His shadow warped and weaved along the walls as he continued, torches being lit as darkness fell. How dare she defy me thus, the king fumed silently. No one defied him, those who did, soon regretted their folly, their heads hanging from the castle walls. And they hung there still, mouths open in eternal agony as the flesh slowly withered in the hot sun and crows pecked at the rotting eye sockets, seeking what was left of the gelatinous white substance inside.
She was a witch! Just like her godforsaken mother, the king thought, as he continued on his way through the castle. Her liquid eyes, breathy sighs, and languid lips weaving their spell on him, and still he had refused her, as ought he should have. She was of his blood after all.
Teasing him, tempting him, goading him into anger; as if he were some wild beast locked in a cage for her amusement, poked and prodded at until he snapped at the bars. Yet there were no bars to hold him, save that of his own will to continually war with the deadliest enemy of all: the human heart; his own emotions.
Sanith, damn her, his own daughter, daring to mock him with that clever tongue of hers, boldly licking her lips and telling him of its many uses! She had best be careful he thought, for no bars held him, except his iron will, and that like any other man, could imprison one's self for only so long.
To his eternal regret, he had spoiled Sanith and her sisters too much, sowing the seeds of their future rebelliousness with his indulgence of their unruly ways.
From birth, all they had ever wanted, they got, without reserve, without restraint; only having to bat those thick, downy lashes and smile those toothy smiles at him, and his heart melted, all his worries washed away in the giddy tide of their girlish giggles.
Thinking back now, he realized his overindulgence of their selfish ways. Why, a maid servant had been made to stand on one foot from dawn to dusk because the poor girl had dropped Sanith's dress on the floor and was not quick enough for her young mistress' liking in picking it up. And this was only one of many he had heard tell of; imagine how many more such pointless exercises of their privileged ways his daughters had exhibited when he was away in foreign lands, battling for supremacy.
And where had their mother, the queen, been during all this? Well, he could not entirely fault her; she was kept busy ruling in his stead when he was away. Ye gods alone knew how difficult it was for a woman from his own clan to assume power, let alone a foreign born woman birthed in the land of their greatest rival, Saurithia.
Yes, he smiled to himself, conquering Saurithia after ten long hard years of bloodshed had been his greatest triumph, for he had taken away its greatest prize, his queen and love mate, Sonja.
She was an able ruler in his absence, keeping order and peace throughout his kingdom, maintaining the security of their borders, making sure taxes were paid on time. Aye, she was as brilliant as she was beautiful. Too brilliant for her own good sometimes; imparting this knowledge into her daughters (his daughters too, god forbid) - the ways and whys of ruling a kingdom.
It was just as well Sonja was his queen and not a man with a blade in his hands, for she would make a dangerous enemy. That soft silky body of hers housed strength unseen, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface of a calm sea. Formidable she was, in and out of bed.
Thinking of that porcelain countenance, those flaming locks as he ran his coarse hands through their silken strands, that silky creamy alabaster softness writhing beneath him, he quickened his step. And those pouty lips—Ahhh... that mouth of hers had uses in and out of their chambers, taming him in bed and taming his administrative counsel with words of wisdom when he was away in battle.
Aye she was bewitching, and had passed her bewitching looks onto her daughters (his too!) along with her bewitching ways. It was not entirely her fault - but it was her fault! Sanith, Sauren, and Sheela were the spitting image of their mother in bearing and unfortunately, in temperament.
He had sown seeds too wild in spoiling his daughters and now he would reap the consequences. Thinking of Sanith's mocking smile as she licked her lips and tempted him, he felt a hot rage burning through him anew; knotting his belly, grinding his teeth, cracking his knuckles.
And beneath the rage, something else, something darker, just as violent as the rage, savagely throbbing, driving him forward through the castle, the servants wisely averting their eyes, knowing better than to stand in his way when the wrath was upon him.
"Sonja!" the king bellowed, bursting through the door of his wife's chambers.
"My lord?" Sonja opened another door, stepping forth from her dressing chamber. A long purple gown of the purest, softest velvet draped her figure.
"Get thee in bed woman!" He slammed the door closed.
"My lord, I have neither bathed nor perfumed myself..."
"No need, you will be bathed in fragrant sweat soon enough."
"My lord, p-please, it is for your pleasure as well as-"
"Silence! The need is upon me and you ignore it at your own peril." He stomped toward her, dropping his cloak, tunic, boots and sword along the floor.
She looked at him, trembling, knowing the need was too strong for her husband to control, so strong it would soon consume him and her along with him.
Blood lust and body lust, they were both sides of the same coin for the men of his clan; the clan of the wolf.
She backed toward the bed, her eyes glued to his wrathful or wanton, or both, she could not tell which would win the war in his face.
Just as the back of her thighs touched the bed, he pounced upon her, a savage growl torn from his throat.
"AHHH!" Involuntarily she screamed, his savage wolfish grin looming as his weight bore her down.
For a moment he lay still, stretched out on top of her, dark eyes hard as obsidian, inspecting her face, watching the green pools of her eyes wavering softly. Then his nose nuzzled, sniffing at her neck, her hair, the cleft of her breasts; all the while a low growl hummed in his throat.
She sighed, a deep breathy sound, gasping, her heart hammering. She felt his palms cup her breasts and she reached up, making as if to remove her gown.
With a savage growl, the king's teeth gripped the top of the bodice and he whipped his head, tearing the gown down to her waist.
Sonja's hands reached up, as if to cover herself, a deep red blush spreading across those creamy mounds, matching the redness of the pouty nipples.
In a frenzy now, the king lifted his pelvis, pushing down his breeches, pushing up her dress and HUHHH—entered her with one mighty thrust, instantly buried up to the hilt.
"OHHH!" She moaned, burying her lips against his shoulders, her eyes squeezed shut. Her insides quaked, she gasped, full, oooh so full, full to bursting.
Ye gods, she was tight! Clenching him, squeezing him, wrapping his center in a scorching velvet glove—CLENCH! He ground his teeth, heard the molars scraping against each other. A slight loosening, tightening, loosening-he pulled back, thrusting forward, back, forward, hot, warm, hot, as she spasmed, pulling him in deeper... deeper... hotter... hotter...
Oh god, oh god-hammering at her center, electric jolts shooting up, oh god-oh god-oh god, wiry hair scraping against hers, ball sac smack-smack-smacking, oh god-spreading wider, fuller, folds flowering, opening, blooming, slippery wet tiny fleshy burning nub shivering quivering scraping sliding, oh god-oh god-oh god-OH GOOOODDDDDDDD!
OWOOOOO! He howled, bursting, shooting, exploding, thrust-thrust-THRUUUUSTING! Her teeth biting his shoulder, grinding against the muscle, red droplets leaking out. With a groan, he collapsed on top of her, toppling like a dead man.
to be continued?
