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Family, Duty, and Honor
Alyssa Tully was no fool.
By age four she was reading independently, and while she enjoyed the outdoors: she also very much enjoyed her lessons. Born to the second son of Lord Tommen Tully, there was a great deal of history in the soil she was raised upon. And even more in the soil she was not.
Alyssa knew the seeds of war had been long sewed when King Aegon IV legitimized all of his bastards, though she had only been five when the King died. She knew that the seeds of rebellion furthered when King Daeron wedded his sister, Daenerys, to his Dornish brother-in-law against the will of the son who had been gifted Blackfyre.
Once before had the realm been so split: in the Dance, when the reign of Dragon’s holding the skies came to an end and the realm bled and burned for it.
Her grandfather was a Loyalist: he had already pledged his sword and fifteen thousand men to King Daeron’s cause, just as her great grandfather Kermit Tully had been loyal to Rhaenyra. But this time: King Daeron had a son of the same marrying age as her and her cousins.
She was no fool: her grandfather itched for a chance to put one of his granddaughters in the Royal Family in the hopes that perhaps his blood may lie on the Iron Throne one day, what man did not? Tommen Tully was a man like any other. And with five granddaughters of noble blood, marrying age, and maiden purity: her grandfather had offered his fifteen thousand men at the cost of a marriage and King Daeron II had agreed.
Wars made for weddings and beddings aplenty, her Septa says.
Alyssa and her four cousins stood in the hall of Riverrun, the very girls she shared these halls with, her bed with, shared meals with, and learned their histories with all competing for a chance to wed the Prince.
She stood with Cass, a thin and pretty wisp with a smile as sweet as honey, nine and ten. She swayed on her feet in excitement, face lit up in hope. Then was Lianna, of brown auburn hair with pale blue eyes and a shy voice, and seven and ten. Melony and Sabitha, Lianna’s younger sisters both shared strawberry blonde hair, and were the youngest of the group, six and ten and five and ten respectively. The three girls were dreamy, hopeful, and whispering to each other.
Alyssa tried not to tremble like a leaf, anxiety burrowing deeply in her belly. They dreamt of pretty dresses, castles, and titles. She dreamt of bloody wars, dead brothers, and the birthing bed.
She felt more like a show horse than she did a Lady of House Tully. Alyssa was the middle of five children to Davos Tully and Jeyne Dedding, and the one most often forgotten now that Alyssa's only sister Kyra was married and Edric was a Knight. Kyle, her younger brother of twelve, prayed he’d be a great Knight like Edric one day and Matthis had been begging his grandfather to allow him to be a page. She spent her mornings reading and writing, her meals with her mother and grandfather, Jasper Deddings, when he was often in Riverrun, especially since her father had passed four years prior. He was not today: instead, he was preparing his thousand men to march.
“He’s here,” Kyle hissed from the doorway.
“Shoo boy!” Septa Morya hisses back. The old, tall, and sharp woman clasped her hands together and rubbed them before she turned to the girls, her eyes seemingly ready for war. “He may be a Dragon,” she tells the girls. “But he is also a man: and any man can be tamed.”
Alyssa felt her brows raise sharply in disbelief. She highly doubted that.
Prince Maekar was harsh, the Realm knew that--the youngest son of King Daeron and Queen Myriah would never inherit the Throne, but he was more warrior as a Knight than his father and two of his elder brothers. Only Prince Baelor also swore the same oaths, and it was said the courtly and charismatic Prince was deeply fond of his youngest brother, Prince Maekar was said to be severe. As different as the sun and moon--and yet they loved one another.
The girls hush themselves, preening like birds to catch his attention and she finds herself strangely calm.
Cass and Liana were the prettiest of the girls, though her mother liked to say that she was growing into a beautiful Lady. Alyssa had the Tully Red hair and Blue eyes, but was taller than her other cousins, though Melony was only an inch or so shorter. While no longer taller than almost all the boys her age anymore, she still remembers the giggles her cousins would hide at two and ten when she had grown seemingly overnight and dwarfed the boys their age, and then again, the following year when her breasts had grown to the size of a woman’s.
