Hello, AMagicWriter here. I'm happy to publish a new Chapter of The Realm's Alpha
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The following 10 chapters are already available to Patrons.
Chapter 18 (Betrayer's Kiss), Chapter 19 (The Queen Who Watches), Chapter 20 (The Alpha's Roar), Chapter 21 (Daughter of Conquest), Chapter 22 (Seven Crowns at Her Feet), Chapter 23 (Royal Submission), Chapter 24 (Between Stones and Flames), Chapter 25 (Blood on the Stepstones), Chapter 26 (From Blood to Pleasure), and Chapter 27 (Fire and Flesh) are already available for Patrons.
Viserys watched his daughter storm out of the solar, her footsteps echoing through the hallway like thunder. The way she had looked at him when he mentioned the upcoming visit from House Velaryon... if she had been Balerion the Black Dread himself, the room would have been engulfed in flames.
"Seven hells," he muttered, turning to face his wife, who sat near the window. "What's gotten into her? She looks ready to breathe fire."
Aemma's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Our daughter has always been... passionate about certain matters."
"Passionate?" Viserys scoffed. "She looked as if I had just told her I was selling Syrax to a merchant from Pentos."
"Perhaps she's concerned about Lady Laena," Aemma suggested carefully, studying her husband's reaction. "They've grown quite... close."
Viserys paced the room, his hands clasped behind his back. "Close? Well, that's good, isn't it? They're of an age. It would be beneficial for the future Lady of Driftmark and the heir to the Iron Throne to be friends."
Aemma let out a soft laugh. "Oh, my love. Sometimes you can be so..." she trailed off, shaking her head fondly.
"What?" he asked, genuinely confused.
"Nothing," she replied, adjusting her position on the cushioned seat.
"Aemma, are you sure about this?" "Viserys—" "I mean it. Just tell me that you are not comfortable with this, and I will tell Corlys to sail back to his little island the moment he arrives."
Aemma looked at her husband fondly as he knelt before her, pressing his forehead against hers. The familiar scent of lavender in her hair brought comfort to his troubled mind. "I need to be certain you're truly at peace with this, my love. Your happiness means everything to me."
"Aegon the Conqueror had two wives," Aemma reminded him gently. "You can do the same. The realm will understand."
Relief flooded through him at her words. "Thank you," he whispered. Then, brightening slightly, "Perhaps when the Velaryons arrive, Rhaenyra could spend some time with Laenor. He's a fine young man."
Aemma's scoff was immediate and sharp. "Our Rhaenyra does not lust after men, Viserys. Surely you've noticed?"
"I'm fairly certain all of King's Landing has noticed by now," he chuckled, remembering the way his daughter's eyes followed certain ladies at court. Then his thoughts drifted to his recent meetings with young Alicent Hightower.
The girl had shown such genuine interest in his miniature sculptures, her green eyes lighting up as he explained the intricate details of each piece. She listened attentively when he spoke of his dreams for the realm, offering insights that surprised him with their wisdom. Of course, he'd kept these meetings to himself, not even sharing them with Aemma. It wasn't proper, perhaps, but there was something soothing about Alicent's presence.
"What troubles you?" Aemma's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"I was wondering about Corlys," he said right away without thinking. "What do you think he'll do if I refuse him again?"
Confusion crossed Aemma's features. "Why would you want to refuse him?"
Viserys shrugged, moving to stand by the window. Below, in the courtyard, servants scurried about their daily tasks like ants.
"My love," Aemma's voice carried a note of warning. "Corlys and Rhaenys already view the Great Council of 101 as a slight against her claim. If you refuse their daughter now..."
"They might see it as another insult," Viserys finished, rubbing his temples. "Gods, sometimes I wish I was still third in line for the throne, with no more responsibility than deciding which wine to drink with dinner."
"You don't mean that," Aemma said softly. "You're a good king, Viserys. Better than your grandfather ever was."
