Some married King and Queen smut. NSFW.
Torture.
This is pure, delirious torture.
She is dancing precariously at the rocky precipice, her legs shaking with exhaustion. She feels a brief flash of gratitude for the broad shoulders that are holding them up, but that gratitude is quelled by blind madness as her ascent comes to an abrupt halt, once again.
Olivia's strangled sob is far louder than she intends it to be. She glares down the dark expanse of her bare skin, dappled with sweat and trembling with carefully cultivated desperation, at the source of her frustration. Alistair's face rises from between her thighs, giving her a smug grin in response. He wipes her arousal from his chin with his free hand. His other is pressed against her abdomen, pinning her hips to the bed. Her walls give an ardent twitch when he pulls away, and the intensity of it sends shudders up her spine.
"Is something wrong, my love?" His words are innocent, but the mouth that speaks them is sinful, low and sultry and full of wicked suggestion.
Oh, she is going to kill him.
She has so many things she wants to say to him. Something about revenge, something about a bastard. But when she opens her mouth, it is his name that falls out, carried on the breath of a gasp. He laughs, the breath ghosting against her thigh as he hovers above her.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific, my Queen." He presses his teeth into the flesh of her hipbone, and she jolts helplessly under his firm hand. Violent fists twist in the fine sheets below her, and a growl grinds in her throat.
"Alistair Theirin, if you do not stop teasing me, I am going to divorce you," she snaps. The words come out more of a pitiful whine than she had intended. She punctuates the threat with a weak kick of her leg against his bare back.
He only laughs at her, letting his lips blaze a path of tormenting heat around her belly button and down, leaving scorch marks everywhere except the place she so desperately needs him.
Olivia bucks her hips again, trying anything, anything to bring his Maker-cursed tongue back to her. Alistair's eyes glint with mirth as he takes in her wrecked expression. His free hand flutters across the expanse of her bare skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before finding its destination. He cups her breast, and his hands are blazing hot, sending another shot of fire straight to her center. He flicks her nipple with his thumb, and chuckles when she responds with a low moan.
Time has lost all meaning, and she feels as though he has been doing this for days - years, even. Her entire body is on fire, shaking and weak from the several times he has already denied her release, just to build it back up again. She feels as though every nerve in her body has burst into flame. He has learned her body well enough to read it like a book. To play every spot and gasp and jerk like a bloody instrument. She cannot decide whether this is agony or ecstasy or both.
She is contemplating using the leverage of her thighs around his shoulders to flip them when he finally, blessedly, lowers his head once more to slide his clever tongue across the length of her labia. The long, shuddering moan that escapes her is utterly filthy, and Alistair responds with a lustful grunt. Her abandoned climax has returned with a vengeance. It lurks just out of reach and coils so tight in her abdomen that she feels as though she'll explode. His touches are still light, teasing, and Olivia wants to weep in her desperation.
His hand leaves her breast and his tongue leaves her core. She has the briefest moment to mourn the loss of it before she feels his fingers slide against her soaked folds. She cries out in ecstasy and lifts her hand to grab at her hair, if only for something to ground herself with.
His fingers slide into her heat with ease, aided as they are by her near frenzied state of arousal. Her walls clench like a vice around them. Alistair pauses to watch her face contort, as he always does, before he exhales in wonder.
"Maker, you're wet," he breathes, and his voice is husky with need.
"Alistair." She snarls his name like a crazed animal, and it is all the prompting he needs. He descends back to her center, and as his lips close around her clit, he crooks his fingers inside her. She all but screams, overwhelmed, with a wild buck of her hips against the hand that still presses against her belly. Her entire body jolts at the sensation. She is at the edge of madness, blind with the white heat the overtakes her. He is careful and precise in the movement of his fingers, making sure to hit the same spot with each thrust. Every press against that spot makes her vision burst with blinding color. She can hear her own voice sobbing, chanting "yes, yes, yesyesyes," in delirious breaths as she writhes against him, bucks her hips and presses her heels into his back, pulls at her hair so hard that pain bites against her scalp, but it's all distant, foggy, dreamlike.
Finally, Alistair presses his tongue against her swollen clit and sucks. His fingers hit just right at the same moment, and the dam inside her shatters. She falls over the edge with a shout, and her body arcs off the bed. She goes blind and deaf as her orgasm burns through her, and she is only vaguely aware that she is weeping at the intensity. Alistair moans with her, and continues to pump his fingers in time with the contractions of her walls around him.
When she finally regains her senses, she pushes weakly at him with her hands, and he chuckles. A last, feather-light kiss to her abused clit causes her to jolt. He lowers her legs from his shoulders to dangle off the edge of the bed and rises from his crouched position on the floor.
Her body still shudders with the aftershocks as he lowers himself gingerly beside her. She can do nothing but lie boneless as he pulls her into his arms and buries his face into her neck with a satisfied hum. Her heart swells with affection at the feel of his arms around her abdomen, the muscles of his chest pressed against the skin of her back.
"Alright?" he murmurs against the shell of her ear. The vibration of his voice sends shivers across her skin, and it prickles with gooseflesh.
"Mmm." She doesn't think she has the capacity for words. His low chuckle rumbles against her neck.
"Yes, well, it's about time! Took you long enough."
She rolls her rear against his still-persistent erection, trailing lazy fingers into his hair.
"Alistair. My darling. My husband. My wonderful king." He grins against her neck and nuzzles his nose against her sweat-soaked skin.
"Hmmm?"
"I'm going to kill you."
