♡ ˙˚

Your moans echo through his study as he thrusts particularly deeply, punching the air from your lungs. You feel your walls flutter and a whimper follows. He growls, his hands slide up your thighs, digging into your flesh and leaving small crescent shaped marks, as firm as his grip on you. You take him deep, over and over again, and he moans with pleasure — taking him out, only to swallow him up and get his cock sucked right back in.

With every roll of your hips, you meet his thrusts and elicit broken sounds from him now — not a moan, it sounds more like a growl. Rough and unrestrained. His cock twitches violently inside you every time you roll your hips.

His hands tightens low at your back, grabbing you and suddenly you can’t move. A squeal escapes you as he holds you tight and just pounds into you.

His name leaves you, but whatever words were meant to follow vanish when he kisses you. You just cling to him for dear life.

It is not the gentle affection he offers in quiet corridors or behind watchful eyes. A battle for dominance breaks out — a battle you're happy to lose as your tongues dance wildly. His grip firms at your bottom, pulling you flush against him.

The ink bottles clink together due to the roughness of his violent thrusts, causing the desk to rattle. Somewhere behind you a book slips and falls shut with a dull sound. He does not seem to hear it.

For once, Baelor Targaryen is not thinking. He is fucking.

Your legs tremble uselessly around his waist, but your feet still dig into the flesh of his arse every time he's balls deep inside you.

Baelor growls, his hips won't stop, he only moves more violently to feel you fluttering around him. His thick cockhead kisses your cervix every time he slams into you — the slight sting it causes makes you whimper, but you want more.

"Look at you... taking every inch like the good wife you are," he growls in your ear and you moan. Your arms around his neck tighten, pulling him closer to you. Your fingers slide into his short dark hair and you grab hold of it. Your body trembles, your cunt so wet around his shaft that slick noises fill the room, along with the sound of skin slapping against skin. You feel the desk move beneath you with every powerful thrust.

"Baelor... Baelor... I... I am..." you begin, but it ends in a scream as he pounds deeper inside you. And that’s it. You feel that pressure in your lower abdomen and suddenly it snaps. Your walls clench hard around his length, milking him as you drench his cock with your wetness. You press your face into the crook of his neck to stifle your moans. Baelor groans as he feels your walls massage his already throbbing cock.

"Gods," he groans, following you right after. He spills his seed deep inside you, painting your walls white. Flooding you with his seed, so much that it leaks out around his base, even while he’s still pulsing inside you. His slow grinding movements push every drop of his seed deeper, ensuring it stays where it belongs.

“You should visit my study more often,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice still unsteady. The admission draws a quiet laugh from you.

For a moment he simply keeps his arms around you, reluctant to move, as though breaking the stillness might also break whatever fragile peace has settled over him. Your breath is warm at his throat, slower now but not yet calm while your walls still fluttering around him. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before, with visible reluctance, letting you go. Slowly, he pulls his cock out of you, causing you to whimper softly as he grunts slightly at the sudden loss.

Baelor sits back down into his chair and leans back, exhaling deeply, one hand lingering at his temple as he tries to collect himself.

You watch him with an unabashed smile, bracing yourself on your hands as you catch your own breath. There is something endearingly human in the sight as he slowly tucks his cock back into his trousers —  the composed prince momentarily gone, replaced by a man flushed and disarmed. His dark beard… a few strands of silver catching the light, and for once he looks entirely unsure what to do next.

But you already have an idea.

Baelor remains where he is for a moment, elbows on his knees now, trying to gather something resembling composure. The chamber feels warmer than it has any right to, and somehow he likes that very much.

He hears soft footsteps across the rushes. When he looks up, you have already crossed the room, fingers trailing lightly along the edge of his writing table as though you are inspecting it for flaws. There is a certain brightness in your expression that immediately reignites his desires.

“My lady,” Baelor says gently, rising at once, “I believe we have tested impropriety sufficiently for one evening.” But a smile twitches at his lips.