"Jaehaerys was the Conciliator," he protested. "He brought peace to the realm."
"And you've maintained it," she countered. "But peace requires constant attention. Like a garden, it must be tended daily."
Viserys turned back to his wife, studying her face. Despite the trials they'd endured, the loss of their son still fresh, she remained his strongest ally. "What would you have me do?"
"Meet with the Velaryons," she advised. "Hear what Corlys has to say. But remember - our daughter's happiness should factor into your decision as well."
"Her happiness?" he questioned. "She's the heir to the Iron Throne. Sometimes duty must come before personal desires."
Aemma's expression turned thoughtful. "Perhaps. But happy rulers tend to make better decisions than bitter ones." She paused, then added with a slight smirk, "And our daughter can be quite... determined when she sets her mind to something."
"Like her mother," Viserys teased, moving to pour them both some wine.
"Like her father," Aemma corrected, accepting the goblet he offered. "You were quite persistent in your courtship, as I recall."
Viserys settled into a chair across from her. "I was young and in love. And you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."
"Were?" she raised an eyebrow playfully.
"Are," he corrected quickly, earning a laugh from his wife. "Though sometimes I wonder if we've done right by Rhaenyra. Perhaps we've indulged her too much."
"She's strong-willed, yes, but she's also clever and capable. The realm could do worse than a ruler who knows her own mind."
Viserys nodded slowly, taking a long drink of wine. "Still, these temper tantrums when things don't go her way..."
"She's young," Aemma reminded him. "Give her time. And perhaps..." she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, "perhaps pay closer attention to her relationships with certain members of court. Particularly young ladies of noble birth."
The king furrowed his brow. "You're being cryptic again, my love."
"Am I?" she smiled mysteriously. "Or are you simply not seeing what's right before your eyes?"
Before Viserys could respond, a knock at the door announced the arrival of Ser Otto Hightower. The Hand of the King entered with his usual precise movements, scrolls tucked under his arm.
"Your Grace," Otto bowed. "There are matters requiring your attention."
Viserys sighed, sharing a knowing look with his wife. "There always are." He rose, kissing Aemma's hand. "We'll continue this discussion later?"
"Of course," she replied. "Though I doubt you'll hear anything different from me then."
As Viserys followed Otto from the solar, his mind wandered back to Rhaenyra's reaction. There was something he was missing, some piece of the puzzle that would make sense of his daughter's behavior. But for now, the business of the realm called, and the mysteries of his daughter's heart would have to wait.
"What news, Otto?" he asked as they walked the corridor.
"Reports from the Stepstones, Your Grace. It seems your brother has been quite... active in the region."
Viserys fought the urge to groan. Daemon. Always Daemon. "Tell me," he commanded, pushing thoughts of his daughter's peculiarities aside for the moment.
As Otto began his report, Viserys couldn't shake the feeling that the coming weeks would bring changes to his court that none of them were truly prepared for. But then, wasn't that always the way with dragons? They had a habit of upending carefully laid plans with a single beat of their wings.
Rhaenyra
Rhaenyra paced her chambers like a caged dragon, her boots wearing a path in the Myrish carpet. The thought of Laena marrying her father made her stomach turn. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Laena's silver-gold hair spread across her pillows, heard her moans echoing in her ears, felt her warmth around her cock...
"Fuck!" she snarled, kicking a wooden chair. The pain in her toe only fueled her rage. How dare her father even consider this? Laena was hers. She'd claimed her, marked her, made her scream her name in pleasure.
But what could she do? March up to her father and declare, "Sorry, Father, but you can't marry Laena because I've been fucking her senseless"? She laughed bitterly at the thought. Even if she confessed her feelings more... delicately, would it matter? Her father was still obsessed with duty and alliances.
"Uncle Daemon would know what to do," she muttered, running her fingers through her long silver hair. He'd taught her so much - how to sneak out of the castle, where to find the best pleasure houses in King's Landing. Without him, she'd never have met Mysaria, never have learned the art of seduction that had served her so well.