She feels her breath steel in her chest when the doors open to the Targaryen Prince, tall, broad, silver-blonde haired, violet eyed, and furious looking entering the hall. Her jaw tightened, and Melony let out a quiet gasp as he was announced. He walked like a bull or perhaps a Dragon would: full of barely contained anger and frustration. His silver-blonde hair fell straight, parted down the middle and neatly kept just past his shoulders.
“Prince Maekar Targaryen, Prince of Summerhall!” The Royal announcer called out proudly, and the Prince was brought to the line of Tully girls, lined up like broodmares for him to pick from. “And the Lord Hand Hugh Hayford!”
Closer, she could see that he gnashed his teeth angrily, his mouth turned into a rather firm frown as he looked upon them all. He had pox scars on his cheeks, making him look older than the twenty years he was. They trailed down his neck, slipping beneath the fine, silk black doublet with a red three headed dragon on clear display on his chest. He was handsome, but the expression of his face was intimidating.
The Lord Hand stood silently beside her grandfather, his eyes shifting across her and her cousins. But he was rather impassive.
They curtseyed, and Septa Morya cleared her throat. “Lady Cass Tully, nine and ten, the last daughter of Lord Addam Tully, and his lady wife Ann Darry,” she says proudly, Cass curtseys again and smiles at the Prince. He did not smile back.
“Lady Alyssa Tully, seven and ten, the last daughter of Ser Davos Tully and his Lady wife, Jeyne Deddings,” the Septa says. His eyes flickered to her hair for a moment--Tully Red, and she curtseys as is customary, avoiding his angry violet eyes.
“And Ladies Liana, Melody, and Sabitha Tully, daughters of Ser Bennet Tully and his Lady-wife, Elys Mooton, seven and ten, six and ten, and five and ten,” The three girls smile like Cass had, and still he does not seem to be moved by their politeness.
She swallowed, letting her eyes raise to his face and he is looking across their five faces.
What a way to pick a wife, she thinks bitterly.
Perhaps that was why he was so angry.
His violet eyes meet hers and his gaze narrows for a fraction of a moment and she feels relief.
Until he outstretches his hand to her, jaw tense and mouth set in a straight, grim line. Her stomach falls to her knees, and she feels far, far away from her body as she blinked at him in genuine confusion.
“Lady Alyssa Tully,” he says, voice barely above gravel and coming from the middle of his chest. “If you consent, I will take you as my wife.”
There is a storm behind his eyes that reminds her of a caged animal. Her grandfather watches from the Prince's side, deep blue eyes watching her with firm eyes. She is terrified. To marry a Prince, an angry man, a man about to go off to war--what would happen to her if he lost? If he won?
Still, she does as is expected of her. She lowers her head and takes his hand. “I consent, your Grace,” she says, her voice sounding so far away.
There is no grand wedding, though she does wear her nicest dress. It is not a wedding dress and it is the same dress she had been presented to the Prince in--as their wedding was less than twenty minutes from the moment she met him. A velvet blue dress with lace sleeves, with ribbons on the side to let the dress in and out. The neckline was a paler blue, beaded and embroidered with silver thread and beads. It had been a gift for her by her grandfather Jasper Deddings. Her red hair is braided back and away from her face, but hangs loosely down her back.
And when her Grandfather leads her to the angry Targaryen Prince, his violet eyes may as well be filled with flame for they seem to burn her as she approaches.
They both make seven vows, receive seven blessings, and make seven promises. Her heart pounds in her chest she is almost sure he can hear it. He watches the Septon with a wroth expression, and she ignores the panic seizing her veins as her Grandfather gently pulls back the Tully Maiden’s cloak from her shoulders. Her jaw tightens as she desperately tries to keep her bottom lip from trembling.
