaks off.
As if the ring prevents him from saying what he truly wants to say.
“I—I am sorry,” he struggles to say.
I lower my hands to his head, buried underneath several layers of my dress, and stroke his head through the fabric.
“It’s alright, Charles,” I say in a tone one would use for a wild animal.
He does not respond audibly, but I feel his hand moving up my leg, until his fingers are rubbing over my clit again, coating his index finger in a mixture of my wetness and his spit.
He wordlessly pushes his finger inside me, drawing a gaspout of me.
“More, Charles,” I breathe, and he complies, pumping two fingers into me, while rubbing my clit with his thumb.
“How much more can you take?” he rasps.
“I-I don’t know…I’m so close, please….” I feel unsteady on my legs, but his strong arm holds me in place.
His movements slow down. He is still teasing me with his fingers, but the strokes have become less intense, less hurried. He presses a kiss to my pussy, murmuring how beautiful I am, and I want to believe him.
“Charles…please, can I come?” I whisper.
He chuckles. But it is not a humorous chuckle; it sounds almost…cruel?
As if he wants to punish me, but the ring won’t let him, and this…this is the only way he has some semblance of control over me.
He sighs. “Since you asked so nicely, my Queen…” And he starts again, inserting a finger, two, then three. Pumping them in a quick rhythm, licking and sucking on my clit. His hand on my ass pulls me into him harder, and I switch off my brain. Just for one moment, I want to pretend that this is real. I want to melt into him, want him to make me forget who we are and all the reasons this is wrong. Want to feel wholly loved and wanted, if even just for a second.
I shatter, the game of pretend in my head takes me over the edge.
When he finally releases me and leads me back to our chamber, I make a silent promise I don’t know how to keep yet.
The ring will have to come off before it costs us everything.
A strange sound echoes in my head, one I haven’t heard in years.