For a fleeting moment, her thoughts turned to Alicent. Once, she would have gone to her first, sought her counsel, maybe even her comfort. But now...
"Stupid girl," Rhaenyra growled, thinking of their last argument. Alicent, with tears in those bewitching green eyes, demanding justice for her brother's injuries. As if Daemon should be punished for being better at jousting than that fool Gwayne Hightower.
"Perhaps I should apologize," she mused, then immediately scoffed at her own weakness. "No. I am the blood of the dragon. She should come crawling back to me, begging forgiveness for daring to make demands of her princess."
The memory of Alicent beneath her in the Godswood flashed through her mind - those soft whimpers, the way she'd clutched at Rhaenyra's shoulders, how wet she'd been...
"Seven hells!" Rhaenyra shook her head violently, trying to clear it of such thoughts. Her cock had already begun to stir at the memories, and she didn't have time for that now. She needed to think.
Striding to her window, she looked out toward the Dragonpit. Syrax would be there, her beautiful yellow beast. In the air, everything always seemed clearer. Up there, she wasn't the heir to the Iron Throne, wasn't a daughter trying to please her father, wasn't a lover trying to keep her conquests secret. She was just a dragon rider, free as the wind itself.
"Yes," she decided, already reaching for her riding clothes. "That's what I need."
As she changed, her mind wandered back to Laena. Sweet, passionate Laena. The thought of her father touching her, kissing her, bedding her...
"Stop it," she commanded herself, pulling on her boots with more force than necessary. "You'll figure something out. You always do."
She caught her reflection in the mirror as she prepared to leave. The girl who stared back at her wasn't the innocent princess she'd been before Daemon took her under his wing. This was a woman who knew what she wanted and took it. A true dragon.
"And dragons take what they want," she whispered to her reflection, adjusting her riding gloves. "They don't ask permission, they don't apologize, and they certainly don't share."
With renewed determination, Rhaenyra strode from her chambers, her footsteps echoing through the corridor. Servants scattered before her like mice before a cat, no doubt recognizing the dangerous glint in her eyes.
"Perhaps I'll fly to Dragonstone," she mused as she walked. "Uncle Daemon might be there. He always knows how to handle Father."
But even as she considered it, she knew she wouldn't go. This was her problem to solve. She was the heir to the Iron Throne, and it was time she started acting like it.
The Dragonpit loomed before her as the carriage rode closer, and somewhere inside, Syrax waited. Up there in the clouds, maybe she'd find the answer she needed. And if not... well, there was always the option of simply flying away with Laena, leaving all this mess behind.
Rhaenyra smiled at the thought, even as she knew she'd never do it. She was a dragon, yes, but she was also a Targaryen. And Targaryens didn't run from their problems.
They burned them to ash.
.
.
High above King's Landing, Rhaenyra urged Syrax higher, until the city below looked like a child's toy. The wind whipped through her silver-gold hair, but even the exhilarating freedom of flight couldn't clear her troubled mind.
Images of Laena tormented her - those full lips parted in pleasure, silver hair tangled in Rhaenyra's fingers, the way she'd arched and begged for more. The thought of her father's hands on that perfect body made bile rise in her throat.
"Faster," she commanded Syrax, but even her dragon's powerful wings couldn't outpace her thoughts.
They shifted treacherously to Alicent - gods, Alicent. That first night in the Godswood, pressing her against the heart tree, muffling her cries with desperate kisses. How many times had she taken her after that? In hidden alcoves, empty chambers, once even in the Small Council room just hours before a meeting.
"Fuck," Rhaenyra growled, remembering how Alicent had looked spread across that ancient table, her dark hair fanned out over important documents, begging for Rhaenyra's cock.
After an hour of aimless flight, her thighs aching and her mind no clearer, she guided Syrax back to the Dragonpit. The carriage ride back to the Red Keep passed in a blur of confused thoughts and rising frustration. She barely registered arriving until Ser Steffon Darklyn opened her carriage door.