The prince takes his own cloak--the one he had been wearing, and places it on her shoulders, slipping his fingers deftly under her neck to latch it to hold its place. She practically swims in it, and while it had come to his ankles, it swims around her feet, folding and bunching under the weight of the fabric and warms her so quickly she thinks she might faint, she had never felt so small before. His eyes are not so angry when he looks down at her, but neither are they glad.
“With this kiss, I pledge my love” he says, voice firm.
“With this kiss I pledge my love,” she repeats, far gentler. “And take you as my Prince and husband,” she says, eyes darting to Septon Theomore. He nodded with a small smile. Swallowing, she looked back at the Prince, who watched with his tumultuous eyes, nostrils flaring.
“And take you as my Lady and wife.”
He leans down and presses warm, dry lips against hers for only a moment before standing again at full height.
“And they are now one heart, one soul, one flesh, from now and until forever. I declare this man and woman, husband and wife.”
He took her arm in his, heat radiating of him in waves.
He is a Dragon, she thinks. Now I just pray he will not swallow me whole.
There was no feast. There was no bedding ceremony.
Just bedding.
Alyssa had no ladies or maids to assist in her undressing and neither did he. The moment they entered the grandest of the guest rooms--overlooking the Tumbestone River, they were alone. It was not the largest of the rooms, but had the best view. In it was a double bed with four large posters, heavy quilts pulled back, and blue silk canopy. A long footstool was at the base of the bed, neatly folded furs overhanging on one end. Below the large glass window was a long bureau with candles, trays of fruit, meats, cheeses, pastries, and two empty goblets and two pitchers of wine. He headed straight there after the doors closed, pouring himself a generous cup of wine, finishing it, and then pouring a second, more appropriately portioned glass. He placed the pitcher down and stared out the window, his back as rigid as a board.
Across the room was a fireplace, an upholstered sofa had two sleeping robes hanging over the backing of the sofa. A divider sat in the corner of the room, a washbasin beside it, clothes folded beside it.
He had arrived this morning, been accepted and prepared while his maiden offerings had been gathered.
It was almost the middle of the day: and after their “honeymoon” today and tomorrow, he would be planning a war.
The man was silent, brooding over what she could not say: was it the fact his uncle sought to unseat his father? Was it that he was meant to go to war against his own kin? Was it that he was forced to wed a Tully for fifteen thousand men?
Alyssa was surely not worth that.
“Drink some wine, Lady Alyssa.” He said, voice graveled across the room, though he did not turn to look at her as he reached for the pitcher and poured wine into the second glass. She stared at his back for a moment, before slowly crossing the room--the sound of her slippers across the stone floor the only sound in the room. Alyssa came to stand beside him, staring down at the assortment of pickings, but found herself not at all hungry.
He passed the wine glass across the table. She took it--with shockingly steady hands, and took a sip. It was red wine and dryer than Alyssa preferred. She took a second sip when the silence continued, before placing the goblet on the table.
He took a step away from the table, and her breath stopped in her chest again, freezing like a deer. He reaches around her, unclasping the cloak he had placed on her shoulders less than fifteen minutes earlier and tosses it in a heap on the ground. Then he grabs his goblet of wine and walks over to the footstool, sitting with a grunt and putting his wine on the stone floor before unlacing his boots.
Alyssa blinked at him in confusion, watching as his long, calloused fingers tugged at the laces. His hands, skin, and hair was clean and smelt of fresh lye soap. But she thinks that perhaps he is tired--riding overnight to secure her grandfather’s fifteen thousand men must have been exhausting.
“What do you know about beddings, Lady Alyssa?” He asks--though it feels more like a statement the way he says it. He looks up at her for a brief moment, before pulling off his boots and tossing them on the floor, his stockings following them. Then he grabs his glass of wine and takes a long drink, watching her with unmoving eyes.
