Page 55 of His King Enslaved

Yes, Goddess, yes…

Sindar ate reverently at the fount of the gods, gazing up as Ardor shuddered and moaned with pleasure, his fists tight in the sheets as orgasm washed over him. His Beloved was coming on his mouth, and it was glorious.

Ah, but that gorgeous cock demanded attention as well. It was hard now, and slick with nectar, and Sindar rose, kissing his way up the shaft, until he drew the sweet, sticky head into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” Ardor managed, shuddering so violently his cock slipped out of his lover’s mouth, and Sindar laughed. His laugh was warm and deep and drunk. Yes, he was drunk. He was drunk on Ardor, and that was exactly as it should be.

“I’ve never done that before,” Sindar said. “Did I do it wrong?”

Ardor grabbed him by the hair, dragging his mouth back to his cock, and Sindar laughed again. “I like seeing that greedy look in your eye,” he murmured, delighted by the permanent shade of red that now occupied Ardor’s face.

He drew the head of his lover’s cock into his mouth and sucked. He savored the warm, smooth skin and the exquisite hardness, and when Ardor cried out, his cock pulsing as hot nectar unexpectedly filled Sindar’s mouth, Sindar groaned at the sweetness of his lover’s release and swallowed it up.

The nectar was sweet and floral. He lapped at Ardor’s cock, greedily claiming it and everything it offered, as Ardor sat beneath him, dazed and disheveled and positively glorious.

“I want to—do it with you,” Ardor panted. “Do—do you need me to…” He reached for Sindar.

Sindar climbed atop him, urging him onto his back on the silk sheets, and kissed him. Ardor’s mouth was just as sweet as the rest of him. His Flower all but melted in his arms. He reached for Sindar’s cock, but once he had it, he paused, uncertain.

Sindar knew the flower’s dimensions intimately now, and Ardor was correct to hesitate. Even now, Sindar would not fit in that narrow opening.

“I want to make love and make you come,” Ardor said. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Finally, Sindar was the one who could do the teaching. He gripped their cocks together. The feel of Ardor’s arousal and the mingling of nectar and precum was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced. He gasped out something unintelligible, and Ardor grabbed his hip and pushed up, grinding against him.

Sindar groaned at the press of his lover’s manhood, desperately kissing Ardor’s neck, knowing he would not last, and when Ardor sank his fingers into his hair, his hips lifting, they both shuddered and came.

Ardor kept grinding against him, a deep moan in his throat, as their mingled release coated their shafts. “Please,” he said, finally, his deep voice deliciously rough, and he drew Sindar’s cock lower, to his flower. “I want this too. As much as we are able…”

Sindar watched, high on pheromones and slightly stunned by it all, as Ardor rubbed his cum-slick cock against his flower. The slickness of that narrow opening sent a surge through him. He couldn’t fit, he would never fit, but that didn’t matter. The flower pulsed against him, hungry and eager, the singular petal lapping at his head and slit. Sindar ran a hand along his shaft, gathering the cum up, and slipped his fingers inside.

Ardor grabbed him as the flower abruptly squeezed shut, his body trembling as he pressed his face to Sindar’s neck. His release was so intense his entire body bowed, fully pressing against his consort’s frame, and when it was done, he shivered fetchingly in Sindar’s arms.

Sindar soaked up his lover’s embrace, gently working his finger in and out of the clenching, eager flower, which he was fast considering a friend. The rhythmic pulse was absurdly erotic; already, heat was building in his balls, and his cock remained as hard as ever. At this rate, they could probably have sex for a while.

When Ardor finally released him and sagged into the sheets, his face was gloriously flushed, his perfect hair in disarray. There were so many places left to kiss. His ear lobe. The other side of his neck. His broad chest. Sindar was a man seated before a heavenly buffet, unsure how to sate his appetites.

“My love,” Ardor managed, gripping his wrist.

Sindar gently teased his flower, tracing the slick, warm opening with his fingertip, reveling in every shiver that ran through Ardor’s glorious frame. “You’re incredible,” he said.

“But I didn’t do anything! I want to do more to help you climax.” Ardor grabbed Sindar’s hand, kissing his knuckles one by one. Somehow, this simple act was nearly as erotic as everything that came before it. Perhaps because of the insistence in Ardor’s kisses, or his desire to be an active participant. “I want to learn your body. Please teach me. You can teach me anything.”

Sindar placed Ardor’s elegant hand on his cock, wrapping his fingers around the shaft just-so, showing him how to stroke. “Shall we start here?” he asked.

Ardor’s kiss, deep and sweet, was his answer.

EPILOGUE

EACH PREGNANCY WAS different than the last. His second pregnancy was manageable, but the third round had Ardor reeling. He propped up his swollen feet, gazing despondently at the lilies. Flowers were supposed to “glow” during pregnancy, and he hid his discomfort as much as possible, but this was his third child, and damned if he’d endure the symptoms without proper elevation. He watched on as Mindeh and Mindar played in the flowers, the elder, wiser sister solemnly explaining the world to her little brother as he attempted to eat a daisy.

As much as he respected Eminence Heavenly’s bravery and intelligence, Ardor refused to use genecraft on his own children. Sindar made it easy for him. He was not like the consorts who demanded that their Flower hold up a mirror and return a perfect reflection. He adored the children no matter what they looked like or how they grew, and this one would be no different. So Ardor watched and waited as the zygote within him swiftly developed of its own accord.

This child wished to favor Lord Patel. Without genetic intervention, the king’s youngest child would be a little person, and the secret of Sindar’s paternity would be out. Ardor would be more stressed if he wasn’t confident in the court’s appreciation of their king, and of Lady Ambani and Lord Patel’s ability to maneuver any crisis. Sindar would love this baby. But how to tell him? Would he be shocked to find his “father” was his father all along? Was Ardor doing the wrong thing by refusing to influence the zygote’s development? Was he putting Kysan’s people in danger and endangering his family?

Pondering all this kept Ardor awake at night, and he was often cranky. Even now, he continued turning questions over in his mind, even after Sindar arrived with a small box and stood beside him to watch the children play.

“Beloved,” Sindar said finally. “I’ve been thinking…”