#hrid

Nifl produces a very particular wine. An aphrodisiac, and a powerful one, which is only used in quite particular circumstances. On the night of the King's marriage ceremony, he and his bride are to be taken to the royal suite. With witnesses posted just outside the door, both the King and newly wed Queen take this wine, each sharing one half of the same cup. With this act, they submit themselves to the irresistible intoxication of its affects, and spend the night entangled in passion. This way, consummation of the royal union is assured, and an heir is nearly certain to be conceived.

Hrid had asked you countless times in the days leading up to your wedding night whether you were certain you wished to uphold this particular tradition. Each time, you had sincerely reassured him. In truth, the prospect made you burn with anticipation.

You'd been gifted a lavishly ornate set of bridal lingerie for the occasion. The delicate lace and sewn-in gems shimmer like fresh snow, the sheer stockings hugging your legs up to your thighs in a way that clearly draws Hrid's eye. Hrid- your husband, your king -approaches you where you recline on the bed in only his trousers, and a silver chalice in hand. He silently runs his free hand up your thigh, watching the way your soft flesh yields at his touch, and you admire him in return. It's rare that you get to see his body bare, given his country's climate. He's a vision of rigorous, well-trained muscle and a collection of scars, each one a reminder of his commitment to put his own body on the line for his people.

You push yourself up towards him, and he cradles your chin in his hand and brings the chalice to your lips. As the sweet but earthy flavor of the drink passes your lips and fills your mouth, you ready yourself for what may come.

"Only half, love, remember," he says gently as he takes the cup from you.

"I remember," you say with a smile, "Your turn."

He gives you a heavy look that nearly causes you to shiver, before tipping the chalice at his lips and finishing every drop. The moment he sets the cup on the bedside table, you run your hands up his chest, weaving your fingers together behind his neck and pulling him into a slow, deep kiss. He inhales through his nose, brows furrowed, as he returns the kiss and lets you guide him down onto the bed with you. He lies at your side, but turned so he's partly on top of you, kissing you deeply against the plush pillows as a strong hand slowly travels from your hip, up along the side of your body towards your chest.

"You look... radiant," he whispers against your lips, and you smile, then return to him and kiss him more hungrily than before. Gods, it feels like tasting him for the first time, feeling him in a completely new way. Already, you can feel an unusual warmth inside of you, a restless need that's only growing. Hrid's breath begins to come a little harder, and now, his hand caresses along the swell of your breast as he says in a low and graveled tone,

"Swear to me... that if I push you too far, you'll tell me," his lips brush yours as he shakily inhales, "Do that, and no matter how I burn for you, or how this drink affects me, I will stop myself."

There's a note of desperation in his voice, like he's trying to convince both you and himself. You cradle his face in your hands, brushing back his fair hair as you say,

"Hrid, I want this. I want everything you can give me. I want to be your Queen."

The way he kisses you is all the response you need. He leans into you, pressing you against the pillow as his tongue thrusts past your lips. At some point in the entangled frenzy, he pulls away from you just long enough to tug the last of his clothes off, then return to your lips like he can't bear to be apart from them. Your body arches up toward him, and he eases an arm under your waist to pull you against him. You feel his free hand trailing down your body, his touch strong but tender, until his fingers slide between your thighs. Even above the silken lingerie, you know he can feel how wet you are. The wine and his passion are rapidly sweeping you into a frenzy, your skin warm, your lower muscles clenching as they long for him to fulfill you. Hrid is clearly in a similar state; his cock is massive and rock hard, rutting against your thigh, hot and already dewed with precum. All the while, he firmly strokes his two middle fingers between your lower lips, the gesture pressing against your soaked panties and applying a tantalizing pressure to your clit. Gods, this wine is dangerously potent.

You part from his lips for a moment, panting already, and look at him with utter desperation. In the brief moment of tension, you notice his breath as heavy as yours, his pulse pounding like yours, and you seem to realize in the same instant that neither of you have the patience to draw this out. You don't have to say a word, Hrid can see the way your eyes beg for him.

Hrid kneels over you, his eyes like pale blue flame and his touch urgent. His strong hands pull down your panties until they're bunched at your knees, but rather than bother to remove them entirely, he lifts your legs until they rest on his sturdy shoulder. He leans forward, bending your legs back a bit, and moves a hand to spread your lower lips open for him. The moment you feel the flared crown of his cock hot against your lower lips, you whimper, biting your lip and squirming restlessly on the bed beneath him.