Alyssa frowned, her mouth pursing as she gnawed on the inside of her mouth. “I know…the general mechanics, My Lord.”
He rolled his eyes and finished the glass, grimacing as he leaned his head back against the end of the bed and grunted. Swallowing, she grabbed the pitcher and slowly walked over to him. He watched her with eyes she could not read, but held his cup out for her to refill.
He sipped again, holding the goblet by the stem and laying the flat rim of the goblet on his thigh. He breathes deeply as he watches her with lidded eyes, and it takes her a moment to realize there were flecks of blue in his lilac eyes.
Was he tired?
“Do you wish…to rest my Lord?” Alyssa asks softly, “Your ride must have been long.”
He raised a single silver brow at her. “You wish to avoid bedding me so badly, hm?” He asks, voice steady.
She frowned. “I did not say that My Lord.” He rolled his eyes and leaned forward, placing the goblet on the ground and reaching for the pitcher of wine.
“Do you not drink wine?” He asks her.
“I do, my Lord.”
“You prefer sweet wine, don’t you?” She hesitated, swallowing before nodding. He stood, towering over her and stepping towards her for a moment as if to read her face. Alyssa stool still so as to not offend him but felt her fingertips tremble.
Then he brushes past her, to the table and grabs her goblet and places the pitcher down. He finishes that wine, and grabs the other pitcher. He poured it into her goblet and then turned back to her and carried it over to her. “It was in the other goblet.” He says quietly standing quite close as he passes her the goblet.
She looked down at the see-through amber liquid, and felt her ears burn.
“Thank you, My Lord.” Alyssa looks up under her lashes and he watches her. She sipped slowly--and while it certainly tasted better, she was unsure if she wanted to drink quite as much as him. She drank half the glass before lowering it.
“Have you eaten, My Lady?” He asks, tilting his head to watch her reaction.
“I am not so hungry, My Lord.” An unsurprised sound slips out of the back of his throat, and he moves to sit again on the foot stool, stretching his body back. Groaning, his eyes fell closed. They remained so for a moment, before he opened them and blinked at the ceiling and turned to face her again.
“Sit with me,” he says, voice monotone. She swallowed, but did as he asked. Her hands held her goblet in her lap, but Alyssa itched to pick at the fabric. “I suppose you are disappointed,” he says calmly, voice detached. “To have not gotten the handsome Prince.” She frowned.
“You are handsome, My Lord.” Her voice is soft but steady, until it wasn’t. “I-I was not expecting to be picked.”
His gaze snaps to hers out of the corner of his eyes, brows narrowed in a frown. It marred his attractive face and he gnashed his teeth.
“Would you have preferred me to pick another?” He asks cooly.
“I did not say that,” Alyssa says not for the first time, cheeks flushing, and unwilling to upset him. “Cass and Liana are regarded as the prettiest of the cousins, my Lord.”
He scoffed and reached down, grabbing his goblet of wine and drinking the rest of his glass of wine. “They have a girl's beauty,” he says quietly. “You have a woman’s.”
He reached out for her goblet and she gave it to him. He placed it on the floor, before slipping to the floor and kneeling before her on one knee. She gasped as he slipped his hand under one of her legs, letting his hand run down the underside of her calf until he caught the rim of her slipper. He tossed it over his shoulder before pulling her silk stocking off in a single tug, then doing the same with her other foot.
Her heart is pounding in her chest and her head feels light in a way it hadn’t before.
Then he stands, staring down at her as he works on the buttons of his doublet. She watched him--transfixed on the stormy expression that encompassed his face. In the sun of the early afternoon his features were plain to see. She swallowed and wished she’d had more wine. Maybe it would stop the stuttering of her heart and calm the tingling in her fingers that suddenly ached to reach out and--
He pulled the doublet off of his body, throwing it down before untucking his tunic, and pulling up and off his skin. Inhaling deeply, she takes in his body. Speckled with small indented pox scars on the top of his chest stemming from his neck, his chest is also freckled from the sun. There was a patch of fine silver hair that began at the center of his chest, dusted across the ridge of his chest and around his nipples. It trailed down his stomach in a line, which was flat and hard with muscle. He did not have a lean body with lithe strength. Instead, his shoulders were broad, his arms thick with strength. He certainly did not have a boy's body.