"Are you well, Princess?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
"Yes," she snapped, brushing past him. Her boots clicked against the courtyard stones as she stormed toward the castle.
Two hours later, she found herself in the garden, trailing her fingers over a rose bush where she'd once pushed Alicent against the thorns, careful to keep her dress from tearing even as she'd made her come with just her fingers.
Near the fountain, she'd first noticed how beautiful Laena looked in moonlight, had first felt that overwhelming desire to claim her.
"Seven hells," she muttered, sinking onto a stone bench. Alicent's voice echoed in her memory: "I pray at the Great Sept every Sunday, my love. Perhaps you should join me sometime?"
She'd laughed then, dismissed it as foolishness. What good were prayers to gods who'd given her a cock instead of a cunt, who'd filled her with such desperate hunger for women?
But now...
"What other choice do I have?" she wondered aloud. Standing abruptly, she called for her carriage again.
The Great Sept of Baelor loomed before her. Inside, the scent of incense hung thick in the air. Septas curtsied deeply as she entered.
"Welcome, Princess," they murmured, their faces bright with surprise and pleasure at seeing the heir to the throne in their sacred space.
Rhaenyra barely heard them. Her eyes were fixed on a familiar figure kneeling before a sea of flickering candles - Alicent. Her dark hair fell like a curtain around her face as she prayed, her green dress pooling around her like water.
For a moment, Rhaenyra forgot to breathe. How many times had she tangled her fingers in that hair, used it to guide Alicent's mouth where she wanted it?
The sept suddenly felt too warm, too close. Incense couldn't mask the scent of arousal that stirred between her legs at the sight of her former lover.
A Septa approached, breaking her trance. "Would you like to light a candle, Princess? To pray?"
Rhaenyra nodded mutely, accepting the taper. She moved closer to the candles, closer to Alicent, who remained lost in prayer.
"Please," she whispered, lighting her candle with shaking hands. "Please don't let him marry her." She wasn't sure which gods she was addressing - the Seven, the old gods, perhaps even the Lord of Light some eastern priestesses whispered about.
Alicent's head turned slightly at the sound of her voice. Their eyes met across the dancing flames, green meeting violet. For a moment, Rhaenyra saw everything they'd shared reflected in those eyes - every kiss, every touch, every whispered promise.
Then Alicent looked away, and Rhaenyra remembered why they weren't speaking. Remembered the anger, the accusations, the tears.
"The gods hear all sincere prayers," another Septa said softly, mistaking Rhaenyra's tension for religious fervor.
"Do they?" Rhaenyra muttered. "Then why give me these desires? Why make me want what I shouldn't?"
The Septa had no answer for that, and Rhaenyra hadn't expected one. She remained there, watching her candle burn down, acutely aware of Alicent's presence just feet away.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she turned to leave. As she did, she heard Alicent's quiet voice: "The Seven guide you, Princess."
Rhaenyra paused, her hand clenching into a fist. Without turning back, she replied, "And you, Lady Alicent."
She strode from the sept, her mind even more troubled than before. Prayer hadn't helped. The sight of Alicent had only confused her further. And somewhere in the Red Keep, her father was probably already planning his wedding to Laena.
"Fuck the gods," she whispered.
"Rhaenyra."
The sound of her name in that familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. Turning slowly, Rhaenyra found herself drowning in those green eyes she'd spent countless nights getting lost in. Alicent stood before her, hands clasped demurely at her waist, but there was nothing demure about the way she looked at Rhaenyra.
For a heartbeat, Rhaenyra forgot their anger, their silence, their pain.
"Why did you come here?" Alicent's question shattered the moment.
Rhaenyra's cock stirred traitorously at their proximity. "I was praying."
"You? Praying?" Alicent's eyebrow arched elegantly. "I didn't think dragons believed in gods."