"Hrid... please..." you breathe out, and you see the way he pauses to steady himself at your words.

"I know, my love," he says, his voice a low and husky whisper. He turns to place a kiss on your stocking-clad leg, before beginning to drive the length of his cock into your tight cunt.

"Oh-!!" your body tenses. Your breathing and his both pick up, bodies hyper-sensitive to the sensation of your warmth clinging around him. He feels bigger than usual, thicker, harder. It's a mercy that you're so exceedingly wet for him, or he'd struggle to fit inside of you at all. With your slick welcoming him in, he's buried in you to the root before long, and you can feel his full, heavy balls pressed to your ass.

You gaze up at him with hazy eyes. His muscles are all tensed, his skin flushed, and through the daze, you see something almost manic in his eyes.

"By all the gods..." he gasps out, already beginning to grind in and out of you, his eyes falling half-lidded as the stimulation around his cock overwhelms him, "Y/N, I... forgive me, I can't..."

His words trail off as his pace begins to intensify. You whimper his name helplessly as he bucks into you, his movement hard, deep, and decisive. With each powerful thrust, you feel every inch of his manhood, his shaft pulsing against your tender inner walls, the head stroking you until it hits your deepest point. You've never seen Hrid like this; your gentle, tender lover is fucking you mindlessly, savagely, like he can't think of anything but the intoxicating feeling of your gushing wet pussy taking him in. Your lips hang parted as you gasp and moan aloud for him, not caring a bit for the witnesses stationed outside of the suite. It's their duty to confirm that the King has taken his wife, after all, and they will certainly have no doubts tonight.

Hrid can't form the words to tell you he's about to cum, but you can tell. You can tell by the stuttering pace of his thrusts, the way his cock swells and twitches inside of you, the way those ice blue eyes grow distant and unfocused. Fuck, you're very nearly there yourself. Your body is so impossibly sensitive, you hardly need all of the usual foreplay. The pleasure of him inside of you, the friction and pressure of him filling you, seems to radiate through your nerves until you're trembling on the bed. His arm tightens around your legs, holding them to his scarred and muscled frame, as he groans your name in a deep rumble you've hardly ever heard from him, and pushes his cock into you to the base.

As his cock lurches with each potent wave of cum he pours into you, your own climax bursts from your center in a tingling rush. Your cunt spasms and squeezes around the girth of his shaft, and Hrid groans and nuzzles his face against your legs as he rides out his climax. A few mindless thrusts of his hips coax out the last of your mutual orgasm. Once satisfied, he pulls his length from you with a groan. As his muscles relax and he gently leads your legs back down onto the bed, you begin to feel the usual lull of post-coital exhaustion. It doesn't last. When you blink your eyes clearer and look up at your husband, your eyes meet in the moment you each realize your bodies are still burning. You bite at your lower lip, moaning out his name.

"Hrid... more..." you whine, as need begins to build within you all over. His cum is already dripping from your well-fucked pussy, yet all you can think of is taking him once again.

Without a word, Hrid turns you over onto your stomach, his touch strong, yet just restrained enough not to hurt you. He mounts you from behind, and you can feel the heat of his body surrounding you. This time, when he aligns his cock at your entrance, your body welcomes him in. Your cum and his allow him to drive back into you with his hands gripping at your hips, until your ass is flush to his body. With the aphrodisiac roaring in your veins, the sensation is an unspeakable relief. You need to be filled. You need Hrid.

He groans, and takes a moment to grope a hand-full of your ass, before releasing it and leaning down over you. Immediately, he begins to fuck into you with all of his strength, his powerful body pressed to your back and his cock driving into you from behind. Your hands clench around the sheets until your knuckles go white, and your eyes roll back a bit as the pleasure once more winds tight in your belly.

As Hrid supports himself with one elbow resting on the mattress beside you, his other hand slides around your stomach to cradle you to him. You wonder, with an odd thrill in your core, whether he's envisioning you carrying his heir. His breath hot at the crook of your neck, he speaks between desperate groans,

"My dearest..." his voice is so earnest it twists your heart in your chest. How is it possible he can still speak to you with so much adoration, even while fucking you so deep you can't formulate a single thought? You can only reply in encouraging moans, and he kisses the side of your neck.