CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO #3
"Do you like tasting the king's cock?" I demanded, pulling back enough to allow her words passage through those swollen, abused lips. The sight of her mouth stretched around me, slick with saliva and submission, sent fire through me.
"Yes." The word emerged broken, desperate, barely more than a whispered confession that made my grip in her hair tighten reflexively.
"You'll suffer with your own desire," I growled, watching the tears spill down her flushed cheeks.
"Your own need. I don't care how wet you are, how much you ache for my cock inside you.
" I thrust particularly deep, holding her there until she choked.
"The only thing I care about right now is slamming into this pretty mouth. "
Her nails dug into my thighs through the fabric, but she didn't pull away. She didn't try to escape.
She took it.
"I don't fuck prisoners."
The pleasure coiled tight at the base of my spine, demanding release. I could feel it building, threatening to destroy what little control remained. With a savage jerk, I pulled free of her mouth and gripped my cock, stroking furiously as the climax tore through me.
My seed painted her face in thick ropes—across her cheeks, her lips, her chin. She stayed perfectly still, eyes closed, accepting my claim with something that looked disturbingly like reverence.
When I finished, she opened her eyes and looked up at me through the mess I'd made of her face. Then, in one final act of defiance that nearly brought me to my knees, she extended her tongue and slowly, deliberately licked the cum from her lips.
She is the mate we burn for. Only her.
"Clean yourself," I commanded, my voice rough as I turned away from her, pulling my braies up.
I was angry—furious, actually. I'd debased her, painted her with my seed like some common whore, and yet, despite my dominance, my harsh words, my rough handling—it felt as if she'd somehow bested me.
She'd taken everything I'd given her and met it with a refusal to bow.
That final act—the way she'd slowly, deliberately drawn her tongue across her lips to taste my essence—it had been pure provocation, calculated defiance disguised as submission.
Even covered in my cum, even kneeling at my feet like a supplicant, she'd managed to turn the tables on me.
The gesture had been her way of declaring that despite everything I'd done to dominate her, to break her will and force her compliance, I hadn't bested her at all.
She remained unbroken, unbowed, and that realization sent another wave of dark hunger through my blood that I had to fight to suppress.
Overcome with my desire for her, I needed to put space between us, so I paced to the other side of the room, still warring with myself over whether this idea I'd come up with was the best path forward.
I braced my hands against the stone window frame, fighting against the desire that continued to threaten my judgment.
This attraction was a liability, a weakness my enemies would exploit without hesitation.
Yet I couldn't deny its existence—the way she'd consumed my thoughts since that first encounter all those weeks earlier.
"I should end this now," I said firmly as I turned to face her, noticing that she was now standing and had wrapped the soiled cloak around her. "Execute you and be done with it."
Even as I said the words, I knew I couldn't give that order—not immediately. The strategic value of keeping her alive temporarily outweighed the risk she represented. That was what I told myself, anyway, though a deeper truth lurked beneath the rationalization like a serpent coiled in tall grass.
"Yet you haven't?"
It wasn't lost on me that she had used my cloak to clean the cum from her face. Of course, I didn't know what else she would have used, but it still felt like a gesture of rebellion. Just another way of saying: you haven't won.
I breathed in deeply. "No."
I turned away from her, unable to look at her striking face and defiant posture without feeling the overwhelming urge to lift her into my arms, carry her to the massive bed, and slam her down against the silk coverlets.
The thought of her spread beneath me stoked the fire within me—fire I couldn't afford to indulge.
Take her. Press her under us. Make her yield.
I gritted my teeth against the beast's relentless demands, my hands trembling slightly as I fought to maintain control over both my body and the ancient power that threatened to consume me entirely.
I'd just spent myself all over her face, and here I was, eager to fuck her. My cock was already stirring.
"I won't be manipulated," I said softly as I turned around to face her, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "Not by Merlin, not by the sword, and certainly not by you."
"I don't intend to manipulate you."
