"What do you think of this one?"
You blinked, only half-aware of the book being slid in front of you—your focus too distracted by the woman across the table. Makima sat with perfect posture, eyes cool and unreadable, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.
You glanced at the cover: An Empire of Red Flames.
"…Never heard of it."
"You will," she said simply, returning her gaze to the book in her hands.
You waited for her to elaborate, but Makima rarely explained herself unless she wanted to. Evidenced by the fact that when she said she wanted to go to the bookstore today, you had little say in the matter despite having no interest in books. It was less of a 'I want to go to the bookstore' and more of a 'We are going to the bookstore' .
You flipped the book over, skimming the blurb on the back:
[When Elira of the Northern Wards is offered as tribute to the Crimson Court, she expects cruelty. Execution. Perhaps even the cruel glamour of fae games.
What she doesn't expect is him.
Vaelen, the Prince of Ash and Embers, is as brutal as he is beautiful—his eyes the color of scorched gold, his touch like fire beneath her skin. To survive his realm, Elira must master the politics of the inhuman, resist the temptations of forbidden magic… and deny the pull she feels whenever he's near.
But war is brewing in the courts below, and desire can be a weapon sharper than any blade.
In the Empire of Red Flames, love doesn't bloom.
It burns.]
"It sounds like one of those Wattpad romance-turned-publish deals. Kind of trashy," you mused.
Makima turned a page with perfect, quiet grace. "Sometimes there's value in trash, if you know how to read it."
You gave her a look. "Since when are you into smutty romance novels?"
"Since always," she said. "They're instructional. Or didn't you notice?"
You flushed slightly, your mind briefly going to all the different encounters the two of you had shared together. Had she really picked up those tricks from some trashy novels? Maybe you had judged them a little too prematurely.
Makima closed her book then, eyes pinning you in place.
"There's a scene," she continued, tone low and even, "on page 247. I want you to read it."
You raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Makima smiled at you, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Because I asked you to."
You opened your mouth to protest. To question whether doing that here in public was what she wanted but you knew better. With Makima, her asking was far closer to her telling .You swallowed your question and sat back in your chair, flipping through the pages. The number in the corner seemed to take forever to arrive.
Page 247.
Your eyes scanned the first line.
['She didn't kiss his mouth. She didn't want that distraction. Not as she slid between him and the table and dropped to her knees.']
Your stomach fluttered and your cheeks flushed. Wait – she had been serious? You briefly wondered exactly how detailed this story got. The anxiety that gripped you overrode any sense of arousal that might have peaked at the notion.
When you glanced up—Makima's chair was empty.
"Huh?"
It took only a second longer to feel a presence ghosting at your knees. For a moment you froze, torn between looking down under the table and trying to appear as nonchalant as possible to anyone who might be watching. When you spoke your voice was low and cautious.
"Makima…?"
Her response came soft and level, just above a whisper.
"Keep reading."
You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly on the book's spine. Her voice hadn't risen. It didn't need to. There was no question in it—only expectation. An expectation that you would follow her instructions and not question it any further.
You could hear the subtle shifting beneath the table. Barely perceivable to your own ears let alone anyone who might be nearby in the store. But you knew. You could feel her kneeling between your legs now, even if you didn't dare disobey and peak beneath the desk.
Swallowing thickly, you looked down, past the line you'd just read and continued:
['Her fingers were steady, sure, as she unfastened his pants. Her head wholly clear.']
A soft click sounded as your belt came undone.
You sucked in a breath, realizing she was really doing this.
Makima worked with precision—methodical, unhurried. The button popped open. Her fingers tugged the zipper down slowly, teeth parting with a near-silent rasp that still managed to seem too loud in the hush of the bookstore. She hadn't touched you yet but your entire body was on edge with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.
You flicked your eyes back to the page and resumed reading.
['The muscles in his thighs shifted against her as she pulled him free and nearly gasped.']
Her hand brushed against you, fingers curling around the waistband of your boxers. A soft, firm tug—and you were exposed to the cool air and her warmer breath. You felt her exhale, slow and even but still, she said nothing. When her hand finally wrapped around your shaft you nearly flinched—cool fingers, deliberate pressure, the perfect contrast of softness and control.
You tried to say her name again, lower this time. "Makima—"
"You were told to read."
You bit the inside of your cheek and looked back down obediently.
['His cock was enormous. Beautiful, and hard, and absolutely enormous.']
Makima's hand began to move, slow, smooth strokes up and down your length—unshaken, unbothered by the public setting or the risk. She knew exactly what she was doing. And more importantly, she knew you weren't going to stop her. That would require disobedience, and you knew better than that. She'd made sure of it.
Her lips brushed the tip once—just a soft press. Then again, lower now, trailing heat across your shaft. Her mouth moved quietly but to devastating, pleasurable effect as your cock twitched in her grasp.
['The skin was so soft—softer than silk or velvet. And he was hard as steel beneath. He shuddered, and she lifted her eyes to find his gaze fixed on her hand.']
"Fuck…"
You let out a shuddering breath, finally daring to peek under the table at the sight that was unfolding. Near immediately, you found her eyes waiting to meet yours.