Swallowing thickly, his left calloused hand cups her chin, lifting her gaze. He stared down at her smugly, the most pleased he had looked in the short time she had met him. “Stand, wife.”
Inhaling deeply, she shifted forward slightly to gather her strength to stand. But he gave her no ground. And so when she does stand, she can feel his breath caress her cheeks. He reached for the ribbons on her side, tugging to loosen her dress. Swallowing as it loosened, she reached behind her with both hands, under the length of her hair to undo the ties there. His nostrils flared and for a moment he reminded her of a dragon ready to breathe fire. Alyssa paused her fingers. “Do you want me to stop, My Lord?” She asks quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Did I tell you too?” The Prince asks incredulously, before clasping the side of her face and pulling her into a kiss that leaves her spinning.
She tugs desperately at the laces as the Prince conquers her mouth, moving like a starved animal. She yields and yields, whining high in her throat when one of his hands laces into her scalp and pulls her away from him, revealing her neck. Heavy heaves brush her neck in his wet breath, his mouth skating over the gooseflesh that explodes across her throat. His teeth scrape across her throat but he does not bite. In fact--he places his nose just below her ear and inhales.
“Fuck,” he growls out. “No,” he says against her throat. “I am not so keen on resting now, when I could have you over and over,” he pressed wet, open mouthed kisses across her jaw and over her chin. “I have a day and a half to learn you, before we ride out to King’s Landing, I plan on spending nearly every moment of it I can between your fucking legs with the comfort of a four poster bed beneath us.”
Her hands dig into the meat of his shoulders, half torn between throwing him away from her and dragging him closer. Her lips felt so suddenly dry and she realized belatedly it was because Alyssa was sucking in air in gasps, making ridiculous noises that were more fit for a whore than the wife of a Prince. “My Lord--” she squeaked out when he pulled at the collar of her dress, and she slipped a bare arm out of the sleeve at his insistence. He did the same with the other, and she felt the dress slide down the thin chemise between her skin and her dress.
“Fuck me,” he growls. “Why do you have so many fucking layers?” His hand reaches behind her again, pulling at the laces which fall just as easily. This time he leans away from her, his pale face red in desire as he pulls down the thin white fabric.
“T-two,” she says stupidly. “I only have two layers on.”
“Two to fucking many,” he bites out, pulling her in for another kiss with one hand while he cups her breast with his other. It fills his large hand and spills over some--and he rolls her nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. Her entire body breaks out in gooseflesh, her skin rioting against the cool air of the afternoon as the sound of their kissing and her gasping fills the room. He crowds her back, pinning her between the bed and frame and his body, her head falling back as he braces them with both hands so as not to crush her and Alyssa blinks up at the man with wide eyes, mouth swollen and slick.
She was bare beneath Maekar--and too distracted by desire for him to care.
Oh, she thought, this is why some people have so many children.
His nostrils were flaring and he looked angry.
“Get on the bed.” He tells her, leaning back and pulling at the laces of his breeches. She swallowed and climbed up onto the bed, scooting not much farther than the edge of it. She could see the outline of his cock before it was even revealed and her mind felt as if it was spinning.
Her knees and ankles close and she pulls them close to her body, hands covering her breasts as he grimaces, dragging his trousers down his stomach, waist, and over his bottom. His cock was dragged down, but slapped upwards and bounced as the trousers reached his thighs. Then he shrugged them off, bending over with a frown.
It was at least the length of her wrist to the very top of her middle finger and her hand would struggle to fit around it--if not perhaps longer.
That was not fitting inside her.