"Perhaps we surprise you sometimes," Rhaenyra replied, fighting the urge to close the distance between them. "What were you praying for?"
"I was praying for Gwayne," Alicent said, her fingers playing with the crystal hanging from her neck - a nervous habit Rhaenyra had once found endearing. "For his recovery."
Something like guilt twisted in Rhaenyra's gut. "How... how is your brother?"
"Better," Alicent's voice was careful, measured. "Though it still pains him to laugh, to smile... even eating causes discomfort."
"I hope he recovers fully," Rhaenyra offered, meaning it despite herself. She'd never particularly liked Gwayne, but she hadn't wished him such harm either.
Alicent's eyes suddenly sharpened, turning from warm forest pools to cutting emeralds. "Will Prince Daemon face consequences for what he did to my brother?"
For a heartbeat, Rhaenyra wanted to lie. One word - 'yes' - and perhaps she could bridge this chasm between them. Perhaps Alicent would smile at her again...
But she was the blood of the dragon. Dragons didn't compromise.
"No," she said firmly. "My father will take no action against my uncle."
The warmth in Alicent's eyes died completely, replaced by a winter's chill. "I hope you have a good night, Princess," she said, her voice dripping with ice as she emphasized Rhaenyra's title. Without another word, she turned and walked back into the sept's depths.
"Fuck!" Rhaenyra snarled under her breath, her cock now painfully hard from their encounter. The familiar heat of arousal mixed with frustration coursed through her veins. She needed release, needed to bury herself in wet heat and forget everything else.
But the thought of calling for one of her usual servants held no appeal. They were too eager to please, too willing to do whatever she wanted. There was no challenge, no fire in their submission.
Back in her chambers, she paced like a caged beast, her erection straining against her breeches. Her eyes fell on the dark hoodie hanging by her bed - a gift from Daemon before he'd left for the Stepstones. "For when you need to move unseen, sweet niece," he'd said with that knowing smirk.
Decision made, Rhaenyra pulled the hood over her silver-gold hair and moved to the secret door hidden behind a tapestry. The passage beyond was dark and damp, but she knew its twists and turns by heart now. How many times had she used it to sneak to Alicent's chambers? To visit the brothel?
As she descended into the bowels of the Red Keep, her mind raced with possibilities. Perhaps Mysaria would be available tonight.
Anything to forget those green eyes and the way they'd turned to ice.
The street of silk buzzed with its usual nocturnal energy as Rhaenyra slipped through the brothel's entrance, her hood concealing her identity. The familiar scents of perfume, wine, and sex filled her nostrils as she scanned the main hall.
There - Mysaria, her pale skin gleaming like moonlight as she danced before a nobleman too deep in his cups to appreciate the view. Her movements were serpentine, hypnotic, but her client's head lolled to one side, clearly more interested in his dreams than the beauty before him.
Rhaenyra approached silently, her cock already hardening at the sight of Mysaria's swaying hips. "Might we share a room?" she whispered, her voice husky with need.
Mysaria turned, and that knowing smile made Rhaenyra's knees weak. Those violet eyes, so like her own yet so different, sparkled with mischief. "Of course, my dear Princess," she purred, taking Rhaenyra's hand in her own.
The sight of Mysaria's perfect ass swaying as she led them upstairs drew a growl from deep in Rhaenyra's throat. Her cock strained against her breeches, demanding attention.
The moment they entered Mysaria's chamber, the whore closed the door and asked, "How have you been, sweet dragon?"
"I'm not in the mood to talk," Rhaenyra growled, watching hungrily as Mysaria lifted a goblet of wine to her lips.
The white-haired beauty took a slow sip, then sauntered toward Rhaenyra. "How does it feel?" she asked, her Lysene accent thick with amusement. "Not having everything under your control?"
Anger flared in Rhaenyra's chest. "I'm not the same inexperienced girl you first taught," she snarled.