You turn toward the window rather than him, pushing the shutters open just enough to let in the evening air. Moonlight slips into the room, catching the silver in your hair, and you glance back over your shoulder with unmistakable mischief.

“It is only air, husband,” you say lightly.

Baelor stops a few steps behind you. “It is a window,” he corrects, already lowering his voice despite the corridor beyond being empty. The dark growl in his voice makes your cunt clench around nothing.  “Windows imply visibility. Visibility invites witnesses.”

Your smile widens.

Before he can decide whether dignity requires retreat or intervention, you settle casually against the sill, entirely too at ease with a risk he can already feel unfolding.

“So you believe this is wise?” he asks, his voice low, almost too calm for the question.

You do not answer at once. He comes closer, step by step, and you feel your resolve falter long before he actually reaches you. Your thighs press together slightly, almost involuntarily... You manage a small nod, unable to look anywhere but at him.

"The heir to the throne, fucking his wife at the window?" he growls, and the vulgarity of his words only makes the throbbing between your thighs worse.

When he stands before you, he lifts your chin lightly with one finger, not enough to force, only enough that you cannot lower your gaze.

“Yes?” he asks again, softer now.

You start to rise, wanting to kiss him, but he gives the faintest shake of his head — a quiet refusal rather than a command.

“No,” he murmurs. “You wished to be bold a moment ago.”

His hands settle carefully at your waist, steady and certain. With unhurried patience he turns you toward the window, guiding rather than pushing.

You brace yourself against the windowsill as you feel him press up against you from behind. His hands are still on your hips, pulling your skirt up slightly. You can't help it, but a soft moan escapes you as you press yourself against him and feel his already hard arousal again, followed by an almost immediate growl from him as his fingers slide along the inside of your thighs.

This sign is understood immediately by him, without any need for further words, as soon as you press the soft curves of you bottom against his fingers. Your folds are explored by his fingers, who hesitate not. You moan — the sight in front of you is suddenly completely forgotten.

Baelor moves his fingers up and down, spreading your wetness and the remains of his seed along your folds. Your legs spread further as he teases your sensitive pearl, coaxing out even more of your sweet juice.

"Baelor," you whimper, and he just chuckles in your ear before nibbling lightly on your earlobe. The faint rasp of his beard against your neck sends a shiver down your spine, leaving a warmth low between your thighs that makes you long for the feeling of his beard there.

His fingers slide upwards until they tease your opening. Your walls literally suck him in as he slowly presses his fingers against your entrance, and the resulting squelching sound is obscene… so obscene… but you can't help but moan again.

His fingers slide deeper, slowly sliding in and out, while he teases, "Sssh, sweet wife… someone might hear you”. You whimper as his fingers move faster while his palm slaps against your folds.

You want to say something back, something cheeky. But every word feels like it's stuck in your throat as he adds another finger. The following stretch feels incredible, making you forget everything else. At this moment, nothing could surpass the feeling you are experiencing… except for the feeling you would get if his cock were deep inside you. Then, you sense movement behind you. Other movements, unrelated to his fingers deep inside you.

With his free hand, he pulls his trousers back down, almost with the same urgency as before when you sat down on his desk.

His cock is already semi erect again, but as soon as he slides the tip of his cock through your folds, that quickly changes. He pulls his fingers out, causing you to whimper in protest. Your wetness soaks his shaft as he slides it up and down, and he growls repeatedly. His hand grabs your hips, draws you back until your soft curves are pressed firmly against him, his already hard and throbbing cock slides once, twice between your cheecks, smearing precum before it nudges your entrance.

As he looks down and sees your folds spreading around his cockhead, he briefly holds his breath. Slowly, he pushes his hips forward, and you moan as he spreads you further, inch by inch. This pleasurable stretching that you can't get enough of.

Initially, he progresses at a leisurely pace, relishing the way your walls tighten around him before gradually easing back. Moans and growls are uttered by him — during your intimate moments, not much is said by him, but his grunts and growls are never ambiguous.