“Lay back,” he orders her, and she looks up at him wide eyed.
“That is not fitting inside me,” she says sharply. He scoffed.
“A babe is far larger than my cock,” he says dryly, using the footstool as a step into the bed. “And a babe is meant to come out the same place my cock is meant to go in,” she went to argue, but he pulled her in for a kiss, palming her other breast with his hand, rolling her nipple between his fingers in a way that made her stomach clench.
“Oh,” Alyssa gasps, as he lets go of her mouth for a moment as he situates himself on one side of her.
“Lay back,” he growled out, “I’m not going to take you without preparing you,” he says gruffly.
Swallowing, Alyssa leaned back, and stilled when he slipped his hand behind her again to cradle the back of her head. Alyssa inhaled sharply as his cock pressed into the side of her hip it was most definitely larger than the length of her hands. How did one prepare for that?
The Prince slipped his thigh between her thighs and pulled her into another kiss, nipping at the bottom of her mouth with a growl as she let her hands wander--one to cup the side of his face and the other tracing the shape of his bicep. He rolled her nipple over and over again, before shifting up and then down to capture her breast in his mouth--suckling the last of her propriety away.
“Oh my Gods,” Alyssa whispers, dragging her knee up against his thigh and around his hip. He shifted his powerful thigh further into her, and her toes curled as she arched her back, head lolling back.
Alyssa feels like she’s on fire--every single piece of her alive and flickering desperately against Maekar. She rocked her hips forward, like she would on a horse and he growled against her breasts, opening his mouth further and taking more of her breast in his mouth. His thigh was wide, every part of him so impossibly wide.
“Slow the fuck down woman,” he growls suddenly, pulling his thigh back.
“Oh!” Alyssa whines, toes curling in frustration. He lifted himself onto his knees, his cock sliding behind their bodies and one hand cupping beneath her arm and he heaved her up like a bag of sand. She let out a shriek, and he rolled his eyes at her.
“I’m not taking you at the bottom of the fucking bed,” she scrambled up on her elbows, and blinked down at their entangled bodies.
“She didn’t say it would feel like this,” she hissed.
“Who?” He asks, mouth curled into a frown.
“My septa,” she says sharply. “She said to close my eyes and think of the realm--”
He looks positively offended at the implication.
“Fucking Andals,” he says disapprovingly. “Open your fucking legs.”
Alyssa did without argument and he settled like he was before, though she chased his mouth this time. He obliged--but only for a few minutes. By the time he takes her teat into his mouth again and rolls it between his thumb and the roof of his mouth, she’s writhing embarrassingly on his thigh again. He does not seem to care, though. She rocked her hips over and over, high, breathy wines spilling from her lips like a prayer. Her blood is on fire in her veins, desire consuming her--until he shifts his thigh away. She has hardly a moment to think before his hand slipped down her stomach and to her woman’s place--and the slick sound of his fingers parting her folds is humiliatingly loud. Her breath stops in her chest but he moans against her breast.
He touches her gently but firmly, rubbing insistently at the small nub of skin just within her folds. She moaned instantly, her leg opening to give Maekar more room as she rocked into his hand. He pressed his tongue flat against her nipple before rubbing against it over and over.
She stared up at the blue silk of the canopy, her brows furrowed as she panted trying everything in her might to focus, one of her hands reaching down the length of his back to find any purchase while her other hand buried itself in the sheets above her head.
“I’m ready,” she pants desperately, and he has the audacity to laugh at her.
“No,” he says, looking up at her with smug eyes. “You’re not,” he shifted his hand and sank his middle finger inside of her, his thumb rubbing in circles against her. Her head fell back and he pressed kisses all over her ribs before latching onto the curve of her breast with renewed vigor, sucking bruises into her skin.
“Y-your Grace,” Alyssa whines, her vision spotting and cunt clenching around his thick finger. He released her breast with a pop.
“Maekar,” he growls. “When abed, you will call me Maekar.”