Makima's gaze was unblinking—cool, assessing, like she was watching a subject rather than a lover. Her hand never stopped moving. She simply stared, watching the way your face twitched, the way your mouth parted with every flick of her wrist, every drag of her palm over your sensitive tip. When you twitched in response she didn't smirk or smile, but the knowing look in her eyes said it all.
['"How do you like it?" she asked, her voice breathy as hot need washed through her. She wrapped her hand around his cock—her fingers barely able to reach around him completely. "Gentle?" She made a feather-soft pass over him, squeezing lightly.']
Makima didn't ask. She simply adjusted her grip—just a fraction tighter—and dragged her hand down with a slow, firm squeeze. The movement was almost contemplative. Then again, harder this time. Your hips twitched involuntarily in response.
" Makima –"
This time it wasn't a plea for restraint, no you were beyond that at this point. It was a plea for more . Makima's lips parted slightly, and you felt her breath again as she leaned in. Her tongue pressed flat to your cockhead, a single, deliberate swipe from tip to base.
You swore under your breath, hissing as you inhaled sharply.
Her response was a low hum that vibrated across your skin. Then she opened her mouth and took you in. Not all the way, but just enough to drive you mad. Her tongue curled underneath, lips warm and plush as they slid down your length. Her hand joined again, stroking in sync with her mouth in a rhythm so steady it was practically orchestrated. Controlled.
['Elira licked up his shaft in one long motion. Rubbed her thighs together as she tasted him, felt all that hot, proud steel against her mouth. She licked down the other side, coating him, making it easier for herself as she put her mouth around him again and slid him between her lips.']
Makima mirrored every beat—her mouth gliding, precise and patient, as if she were following a script. As if this scene had always belonged to her, and you were simply playing along. She didn't falter. She didn't gag. She adjusted around you like she was made for it. And then, while your cock was buried deep between her lips, she looked up at you again.
Your hands dug into the seat beneath you, your thighs tense, your breath ragged as the pressure inside you wound tighter and tighter.
Makima didn't flinch or hesitate, not even when the tip pressed deeper into her throat. Her breathing stayed steady, and she kept the same slow, devastating rhythm—each movement deliberate, unfazed, practiced.
She adjusted around you like she had measured your length beforehand—like she had anticipated this, studied it, and memorized every twitch and tell of your body without ever needing to ask. Her lips glided down with unbearable patience, throat stretching just enough to remind you this was calculated, not clumsy. There was no clumsy with Makima.
Makima never looked away, not once. That quiet authority in her stare rooted you in place more effectively than any grip. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe right, not with her eyes locked on you like that—steady, expectant, unshakable.
You wanted to warn her, to speak, to do anything but drown in the rising tide of your own undoing. But your mouth failed you. Your breath came in ragged gasps, useless and broken, every nerve on fire.
"Makima—" you finally managed, breathless, hoarse. "I'm—"
Your hips bucked without meaning to, just a sharp jerk of need. But before you could even think about chasing more, her hand slid off your cock and clamped down on your thigh—calm, unbothered, in total control. You weren't going anywhere. Then she pushed further, throat opening up like it belonged to you.
You felt her throat flex around you as her tongue curled beneath the base of your cock, and it was over.
['Elira only huffed a laugh, and sucked him down so deep that he couldn't stop it. Couldn't stop the release…']
Your orgasm hit like a brick truck. You gripped the wooden table in an attempt to maintain some level of control by to no avail. Heat erupted from you in thick, staggering pulses as you came down her throat—spilling your seed harder and deeper than you thought possible. You moaned sharply, unable to hold back, your body twitching in her grip as you emptied yourself into her.
Makima didn't so much as blink. She didn't recoil, didn't ease the pressure, didn't pull back an inch. She swallowed you like it was nothing—like your release was something she'd expected, planned for, and now she was claiming every last drop.
Each swallow was smooth. Controlled. You could feel her throat working around you, slow, deliberate contractions that made you gasp all over again. She never blinked. Never broke eye contact. And you couldn't look away even if you wanted to.
She held you through every wave, her hand firm on your thigh, her mouth coaxing the last of your orgasm from you like she was extracting it. Her control extended to the moment itself—letting you fall apart only because she allowed it.
You didn't even realize you were shaking until your limbs slumped against the chair. Your chest rose and fell like you'd just come out of battle. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Your vision blurred around the edges. You weren't sure how much time passed before she finally released you from the wet heat of her mouth, her lips slipping off your softening cock with a quiet, satisfied pop.
She sat back on her heels, calm and poised, wiping at the corner of her mouth with a single finger.
Then, finally, she rose from beneath the table. Her expression was unreadable. No flushed cheeks, no messy lipstick, no signs of what had just happened. You sat there wrecked and shaking, and she looked like she'd just finished browsing the mystery section.
"Now you understand," she said, giving you a smile that felt too genuine and sweet. Makima leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "I'm going to get a coffee."
She casually adjusted her skirt, turned on her heel, and walked off like she hadn't just left you gasping and ruined. Completely untouched and unbothered but you got the sense that she was thoroughly satisfied with the results of her little experiment. For now, all you could do was sit there, still catching your breath, trying to ignore the glance of a passing older woman who looked utterly scandalized.