"Mmm," Alistair hummed, pleased with Caoilainn's profession of fealty. It was music to his ears, though he did not believe her. "Is that so?"

His eyes wandered to the four-post bed and he nodded a silent order for her to move.

Hair tangled and knotted from the influence of his forceful hand, she followed his glance to the bed. His hand released from her tussled locks and she rose from the ground. Large watery blue eyes stared at him fiercely.

Caoilainn's resentment of Alistair was crashing against the lust she felt between her thighs. Her urge to break free from her binding, throttle his neck and wipe the grin from his face contradicted the compulsion she felt to rip off his remaining armor and mount him. The conundrum was both debilitating and titillating. At a loss, she obediently remained bound by silk. Gracefully, she stepped to the bed and knelt to face him.

"For now.…" She replied in a tease as she settled into her new position. Her eyes flashed the bubbling mixture of emotions she felt in her glare, now at eye level with him.

"Hm…." Alistair thought aloud as he began to remove pieces of the rest of his armor. His voice carried a sarcastic reply to her taunt. "A king is nothing without a loyal queen, my love. You dutifully swore your fealty to me only a moment ago. Were those just words?"

"No." Her cold voice snapped in reply. "I will serve my King as I serve my order." The statement was loaded. The rebirth of the Ferelden Grey Wardens required her to mother the chapter, an uncanny similarity to dynamics of her relationship with Alistair.

"That is not the same, my dear." He spoke softly, his breastplate dropping to the floor near the rest. "Your responsibilities to the Wardens do not match your responsibilities to me. What is a queen without her king?"

Caoilainn's lips spread wickedly; the whites if her teeth bared in a malevolent grin. "... Stronger," she sang bitterly.

The sharp pain of her answer drove through his chest. Alistair watched his shirt fall to the ground and shifted his gaze to lock with Caoilainn's. Eyes narrow and searching, staring into the cold, pale blue pools for some sense of the soul of the woman that faced him. She was testing his fortitude.

"You're a vile woman," he replied through a small smile. Wearing only his pants and boots, his upper body exposed. He was large, though not as built as he was before he became King. He seemed leaner now, but she could discern he had a small layer of body fat that wasn't there before. His arm lifted, and his large hand met her chin. Softly, he held it, stroking with his thumb. "You're lucky I love you." His gentle thumb ceased and his hand squeezed. Caoilainn's eyes closed at the pleasing pressure.

"I know." She said as she tilted her head back to break free from his grasp, her back arched and her chest exposed. Her test of him continued. Caoilainn offered her bare neck, soft and delicate as it was. It was a vulnerable position from which a less honorable man, a man hungry for her blood, could take her life force.

Alistair chuckled as his hand instinctively wrapped around her jugular. Smiling, Caoilainn inhaled slowly, her airflow tightened as her neck extended. Unable to resist the invitation, Alistair's hand slid to cradle her neck and his head lowered. He bit. Hard. His square jaw clenching as his teeth dug into her defenseless, fair skin. He felt the tempting pulse of her blood flowing freely through her artery against his tongue. The urge to bite harder pulled at the back of his mind, to see how much she could handle, at what point her wall would break. In an effort to restrain this urge, he released her vulnerable neck from his clenches, his hand sliding back around to maintain control.

Caoilainn purred. The intensity was tangible, but her own anxiety interrupted her enjoyment. What has come over him? Suspicion sparked within her; this was uncharacteristic of Alistair.

"Is this what you want?" Alistair asked indifferently, his insistent palm grasping and massaging the bite mark on her neck tightly. He felt her pulse quicken. He wanted her to state permission: an agreement that she desired him, and this way in particular.

"Yes, my King." She hissed, mockingly stating his title, before swallowing against the pressure of his hand. Her heart was pounding with excitement and uncertainty. She was certain he could feel it.

"You will regret that," he cooed, releasing her neck with a light shove and stepping back.

Caoilainn watched Alistair eagerly as he kicked off his boots with deliberation, while she attempted to loosen the silk cord that bound her with subtle wriggles. He was challenging every last ounce of her patience and her body yearned for fulfillment. Nervously wondering how much longer he would tolerate her instigation, the wet heat between her legs ached in lustful agony.

"Is that so?" She asked sarcastically, mimicking his question from a few minutes before.
Standing in his pants, the definition of his pelvic muscles crept from the waistline, his hands found her. One buried in her hair, and tugged tightly; the other grasped around her face and squeezed. He pulled her face to his. The kiss was angry, aggressive and brief. He pulled away forcefully, holding her indignant gaze to meet his eyes.

"For now," Alistair replied, mocking her response from earlier. I will make sure she enjoys all aspects of this , he thought as his hand pulled her head back, extending her neck again. His other hand found her large, supple breast and massaged. Her pink nipple was hard, alert, and waiting for his touch. Leaning over, his hot breath found tender skin. Caoilainn made a small whimper, unable to refrain from expressing the automatic response of pleasure. Alistair grinned and took her excited nipple into his mouth. Teasing with his tongue, at first. Then he bit, gently. A small nibble at her aroused flesh that turned to a sharp bite. Caoilainn growled. "Fuck!" She snarled stimulated but annoyed.