She whined, turning her face away as her hips arched up and into his hand. “Maekar, please, please, pl--” He added his ring finger and her leg rose, hooking her heel behind his thigh and pulling Maekar closer. Her stomach vibrates as he growls, his hand gripping her skull and yanking back.
“When this fucking war is over, you will be abed for weeks,” he vows, voice barely above a growl. “I will take you in every room in Summerhall, in every fucking bed, fill you with my seed over and over--”
Her vision goes white and her ears ring, her cunt seizing on his fingers so hard he struggles against her, but still manages to curl them and rub.
“Maekar,” Alyssa gasps, toes curling and face twisting in miserable delight, her leg hiking higher and higher, until her knee almost rises above his shoulders.
The pulsing drags on as he rubs and rubs and rubs, and tension leaks out of her like a broken damn.
She’s practically limp beside Maekar by the time he stops rubbing, her breath coming in pants still.
He withdraws his hand and she looks down at the glistening of his fingers. He doesn’t seem to notice as he places his hand on the bed for purchase. She swallows as he releases her head and sits up, looking down at her. His brow is still furrowed, his mouth still turned upside down. His cock is nestled against his belly, bobbing with every shift he makes. When the hand he used to touch her with grabs her hip and shifts her over, she opens her legs to fit him.
He was breathing heavily, but not nearly as fast as she was, his jaw tense. He licked his lips and she wondered how much time had passed since they began. Had it been five minutes, fifty minutes? Five hours? “Pull your knees to your chest,” he says gruffly, suddenly quieter. She swallowed, but did as he instructed, his thumb rubbing slowly at the spot that had made her see stars. He bared his teeth as he gripped his cock, rubbing the soft, warm tip against her opening. He presses once firmly and the pressure makes her stomach surge and cunt clench around the larger appendage than his fingers, and she gnaws at her bottom lip as he pulls back, breathing sharply though his nose. “Don’t do that,” he said sharply. Her brows furrow, lashes fluttering as he pressed his thumb down for a moment before resuming stuttered circles. The next rock of his hips has her gasping, clenching with a wince as his hand grips her thigh tightly. “Woman,” he hissed.
“I can’t help it,” Alyssa pants back, cheeks flushed.
He sank in further, pulling one of her legs over his shoulder, the other pressed to the side. He is tense, lines forming on the planes of his stomach. His jaw was clenched as he sank in further. The pressure gave way and her nose wrinkles as her teeth bite down harder on her bottom lip, but his thumb rubs more insistently in circles again and she sighs, tension leaking from her body as Alyssa relaxes against the intrusion. Alyssa’s eyes flicker up to the Prince's face, but his eyes are far more absorbed on watching his cock sink into her.
He is silent as he presses further, though his jaw is clenched so tightly she thinks he might shatter his teeth. He is so beautiful she is transfixed, but confusion takes her when he pulls back and out, and then moans. His cock swings up towards his belly again--and there are streaks of blood coating the underside of his cock.
Her maidenhead.
“I told you it would fit,” he says slowly, before shifting down and dragging his cock against the sheets of the bed. And then she remembers--their sheets would be displayed.
He slips her leg off of his shoulder, around his hip and then leaned forward over her. He covered her body with his own, the weight of Maekar bearing down on her, and then he took her mouth again. But when he sinks into her again, he looks down and watches as his cock disappears into her. This time--his hips rocked and did not stop.
His mouth latched onto the curve of her neck, worrying the skin with his tongue over and over as she gripped onto him for purchase, his body caging her down flat against the bed. His hips worked in slow, consistent rolls and her eyes flicker up at the blue silk canopy again. The slide is pleasant, not as overwhelming as before and the pressure lessons with every push until he begins pressing more firmly. Every time he bore down her breath came airily, high pitched, not nearly as wanton as before but the pressure against the place he had worried with his thumb left her curling her toes. His skin was slick but so was hers, and her legs glide across his side as Alyssa shifts her legs, desiring more of his weight to press against her.