Mysaria's hand found Rhaenyra's cock, palming it through her breeches. The princess moaned despite herself, her hips bucking into the touch.
"Mmm," Mysaria hummed, her smile turning smug. "You may have a dragon, my princess, but you're not yet powerful enough."
"What?" Rhaenyra demanded, anger warring with arousal as Mysaria's skilled fingers continued their teasing. "What do you mean?"
Mysaria leaned close, her breath hot against Rhaenyra's ear. "Even a dragonrider needs the most valuable power in this realm - information." Her lips captured Rhaenyra's in a searing kiss, swallowing the princess's desperate moan.
The Princess's anger melted away in an instant, replaced by a surge of molten desire that threatened to consume her entirely. She moaned into Mysaria's mouth, her hands flying to the other woman's hips and pulling her flush against her body.
Mysaria's tongue darted out, teasing along the seam of Rhaenyra's lips before delving inside. The Princess met her passion for passion, their tongues dueling for dominance as hands began to roam and explore.
"Fuck," Rhaenyra gasped as they finally broke apart, both panting heavily. "I need you. Now."
Mysaria's laugh was low and throaty. "Patience, my dragon," she cooed, her fingers working nimbly at the laces of Rhaenyra's bodice. "Good things come to those who wait."
As the heavy fabric fell away, revealing Rhaenyra's creamy skin to the warm air of the bedchamber, Mysaria's eyes darkened with lust. She trailed her fingertips along the curve of the Princess's breast, circling ever closer to her rapidly hardening nipple.
Rhaenyra's head fell back, a breathy moan escaping her lips as Mysaria finally took the sensitive bud between her thumb and forefinger, rolling and pinching it gently. "Gods," she whimpered, her hips jerking forward of their own accord.
"So responsive," Mysaria murmured appreciatively. She leaned down, replacing her fingers with her mouth, her tongue swirling around Rhaenyra's nipple before sucking hard.
The Princess's hands flew to Mysaria's hair, tangling in the silky strands as she held her close. "More," she demanded, her voice rough with need.
Mysaria obliged, lavishing attention on first one breast, then the other, until Rhaenyra was a writhing, panting mess. Only then did she begin to kiss her way lower, leaving a trail of fire in her wake as she sank to her knees before the Princess.
Rhaenyra looked down, her pupils blown wide with arousal as she watched Mysaria's delicate hands gripped her cock.
"My, my," Mysaria purred, her hot breath ghosting over Rhaenyra's sensitive flesh. "Is it just me, or has this gotten bigger"
The Princess opened her mouth to reply, but her words were lost in a strangled cry as Mysaria's tongue darted out to lap at the bead of precum gathering at her tip. "Fuck!" she gasped, her hips bucking forward involuntarily.
Mysaria's hands came up to grip Rhaenyra's ass, holding her steady as she took the Princess's length into her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard as she bobbed her head, taking Rhaenyra deeper with each pass.
Rhaenyra's world narrowed to the exquisite sensation of Mysaria's hot, wet mouth engulfing her. She could feel herself hitting the back of the courtesan's throat, marveling at how Mysaria seemed to take her with ease.
"Gods, yes," she moaned, her fingers tightening in Mysaria's hair. "Just like that, don't stop!"
Mysaria hummed around her cock, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through Rhaenyra's body. She could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in her lower belly, her release building with each skilled stroke of Mysaria's tongue.
Just as she teetered on the brink of orgasm, Mysaria pulled away with an obscene 'pop'. Rhaenyra whined at the loss, her hips chasing Mysaria's mouth desperately.
"Not yet, my sweet," Mysaria chided gently, rising to her feet with fluid grace. "I'm not finished with you."
She stepped back, her eyes never leaving Rhaenyra's as she slowly, teasingly, began to remove her own clothing. The gauzy dress fell away, revealing smooth, flawless skin that seemed to glow in the soft candlelight.
