Nasrin's voice was dark and low as she called to him, her lips wet with wine and her fingers dripping with the honey of her own sweet fruit.
"Do you want a taste, my love?" She purred, beckoning her wet fingers.
She spread her long, lithe limbs out further, her toes pointed deliciously as she returned her fingers to toy with her clit.
"Don't you want me?" She asked, her dark eyes sparking. "Don't you want your queen?"
"I do. God, yes, I do."
The words came in a low, rough voice and Shariyar knew it was his own. He glanced down at his hands and found that he was on the floor.
"Then come and get me," she murmured, spreading her legs even wider for him.
He growled with anticipation as he scrambled across the floor on his hands and knees, crawling to her like a hungry animal.
"Well, that's what you are," she said, as if she had heard his inner thoughts. "Just an animal. My pet. Hungry for me and only me."
"I'm your king, Nasrin," he said, his hands on her knees. "Never forget that I rule you."
Nasrin leaned forward, her ruby lips smug: "Only. Because. I. Let. You."
He snarled and dove his tongue into her, taking great satisfaction in the delighted scream that stole the smugness from her lips and replaced it with an expression of delirium. He licked at her sweet centre softly at first but soon he was sucking harshly on her clit until she sobbed with pleasure. He had been with women before her but Nasrin was the only one who drove him to this kind of mad fervour. He could never have enough of her taste, her touch. Never enough of those fierce, blue eyes.
Blue? No, they were not blue.
He glanced up at her, his tongue still licking at her dripping pussy. Her whole body was arched backwards, one hand playing softly with the curls of his hair. He could feel her nails against his scalp as his lips left her sex and began to wander along her inner thigh. He nipped at her pale flesh and she laughed aloud at the sudden burst of pain.
"Yes, that's it, bite me like you did that night."
He lifted his head and brought his lips to hers, cradling her breasts in his hands: "Like what night?"
"The night after your guard attacked me," she whispered between kisses. "Bite my breasts like you did that night."
No. That was not right.
He drew away sharply and her dark eyes fixed on him sharply.
"What is wrong with you?" She asked.
He shook his head and tangled his fingers in her long, black hair, pulling her towards him once again.
As they kissed, he pushed her backwards, sliding his body atop hers. He moved his hips until he felt her entrance greet the tip of his cock. She wrapped her legs around him and drew him forcefully inside her, gasping as he filled her with his member.
He moaned into her neck, savouring the way she felt, they way her body clenched and shuddered beneath him as he began to thrust. Her hands were on his back, then against his chest... forcing him to move slowly one moment before pulling him deeper inside her the next. Her muffled gasps drove him to move faster and faster, trying with each motion to force a scream of pleasure from her lips.
He glanced up and froze to find that it was not Nasrin he was driving into anymore. The gypsy girl lay beneath him, her mouth gagged and her eyes full of tears.
Shariyar pushed himself off her and stumbled away: "No! Why are you here? Where is Nasrin?"
The girl's eyes grew wide and she screamed from behind the gag.
He did not have time to glance over his shoulder before a hand wrapped around his waist and he felt the sharp edge of a knife at his throat.
"I'm here, my love."
Nasrin's voice came in his ear and he felt the world pitch under his feet.
"Come here, girl," Nasrin said. "Come help me. Don't you want him dead?"
The girl's hands were tied behind her back but she managed to prop herself up by her elbows.
"She does, you know," Nasrin said in his ear. "You hurt her. You were supposed to protect her and look what you did!"
He cringed at the shrillness of her voice: "But what did I do to you?"
"Nothing," came the dark response. "You did nothing to me. You meant nothing to me. You were my pet, my pawn."
Shariyar felt his knees go weak beneath him. He sank to the ground but Nasrin followed, her knife never leaving his throat.
"That's what she is to you, isn't it?" Nasrin asked, drawing the tip of the knife beneath his chin and forcing him to look up at the girl. "She is nothing to you but a pawn. But you had to force her. I never had to force you to do a single thing for me. You would have killed yourself had I asked it of you."
Shariyar roared, pushing her hand away so forcefully that the dagger fell from her fingers and went spinning across the floor.
"Never!" He cried, flecks of saliva flying from his mouth.
Nasrin merely laughed: "But that is what you are doing, Shariyar — killing yourself bit by bit every day."
She spun him by his shoulders and he looked upon himself: skin jaundiced, teeth rotting, eyes surrounded by piles of grey flesh, cheeks sunken and sallow.
"Ah, there you are," Nasrin chuckled. "Do you see what you're doing to yourself? And it's all for me."
He turned his desperate eyes to Scheherazade but the girl looked away from him.
"Don't look at her!" Nasrin shrilled, turning his face viciously. "Why is she even here? Why is she in our bed?"
His eyes filled with tears and he tried to turn away from her.
"No, no," she snarled. "You will answer me."
His mouth gaped as her fingernails dug sharply into his cheeks.
"Why is she in our bed?" She asked again. "Have you replaced your queen with this whore?"