His fingers dig into your hips as he begins to thrust harder and faster, moving you with his hands. You cry out, not caring who might hear you. Baelor looks up, his labored breathing brushing your neck as his hand suddenly slides up and gently grips your throat. Your throat bobs against his palm and you gasp slightly, but you can't deny that your walls are now clenching even more tightly around his length.

He pants into your neck as he feeds you more and more, his body trembling with exertion. Each time his hips thrust forward, your cunt makes sticky sounds, and you can feel the drag of every vein against your inner walls. Your walls flutter as if you're trying to spit him out, but at the same time it pulls him deeper inside you. A slight cry follows as his hips thrust faster and his voice rumbles.

"You wanted to enjoy the view, didn't you? Well, how do you like it, my sweet wife?", he taunts breathlessly in your ear. Your hand reaches up and clings to his forearm — not because you want him to let go of your throat, but because you're seeking something to hold on to.

"Baelor," you whimper, unable to form coherent sentences as he thrusts deep inside you — your cunt pulses around him as you drip onto the hairy base of his cock. He utters a soft curse as your walls milk him, and he buries his face in your neck, his teeth sinking into the soft skin there — without breaking it, just to mark his wife — as he grinds deeply, circling his hips so that his balls grind against your clit as you press back against him.

You feel the pressure in your abdomen again — only more intense than before. You're close. So close. Your vision blurs at the edges, and each breath becomes shallow, as if his hand on your throat is controlling it. Slick gushes out with every pull back, coating his balls, dripping down your thighs in sticky rivulets. The squelching grows louder; your cunt begins to twitch as if it wants to suck him in for good.

Another growl sounds behind you as Baelor feels your walls begin to flutter uncontrollably. He doesn't let up, his hips thrusting forward and thrusting deeper into you as you desperately try to keep your balance. His free hand slides around your body to support you and tease your sensitive pearl with maddening circles while his cock punishes your walls.

You cry out again, the pressure becoming unbearable — until it becomes too much to bear and your head simply falls back against his shoulder. Your walls flutter and your juices soak his cock again as he growls into your neck.

But then the door to his study suddenly opens.

Before you can react, you hear your father's voice and a gasp escapes you, while you freeze. You glance over Baelor's shoulder and see your father standing there, your eyes wide in shock.

"Baelor, I've been thinking about it and..." he mutters but pauses when he takes in the ‘situation’. You and Baelor... at the window? Until he sees his brother's arse.

"Oh, seven fucking hells, will I never be spared anything?!" he suddenly exclaims. Baelor pulls you close at once, covering you with protective instinct rather than thought. Only then does he look back himself.

"Father..." you begin in a breathless and fragile voice, but Baelor's voice is louder.

"Maekar, I’ll talk to you later," says Baelor, also breathless. But Maekar has already turned away and is making his escape. After your father leaves Baelor’s study, there is silence... until you let out a breathless laugh. Baelor can’t quite suppress a grin but shakes his head.

"The things you always tempt me to do," he whispers, kissing your neck. Slowly, he pulls his still hard cock out of you and you gasp for air.

"What are you doing? You didn't come?" you whisper breathlessly. Baelor stands there, gently stroking his cock up and down, with precum dripping slowly from its tip, as he pants lightly.

"Yes, I don't think that's going to happen now," he murmurs. Before he has finished speaking, you turn to him and pull your skirt down. Looking up at him, you see his dark eyes meet yours. You just smile, which makes him raise his eyebrows slightly.

"Well, as a good wife, I can't let that happen," you say in your teasing tone before kneeling down. He looks down at you and the half smile you love so much graces his lips. You don't hesitate and wrap your fingers around his entire length before your lips follow and envelop his cockhead, while his hand slides into your silver hair. The precum tastes salty on your tongue as you take him deeper into your mouth, moaning as you try to take him all the way in.