Rhaenyra's mouth went dry as she drank in the sight of Mysaria's naked form. Her breasts were perfect, high and firm with dusky pink nipples that begged to be sucked. Her waist was narrow, flaring out to womanly hips and long, shapely legs.
But it was the glistening wetness between those legs that truly captured Rhaenyra's attention. Her cock twitched, aching to be buried in that tight, inviting heat.
"See something you like, Princess?" Mysaria teased, running her hands over her own body in a tantalizing display.
Rhaenyra surged forward, unable to restrain herself any longer. She crashed her lips against Mysaria's, swallowing the courtesan's surprised gasp as she backed her towards the large, ornate bed that dominated the room.
When Mysaria's knees hit the edge of the mattress, Rhaenyra broke the kiss long enough to growl, "On your hands and knees. Now."
A shiver of anticipation ran through Mysaria's body at the commanding tone. She complied eagerly, positioning herself on the bed with her ass raised invitingly.
Rhaenyra took a moment to admire the view, her hands running reverently over the smooth expanse of Mysaria's back. She leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her spine, reveling in the soft sighs and moans her actions elicited.
When she reached the swell of Mysaria's ass, Rhaenyra couldn't resist sinking her teeth into the supple flesh. Mysaria yelped, her back arching beautifully as she pushed back against Rhaenyra's mouth.
"Please," she whimpered, her accent thicker than ever. "I need you inside me."
Rhaenyra growled low in her throat, positioning herself behind Mysaria. She ran the head of her cock through Mysaria's folds, coating herself in the courtesan's abundant wetness.
"Is this what you want?" she asked, her voice husky with desire as she teased Mysaria's entrance.
"Yes!" Mysaria cried, trying to push back and impale herself on Rhaenyra's length. "Please, my Princess, fuck me!"
With a feral grin, Rhaenyra obliged. She pushed forward in one smooth thrust, burying herself to the hilt in Mysaria's tight, wet heat. Both women cried out at the sensation, Mysaria's walls clenching around Rhaenyra's throbbing cock.
"Fuck," Rhaenyra groaned, her fingers digging into Mysaria's hips hard enough to bruise. "You feel amazing."
She started to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. Mysaria met her thrust for thrust, her breathy moans and gasps of pleasure filling the air.
Rhaenyra set a punishing pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the bedchamber. She could feel Mysaria's walls fluttering around her, knew the courtesan was close to her peak.
Reaching around, Rhaenyra found Mysaria's clit, rubbing tight circles over the swollen bud. "Come for me," she commanded, her own orgasm building rapidly. "I want to feel you come on my cock."
Mysaria's body went rigid, a keening wail tearing from her throat as she shattered. Her inner walls clamped down on Rhaenyra's length, the rhythmic pulsing pushing the Princess over the edge as well.
With a roar of pleasure, Rhaenyra buried herself as deep as she could go, her cock twitching as she spilled her seed inside Mysaria. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her, leaving her trembling and gasping for air.
As the aftershocks subsided, Rhaenyra collapsed onto Mysaria's back, pressing soft, reverent kisses to her sweat-slicked skin. They stayed like that for a long moment, basking in the afterglow, before Rhaenyra carefully withdrew and rolled onto her side.
Mysaria turned to face her, a satisfied smile playing across her lips. "Well, my dear Princess," she purred, tracing idle patterns on Rhaenyra's chest, "it seems you've learned a thing or two since our last encounter."
Rhaenyra chuckled, pulling Mysaria close for a languid kiss. "I'm a quick study," she murmured against her lips. "And I believe you mentioned something about information being power?"
Mysaria's eyes glinted with mischief. "Indeed I did," she replied. "Perhaps we should discuss that further... after round two?"
Rhaenyra felt her cock stirring back to life at the suggestion. With a wicked grin, she rolled on top of Mysaria, pinning her to the bed. "I do so love the way you think," she growled, before capturing Mysaria's lips in another searing kiss.
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