Cuntry

His words trailed off into a low groan as he focused entirely on the wet sound of his fingers pumping in and out of your cunt. He needed you. He always had. But time was running out, and desperation had turned him feral.

You pushed your ass back against the hard line of his cock, and the movement dragged him back to reality with a deep, hungry growl.

“…But if I make you mine tonight,” he rasped, “they won’t be able to tear you away from me.”

His fingers thrust deeper, curling deliciously, and suddenly you stopped caring that your breasts were crushed against the freezing glass. All you could focus on was him.

“What’s the point?” you gasped. “No one will ever know—”

His teeth sank into the side of your neck, a sharp warning that made you whimper. Still, you continued, breathless: “No one will know this ever happened.”

Aerion pulled his fingers out abruptly, leaving you clenching around nothing. You turned your head, only to meet his intense violet eyes burning into yours — dark and gleaming with a new, wicked idea.

“Oh, but they will know,” he murmured, voice velvet and venom. “I’ll make sure of it.”

His hands gripped your waist, positioning you exactly how he wanted. The thick head of his cock nudged against your soaked entrance for only a heartbeat before he drove into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

A broken cry tore from your throat at the sudden stretch. You were grateful the window was closed — otherwise the entire garden would have heard you — but Aerion didn’t seem to care at all. He fucked you with purpose, deep and relentless, each stroke claiming you more thoroughly than the last.

“I’m going to put a baby in you tonight,” he growled against your ear, punctuating the vow with a particularly hard thrust that stole the breath from both of you. His sharp canines grazed the back of your neck as he smiled. “I’ll stay inside you all night if I have to. Do you hear me? Then you’ll be mine. Truly mine. And no one will dare take you from me.”

MAEKAR.

You weren’t sure how you’d ended up in this position, but after the heated argument about your impending departure and the arranged marriage, you now found yourself straddling Maekar’s lap in his favorite cushioned armchair.

He was still grumbling under his breath, but it was impossible to focus on his words when his thick cock was buried to the hilt inside you and his rough hands gripped your hips with bruising strength, refusing to let you move even an inch.

“And you did not think to tell me you are leaving at morrow,” he growled, the sound pulling you out of your lust-drunk haze. His dark eyes locked onto yours. “What was the lord’s name again?”

You shifted your hips slightly, desperate for friction, but he held you firmly in place. He was clearly determined to punish you. You were his. Had you still not realized it? Did he really need to take you like this — impaled on his cock, helpless in his lap — for it to finally sink into that pretty head of yours?

His fingers dug harder into your flesh, denying every desperate roll of your hips.

“You know what? It does not matter,” he rasped. “His name means nothing. His house means even less. He will not have you.” When your walls clenched tightly around his cock at his words, his voice dropped lower, rougher. “He will not have this.”

Encouraged by your reaction, you squeezed around his length again, trying to memorize the shape of him. Maekar finally gave in — just barely. He lifted his hips in a slow, controlled thrust, guiding you with those powerful hands in one long, torturous stroke.

“Maekar… it was already decided,” you tried to protest, breathy and weak. “The Septon—”

The old prince cut you off with a fierce kiss, his mouth claiming yours until you melted against him. Maybe it was affection. More likely, it was just another way to silence any argument or denial trying to leave your lips.

“Fuck the Septon and whatever vows he wants to spout,” Maekar growled against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. “I will deal with him at morrow. I would sooner have you bear my name than see you wed to some lord in a forgotten keep.”

DAERON.

Your nightly tea lay forgotten on the bedside table, long gone cold beside the grand bed where you lay beneath Daeron.

He was trembling, skin slick with sweat, as he hovered over you. What had begun with him slipping into your chambers under weak excuses — that he only wanted to talk, to see you one last time before tomorrow — had quickly turned into desperate touches and broken pleas. He couldn’t bear to watch you leave. He couldn’t stand the thought of you belonging to another man.

“You’re mine,” he whispered shakily, bracing his arms on either side of your head so his weight wouldn’t crush you. “You’ve always been mine. Why didn’t you refuse?”

His cock was buried deep inside you, but despite how badly he wanted to make you feel good, his thrusts remained slow and shallow. Exhaustion and sorrow weighed heavily on him, yet his glassy violet eyes never left your face — intense, almost desperate.

“Refuse?” you answered softly, your gentler hands sliding along his ribs in a soothing caress. “Do you think I had any say in the matter? No one even knew you wanted to ask for my hand. Not even me.”

Daeron let out a pained groan at the truth of your words and dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck. His breathing was ragged — the only sign he hadn’t simply fallen asleep on top of you. After a long moment, he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper.

“But I knew,” he murmured. “And I did nothing. I never courted you. I never fought for you. Nothing.”

He pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to your collarbone. After several agonizing seconds, his hips began to move again. It was almost pathetic how the only thing bringing him any satisfaction was the fact that he hadn’t come in the first four seconds, as heartbroken as he was. Embarrassing.

“I'm still here,” you whispered, rolling your hips up to meet his. He inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. “It’s not too late, Daeron.”

He might finish embarrassingly fast. And he wasn’t going to pull out — whether you wanted it or not. He didn’t have that kind of control right now.

“Do you really think I still have a chance…?” he asked quietly, voice thick with emotion. “To make you stay with me.”

You nodded.

Daeron hated that the only thing of true value he possessed was his name. But if he had to use it — if he had to wield it like a weapon in this desperate moment — he would. For you. For both of you.

His body shuddered, balls tightening as his climax approached.

“Fuck… Alright then.” His voice cracked with raw need. “I’ll take care of it. As soon as I’ve finished with you.”

BAELOR.

The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across your chambers, but neither of you cared. You were pressed against the edge of the large table, bent forward with Baelor behind you, his broad chest flush against your back. One of his strong hands covered yours on the wooden surface, fingers intertwined, while the other gripped your hip, holding you steady as he thrust into you with slow, deep strokes.

It had started with a quiet conversation that quickly turned desperate. You were to leave in one day. To marry. To be taken away from him. Baelor, ever the dutiful prince, had tried to accept it — until the thought of another man touching you became unbearable.

“You were meant for me,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and rough with restraint. His hips rolled forward, pushing his cock deeper into your soaked heat. “Not some lordling who knows nothing of your heart. Not some political pawn.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you. Your walls fluttered around him, and Baelor groaned, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck.

“I tried to be honorable,” he continued, breath hot against your skin. “I told myself I would let you go if that was your duty. But I cannot.” His grip on your hip tightened, almost bruising. “I will not.”

He pulled back almost completely before sliding back in with one powerful thrust, drawing a broken moan from you. The table creaked beneath your bodies.

“Say it,” he whispered, voice thick with both love and command. “Tell me you are mine. Tell me you do not want to leave.”

You could barely form words, overwhelmed by the way he filled you, the way his body surrounded yours so completely. “Baelor… I—”

He kissed the side of your neck, then gently bit down, possessive in a way that contrasted with his usual chivalry. “I will speak with the king. With whoever I must.” Another deep thrust made your knees weak. “You will not be given to another. Not while I still draw breath.”

His pace quickened, no longer slow and measured but driven by weeks of suppressed longing. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, along with his low, ragged breaths.

“I will put my child in you tonight if that is what it takes,” he said, voice dropping into something darker, more desperate. “So the realm knows exactly who you belong to. So no one can ever take you from me again.”

He pulled your back flush against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist as he drove into you harder. His lips brushed your temple, almost reverent even as his cock claimed you completely.

“You were always going to be my lady,” Baelor breathed, mismatched eyes burning with fierce determination. “And I will make it so.”

VALARR.

“You must stay with me,” Valarr murmured, his body covering yours as one of his hands gently parted your thighs again. “I’m yours, can’t you see that?”

The head of his cock, slick and glistening with the mess of your previous rounds, slid in and out of you with ease. You were both exhausted, covered in sweat and trembling with fatigue, yet a strange, desperate force kept driving him to fuck you again and again — as if he could rewrite fate with every deep thrust.

“It’s too much, Valarr—” you whimpered, your overstimulated pussy fluttering around his cock each time he pushed back inside.

He stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt, though he didn’t pull out. You could feel the warm, thick evidence of his earlier releases slowly leaking out of you, kept in place only by the thickness of his cock.

“You must not go with him,” he insisted softly, panting against your lips while holding your dazed gaze. “You’re mine. This is proof.” His heterochromatic eyes searched yours. “Because that lord has not touched you, has he?”

You nodded, and a small, relieved smile brightened his face for a brief moment.

“Then it’s decided,” he whispered with quiet reverence. “You’ll stay with me. You will be my wife, and I will be your husband… because that’s what we were always meant to be.”

His mismatched eyes traced every inch of your face with pure adoration. “Gods, you’re so beautiful. I should have told you that moons ago.”

You smiled up at him, your fingers threading gently through the pale strands of his brown hair over his ears. “How improper of you,” you teased softly, “stealing me away from my future husband.”

Valarr hid a small smile against the curve of your neck, pressing tender kisses to your flushed skin — almost apologetic for how roughly his desperation had taken you. You had to be sore and exhausted by now.

“Husband?” He kissed your neck again, slow and sweet. “I am your husband.” Another kiss. “Or I will be, if you’ll have me. Because the ship waiting in the harbor won’t be sailing with you on board. I swear it.”