A/N: Following Robin The Cradle...
Namor did not know how Sue Storm suddenly appeared in the throne room of Atlantis, coming all the way from the surface world to this, the most secure chamber in all his kingdom, the court where the most important envoys of his people met and attended him. She simply appeared, fading into view with no more effort than stepping out from behind a wall.
"Namor," she said, her voice gentle, but carrying to him from the respectful distance she had placed herself at. "If you want me, have me. I'm yours. Right here. Right now."
For a moment, even Namor suspected something was amiss. That she was a Skrull, a clone, some form of automaton. But his senses could not be mistaken. This was Susan Storm, speaking the words he had long waited to hear. Her scent was that of a woman impassioned, the sight of her flushed with need. He stood from his throne, utterly ignoring the many protectors who were marshalling against this sudden intrusion.
"Leave us," he commanded, his voice equally soft to Sue's, not breaking the mood. His head had twisted slightly to the side, addressing everyone but the one whose eyes he met.
One of his vassals rushed up. "My liege, there is important business that must be attended to—the ambassadors—your guests—"
Namor cuffed him alongside the head, nearly sending him to the ground. "Leave or be made to leave," Namor said. If anything, his voice was quieter than before, but nonetheless, anyone who heard was even less inclined to disobey
this
proclamation.
The throne room was soon emptied of even his most trusted guards, the doors sealed, the immediate vicinity evacuated so not a trace of life could be seen even through the vast windows. Even the lights dimmed to account for the great space now only having two people in it. Now the light mainly came through the windows, as the many phosphorescent marine life of the depths cast their glow through the reinforced glass, lighting the two of them in rippling tints of blue.
Namor came down the steps that led to his majestic throne, but even on the same ground as Sue, he towered over her. He sensed her shortness of breath at the nearness of him, the ripened desire she no longer tried to hide or repress, the glazing touch of her eyes upon his grandeur.
"If you toy with my affections," he began, "or use this stratagem as an excuse for some devising, I will not forgive it easily."
"I've never toyed with your affections. I've always been forthright and honest. I couldn't be with you before... for many reasons. Now I can. And I want to." She said it all, like it was so simple, so true, when it was anything but. She had the nobility of royalty born, a native majesty that belonged at his side, in his arms, possessed by him and possessing him equally—hidden in her humility, obscured by her humble façade. It invigorated him to delve for it within her many base charms.
"Then you are mine?" he asked with quirked eyebrow.
She pulled upon the zipper of her bodysuit, fittingly invisible when not in use. It was as if her costume was suddenly parted. What had before been an unbroken plain of blue—the sheer color attempting to flatten her body, hiding all trace of her bosom but the shade that fell beneath them—now was an inviting swath of bare flesh, from the soft hollow of her throat to her thrillingly toned stomach.
Still, Namor did not move. He wished to savor this. Not just her offering of herself to him, but all that was being offered. Her face was not the perfection that could be found elsewhere, the elaborate warpaint that so many females favored, but elegant simplicity, even eccentricity. A button nose, striking and appealing, prominent cheekbones, a face built for easy smiles, not simmering sexuality. Where so many women tried to hide, downplay, make ambiguous their features in seeking some cosmopolitan consensus, Sue was absolutely immersed in her own identity.
Her body was equally appealing. Fit, toned, not a warrior's scarred and bulging musculature, but a warrior's body nonetheless. Her chest full and ripe, but not seeking the eye with any overtness. Her breasts were subtle and sweet, still concealed by either side of her open suit with an ornate sensuality. She owned them, they did not own her. He was again drawn to her very simplicity: her open nature, her plain-faced statement in all manners. When she was angered, she became angry—no exaggeration, no hiding. Her lustfulness was equally obvious. Neither show nor act, but a sweetly earnest admission of his beauty, of her own beauty, of her wish to see her fine body turned to pleasure at his hands.
Namor brought his fingers to her face. The rush of his fingertips over her cheeks was stark, simple, thrilling. She arched into the contact, allowing his touch to progress down her delicate neck, upon her sloping shoulders. He grasped and gripped the halves of her suit, more offended than ever by her covering now that he had caught a glimpse of what was underneath. With a fraction of unleashed power, he rent her clothing from her body.
"Namor!" she gasped, shocked but not unpleased as her suit hung in tatters from her waist down. Her breasts, though not prominent, were full and matronly. Her body seemed to have the very promise of peace in its softness. She was a woman meant for the bed and the hearth—suited for the battlefield, but truly destined to order the household, to fit into her rightful place as his second half.
"Any covering so thorough is an insult to a body such as this. You should wear only the finest of garments. They should display your charms as my attire does mine." Namor gestured down at the green trunks which crowned his sculpted legs—the bulge of his manhood now prominent within them. "I am a generous king. I would show my subjects the beauty of their new queen."
"I said you could have me," Sue said wryly, with a glint of the humor he also adored in her. "Not that you could keep me."
"After you have known the pleasures of Atlantis, you will keep yourself for me. And first and foremost of those pleasures, is Atlantis's prince!"
He kissed her, finally allowing himself the dominion of her that he had always craved, knowing she would allow herself the surrender she had always dreamed of. For a moment, Sue was overwhelmed: pressed to his muscular body, his mouth upon hers, his tongue challenging hers. The pleasure was abrupt, shocking in its immediacy, threatening in its intensity. Then she responded as he knew she would. Shifting her body against his, breasts warm against his cool skin, nipples hard against harder muscles.
He groped her, eager to learn of this new pleasure. The first lesson of endless knowledge to come. Her hair, short and golden, tickled his palms. Her ass, warm and exuberantly full, fit perfectly the cup of his fingers. He squeezed her and she swelled, shrill little cries of lust uninhibited. Almost but not quite
embarrassingly
full-throated. When he reached between her legs, grinding the unstable molecules of her husband's ostentatious costume into the ripe pinkness of her own needy cunt, she squealed for him with the lustiness of a wet dream.
"Your husband has not kissed you like this in quite some time," Namor mused, holding his lips carefully abreast from hers, still feeling the stinging heat upon her lips as she yearned for more. As undignified as it was, he enjoyed withholding from her just a little, torturing her with learning his pleasures a little slower than necessary, teaching her to truly value him above all others.
"No. No one has," Sue confessed. "There was just Reed, and then someone else, a boy... he was virile, and young, but..."