Alistair raised his head and removed his hands from her body. With a shaking finger, he scolded. "Not yet, my love. I have more in store for you."

Unable to take control with her arms, she was overwhelmed his focus and unable to fathom his self-restraint. His hand moved from her breast to the space between her legs. He grabbed her, roughly. His cupping palm pushing up against her drenched, pink folds. Caoilainn couldn't help but moan. His sudden contact with this aching, sensitive skin was desperately needed. His fingers began to explore the smooth curves of her lips, her tender skin, her yearning entrance, and the bundle of nerves above it. "Mmm," he hummed, tempted. Allured by her body's blatant readiness for him, the urge to abandon this power struggle and take her was provoking, so he pulled his hand away.

"Turn around," he ordered smoothly. Breathing heavily as she came down from the brief and teasing contact, her eyebrows furrowed. Her wriggling had loosened the silk enough to give her movement. Arms extended, she reached to him. Hungry for control and contact. Without any hesitation, Alistair's hands grabbed her by her wrists, his thumbs pressing into the nerves of her palm, causing her hands to go weak. Caoilainn gave a small cry.

He shook his head. "You are so clever… and naughty. We'll have to do something about that."

Guilt and an excited fear flashed across Caoilainn's face. Silently, Alistair guided her from the bed to stand at its corner and he masterfully applied pressure to the inside of her elbow. She was malleable in his hands. He lifted her arms above her head and with patience and precision he retied her, now to the bedpost. The silk tightly wound a high knob in the wood of the post. Caoilainn's palms touched and her face was held between her elbows. Her eyes were wide in anticipation, the spark of jealousy lost in her fervor.

Now standing, bound and naked, she was left almost completely immobilized, entirely exposed. The unfamiliarity of the raw and vulnerable emotion that overcame her was novel. Being completely weak and powerless in general, and to Alistair in particular, enthralled her. Undeniably, she was aware that this was only possible because she trusted him wholly. Already entirely overstimulated, it was taking every last ounce of her effort to hid this awareness from Alistair.

Alistair stood close to her. Hot skin touching hot skin, his pants brushing against her naked body. Void of the ability to move her face, she looked up to him and saw as he stared down proudly.

"Don't move," he said with a smirk.

She sighed at his humor. "Okay…" she replied.

"That's 'okay, sir' to you, Commander."

"Hmm… Okay, my King ," she whispered in creative compliance, toying with the idea of humoring him while maintaining her graceful guard; waiting for her opportunity to regain control.

"You know when you say it like that, I actually like it. Keep going," Alistair affirmed with a smile, pleased with this version of her reply.

Curious fingers traced down her stomach, which contracted automatically in response. His digits knowing, recognizing the curves and lines of her body found their way to her hip bone with ease. And as if he had been searching for this particular location, his fingers dug in.

Caoilainn gasped. "Maker!" Sensations overtook her. Discomfort, like an intense tickle, pain, and unbelievable, overwhelming lust ran through her. Her body desperately attempted to adjust and adapt to his technique in the hopes of lessening the intensity, but she couldn't move. He was forcing her to tolerate, or rather, to acclimate to the pressure. Caoilainn closed her eyes to breathe, again forgetting the world around her.

After many long dragging seconds, his hand released and returned to its re-exploration of her body; he applied more pressure to erogenous zones on her chest and collarbone. It was blissful torture for Caoilainn and her patience began to admit defeat, realizing that she would not gain any active influence of this interaction. She was forced to acknowledge that she liked that.

He rotated her body, stretched against the post of the bed and stood behind her. Instinctively, her back curved more. The provoking roundness of her eager ass was accentuated by the position. Alistair's right hand rubbed her left cheek.

"Bend over more," he ordered.

"Yes, my King." Caoilainn did as he ordered, using whatever freedom she had to move with her arms wrapped above her.

"Good girl." Alistair purred as his hand grabbed at her firm ass and let go. The lovely, wet softness of her pink was exposed to him from this angle.

Good girl. She thought with agitation. How degrading.

The thought was short lived as she suddenly felt the pain of the palm of his hand against her rear, accompanied by a loud smack. She gasped in exasperation. "Alistair!"

"Alistair, what?" he questioned.
"Alistair, my King," Caoilainn groaned, half annoyed and half excited.

"Yeeessss?" He asked cheekily, his hand rubbing at the raw and red place on her rear where a hand print was becoming visible.

"Do that again," she whined, begging. "Please."

"Gladly," he whispered, before smacking. Twice this time; quick and hard. The sound echoed through the room, accompanied by Caoilainn's loud gasps and groans.

"Mmm," she purred blissfully.

