The kennels are a better place for him, are they? So fixated is he upon this particular insult, petulantly so, that he can think of nothing other than making her recognize her mistake. She will taste the same insult thrust back upon her. She will be the one who is no better than a bitch scrabbling in the straw come morning. It is too flagrant an offence, too abject in the shame it douses him with, to let pass.
The beggar king, the cart king, the barefoot king; too many years of his life had been spent already scrounging through kennels, more cur than prince. Desperate for scraps, cowering in any shelter, no matter how destitute. Never again. From the mires of the Free Cities he had risen, winning the esteem and patronage of a powerful magister, only awaiting the moment to deliver proper justice to those who coveted his throne. He will not be reminded of the years which came before. Once the dragon's shadow falls, those caught within it do not wonder at how long it has taken him to grow.
She is wild as a trout caught in his hands, thrashing and aiming to slip from his grasp, but he makes his hand a fist in her hair, clubbing her head roughly to the table. And she is strong, just as he'd deduced from first looking upon her, displeased by so much contoured muscle and uncouth strength. It is unbecoming in a woman. It is also an annoyance now, as he pares her thighs, but for all of the vigor lent her by horror, he rides still the gathering wave of spite. A spite given full range of the dark, beholden to no man or law, and he knows too well the indignity of letting his possessions slip from his hands. His fingers have all but tapered into talons, dedicated only to losing her in pieces if he must lose her at all.
But he will not. They are alone here while the festivities unfurl still in her simple, merry hall. Her dress he shovels coarsely to her back, and there is nothing then left between him and her open legs. No gods-blessed humility, no pristine honor, no defiance to bare its teeth and chase him away. With one hand twisted in her hair, the other goes to unbuckling and unfastening at his hips. The black breeches are too fine to ever have been worn to so middling an affair, he thinks. His laughter is a thin whip on the back of her words, and he is breathless with the certainty of his victory. Anxious to see it done before it can be taken from him. Determined, at the same time, to savor what is the single delicacy which has been placed before him.
"You are my wife," he reminds her with relish, jerking his body forward to curve above her, to furrow the livid strain of his cock within her, bringing his mouth to her ear with a hot gust of breath. The words which follow catch on a beastly grunt, a shuddering pleasure to feel her body so tellingly tight around him. "And you will not kill me, for you could not live with yourself if you did."
His free hand coils at her hip, forcing that smooth arch of bone up off the table to meet him when next he rams forward against her. His voice curls with velvet-warm mockery, a refashioning of words meant to be spoken in a truer love. "As your avowed husband, I promise that I shall never let you go. Though I may take a dozen whores a day, it will be you I return to each and every night."
no subject
Date: 2022-02-01 03:41 am (UTC)The beggar king, the cart king, the barefoot king; too many years of his life had been spent already scrounging through kennels, more cur than prince. Desperate for scraps, cowering in any shelter, no matter how destitute. Never again. From the mires of the Free Cities he had risen, winning the esteem and patronage of a powerful magister, only awaiting the moment to deliver proper justice to those who coveted his throne. He will not be reminded of the years which came before. Once the dragon's shadow falls, those caught within it do not wonder at how long it has taken him to grow.
She is wild as a trout caught in his hands, thrashing and aiming to slip from his grasp, but he makes his hand a fist in her hair, clubbing her head roughly to the table. And she is strong, just as he'd deduced from first looking upon her, displeased by so much contoured muscle and uncouth strength. It is unbecoming in a woman. It is also an annoyance now, as he pares her thighs, but for all of the vigor lent her by horror, he rides still the gathering wave of spite. A spite given full range of the dark, beholden to no man or law, and he knows too well the indignity of letting his possessions slip from his hands. His fingers have all but tapered into talons, dedicated only to losing her in pieces if he must lose her at all.
But he will not. They are alone here while the festivities unfurl still in her simple, merry hall. Her dress he shovels coarsely to her back, and there is nothing then left between him and her open legs. No gods-blessed humility, no pristine honor, no defiance to bare its teeth and chase him away. With one hand twisted in her hair, the other goes to unbuckling and unfastening at his hips. The black breeches are too fine to ever have been worn to so middling an affair, he thinks. His laughter is a thin whip on the back of her words, and he is breathless with the certainty of his victory. Anxious to see it done before it can be taken from him. Determined, at the same time, to savor what is the single delicacy which has been placed before him.
"You are my wife," he reminds her with relish, jerking his body forward to curve above her, to furrow the livid strain of his cock within her, bringing his mouth to her ear with a hot gust of breath. The words which follow catch on a beastly grunt, a shuddering pleasure to feel her body so tellingly tight around him. "And you will not kill me, for you could not live with yourself if you did."
His free hand coils at her hip, forcing that smooth arch of bone up off the table to meet him when next he rams forward against her. His voice curls with velvet-warm mockery, a refashioning of words meant to be spoken in a truer love. "As your avowed husband, I promise that I shall never let you go. Though I may take a dozen whores a day, it will be you I return to each and every night."