The only thing I knew was that this woman had awakened something in me that neither wisdom nor will could easily subdue—a hunger that transcended physical desire to touch the deepest questions of my identity and purpose.
I straightened my shoulders and approached her, ready to offer her the solution I had already reached. She stood there, holding my gaze with her own. I stepped closer to her, watching her carefully. Her defiance only fueled my desire to bend her to my will.
"You should consider yourself fortunate."
"Fortunate?"
"By all rights, your head should already be decorating a pike outside these walls. Treason against the crown isn't something I overlook—not from nobles, not from commoners, and certainly not from Merlin's carefully crafted spies."
The words hung in the air between us, yet she lifted her chin with that maddening indifference that both infuriated and aroused me, those extraordinary eyes meeting mine without so much as a tremor of fear.
The gesture exposed the elegant line of her throat, and I found my gaze drawn to the rapid pulse beating just beneath her pale skin.
Bite her. Mark her. Bend her to our will.
The dragon's voice rumbled through my consciousness, and I had to clench my jaw against the urge to lean forward and taste that vulnerable spot where her life force thrummed so enticingly close to the surface.
She said nothing; the expression in her eyes—a mixture of resignation, fury, and something else I couldn't quite identify—said everything that needed saying.
I paused in my assessment of her, doing everything in my power to keep from reaching out and gripping that stubborn chin, from tilting her face up and claiming that mouth with my own until she yielded to me completely.
All the while, I was aware of her desire. It had scented the whole room, and I was doing everything I could not to get drunk on it.
"I'm offering you the only path that doesn't end with your execution," I continued, beginning to circle her slowly, like a wolf assessing prey.
Each step allowed me to study her from a different angle—the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers trembled almost imperceptibly at her sides despite her outward composure, the subtle shifts in her breathing that betrayed her awareness of my proximity.
Closer, the beast demanded. She trembles for us.
"And?" she asked, her voice small, as if she dreaded my response.
I stopped walking once I stood towering before her, close enough that I could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. I watched with dark satisfaction as her breathing grew shallow.
Closer. Feel how she responds to our presence.
I placed one hand against the cold stone wall beside her head, and with the other, I tilted her chin up to meet my gaze. Then I leaned in, bringing my mouth close to her ear, near enough that my breath stirred the strands.
"You will become a traitor to Merlin and Annwyn." My voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper.
Her eyes widened slightly. "A—a traitor?"
"Yes."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you'll continue playing the part of the spy. But now you'll be my spy against Merlin, against your father."
Confusion flickered across her face. "Then… you are saying… I would remain here, in Camelot?"
"You would."
Her frown deepened. "How would I even attempt such a thing?"
"You'll act as if nothing has changed." I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, taking satisfaction in how she tensed at my touch. Yes, now I had her right where I wanted her, and I reveled in that victory. "You'll become one of my knights of the Round Table—officially this time."
"But…" She looked at me as though I'd lost my mind. Perhaps I had. "Sir Lioran—"
"—no," I interrupted, shaking my head. "Not as Lioran. It's time to drop the charade."
"I don't understand."
"Your magic is easily as powerful, if not more powerful, than every knight who survived the Shadow Trials," I explained matter-of-factly as I resumed my pacing around her.
"But… I am a woman."
"I care little that you're a woman. You've proven your worth in combat and magic—enough that I am and have been impressed with your skills. Had I never discovered the truth of your sex, I would have awarded Lioran a place at my table."
"But… the rules of Camelot—"
"—I am King. I make the rules." I glared at her. "And if I say you shall join my Knights of the Round Table, then so you shall… but wearing your own face."
Shock replaced confusion in her expression. "The other men will never accept a woman among their ranks."
I laughed—a short, harsh sound that was devoid of humor. "I am their king. They will accept whatever the fuck I tell them to accept." I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. "Any who question my decision will find themselves seeking a new head."
Her eyes narrowed as understanding dawned. "And in return for this... honor, you expect me to become your spy?"