"Mmm, indeed," he echoed.

As if Alistair had also acknowledged her admission of surrender, he stepped back and found a chair at the other side of the small room. Calmly, he moved it so that he could sit observe her, fully powerless, fully exposed, anxiously waiting for his next action. She was absolutely stunning as she stood there, messy and panting. They remained in silence for a few moments until she broke.

"Damn it," she whimpered weakly in frustration.

"Hmmmm?"

"Damn it Alistair, my King."

"Mmmmmhmm." He hummed, pleased with her compliance.

"Alistair… please," she groaned.

"Please what, my love?"

"Have me," she begged.

"Swear your fealty to me again," he ordered intensely from across the room.

Helpless, she looked at him from between her elbows. Silence lingered heavily in the room and every inch of Caoilainn's body violently craved him.

"King Alistair Theirin, son of Maric… I serve you." She sounded sincere.

"For how long?"

"Forever." Her statement was followed by another pregnant pause. "Please… fuck me, my King."

Alistair grinned. Music to his ears. He took one last moment to soak in the sight of his Caoilainn's plea. Then he rose from the chair, unlaced and removed his pants, and walked to her.

She watched him as he neared, studied his body, his erection. Blinded by the the intensity of her passion, Caoilainn almost didn't recognize him, as if she was seeing this person for the first time.

Knowledgeable hands found her stomach, dragging down to her legs. He reached between and wandered again, teasing. Searching. She whined loudly.

"Alistair…" she pleaded. With her request, the attention of his fingers rested on the tiny nub of nerves. He rubbed deliberately and slow at first, then his speed quickened, making small circles with his finger against her nub. She squirmed and moaned loudly. Her fervently patient pleasure quickly rose; moans became quiet and her breaths came fewer and further between.

"Ask if you can finish," he whispered while she escalated, obviously nearing an orgasm.
She groaned a half laugh. Really? She thought in frustration. Yet, she obeyed. It took everything within her to withhold her climax. Her body strained and her muscles tightened at the self induced torture. "Please… can I finish?" She moaned between gasps.

"Not yet," he replied coolly. His finger stopped moving and he turned her around. She could feel his sizeable erection pressed against her ass. It was familiar, loving and she wanted it more than she had in a very long time. With a hand on her shoulder, he steadied her body and spread her feet apart with his own; her arms still secured to the bed. She had accepted her lack of movement long ago. His other hand pushed against a cheek, seeking the appropriate angle at which he could guide himself inside of her slick, pink core. Caoilainn groaned as he entered. Her muscles instantly clenched around his shaft, desperately using what little control she had to hold him inside of her.

"Oh, Maker," she cooed in a gasp.

"Hmm?" He asked, rocking his hips against her. His hands guided her exquisite rear over him to meet his slow, methodical thrusts.

"My King…" She said in a quiet whimper. He continued and his thrusts became harder. She pushed her hips against him with whatever ability she had.

"Yes?" he replied lovingly. His own pleasure was taking over.

"Oh please… Alistair, my King..." She gulped for air, using every muscle in her body to delay the boiling pleasure she felt concentrating within her. "May I finish now?"

"Mmm," he hummed. "You may."

"Maker!" She cried as she released quickly into the overwhelming and long due ecstasy. Her body seized in indulgence for what seemed like an eternity. "Alistair…" she called softly at the peak.

A hand left her hip and found it's way back to her hair. He gripped tightly as if his steadiness depended on it. The intensity of his hungry thrusts increased until he froze; his body spasmed and he spilled inside of her with a grunt. "Caoilainn…" he growled, as his member relentlessly expelled every last drop of himself. She felt him pulsing in her core and it caused her to release another small moan.

They remained connected until their heart rates slowed and his spasms ceased. When he pulled himself out of her, they both shivered, gratified. The connection of their bond echoed between them.

Carefully, tactfully, he unbound her and guided her arms back down to her sides. Caoilainn stumbled clumsily as she attempted to adjust to the return of her complete freedom and mobility. Tired and limp, she fell onto Alistair. She let out a giggle, drunk from the adrenaline fatigue that was overtaking her. Without a moment of hesitation, he caught Caoilainn in his arms and lifted her. Alistair beamed at his exhausted wife, as he carried her to the bed and laid her down.

He laid next to her. Both of their bodies covered in a light veil of sweat. Instinctively, with no thought, she snuggled in close to him. He stroked his hands on the tender and raw places of her skin, marks now more visible than ever. He kissed her wrists to soothe her as she lay resting weakly.

As he petted her tangle of hair with affection, Caoilainn mumbled through a sleepy stupor. "I love you, Alistair."

He hadn't heard her say that in years.

"I know. And I love you, Caoilainn." He replied, unsure if she heard him before she drifted off to sleep. He quickly joined her.

At dawn the next morning, Alistair awoke to the sound of swords clashing in the training yard outside. The bed was empty and Caoilainn was gone.