Maekar groaned against her neck, one of his hands ran through the front of her hair, gentle and soft as he cups the top of her head. For a moment his hand stayed there, still, and then he shifted back, his nose bumping against her chin and dragging up the side of her cheek and he sank his hand into her hair. Maekar nipped at her cheek and she let out a squeak he smothered with his mouth.
The act was--far more physical than she expected, far more messy, and far more intimate.
His mouth is insistent and she struggles to match his pace as his hips quicken, the wet sound of their love-making setting her skin to gooseflesh. His throat vibrates, and a low growling sound vibrates against her mouth before he leans away just a hair. “Is there any pain?” He asks her, voice so low it takes her a moment to understand what the Prince had said.
She opened her mouth to respond, but found herself too nervous to speak. Alyssa shook her head instead. He grunted and shifted his weight again to loom over her, his breath faster than before, but much more controlled than her own. His breath fans across her face as he watches her closely.
In the light of day--it felt obscene, the way his violet eyes watched her under narrowed brows. Alyssa could see every twitch of his face, the way his tongue moved behind his parted lips, the way his nostrils flared and eyes lowered to her mouth when her voice went high, the way his eyes would then flicker up to her blue eyes. The entire time: his hips rolled and rolled, steady, insistent, and unnerving. It was so clearly so pleasant and yet not enough.
Alyssa wanted Maekar to move faster--the pace and the way he looked at her tiptoeing the line between anxiety and madness and unrestrained desire. She did not trust her voice nor was she bold enough to ask for more now that her senses had returned to her.
It was so pleasant, she felt so full, so warm, and she liked the weight of his body over her and liked the way it felt when he dragged his cock from her to press back in. But the way he looked at her was unnerving, though Alyssa could not look away from him.
Her bottom lip began to tremble as the press of his hips began to make her belly tense and his brows narrowed sharply as she clenched--chasing the feeling. She thinks he mislikes it and struggles to stop but finds her body will not listen to her mind.
He bore his weight on the arm of the hand he held her hair with, her neck arching to follow Maekar as he grabbed her leg tucked against his side and pressed her leg open, hand gripping her thigh in a way that made her tense. Alyssa lets out a startled noise--only to have a loud moan ripped from the back of her throat on the first roll of his hips in this position.
Her vision narrows as her cunt opens and takes him, the wet sound embarrassingly loud--but the drag of his hips leaving her writhing.
“Maekar,” Alyssa gasped, nails dragging down to grab the meat of his hip.
He let out a snarl--and the roll of his hips dissolved into rutting, like she had before on his thigh. The drag and fill of his cock, the rub of his pelvis on hers, the feeling of his weight on her body, and the animalistic sounds he made--she dissolved into a peak that left her entire body tensing under the crushing wave of his ruts. She wailed under the onslaught of pleasure that rolled over her again and again.
“Fuck,” he barked out, releasing her hair immediately to dig his hands into the mattress beneath them and laying himself flat along her body, hips snapping over and over, and over as she felt her cunt and belly pulsate slower around his cock as the overwhelming pleasure weaned. He stilled above her, hissing through clenched teeth.
She blinked up at him, her entire body going slack under Maekar and she watched as he struggled to steady his hard breathing. Prince Maekar's eyes were closed, his mouth twisted into a frown. He lowered himself slowly and slid off of the side of her and onto his back. Her cunt was wet--and leaking. On instinct, Alyssa closed her legs and stared up at the canopy, before looking over shyly, the cool air of the room suddenly hitting her. She was wedded and bedded.
His face was the most relaxed she had seen it in the last--hour? Two? Or was it less than that? His eyes were closed, mouth open as his breathing steadied and slowed. She sat up slowly, and his eyes opened, snapping to her figure.
“Where are you going?” He asks, voice harsh.
Alyssa blinked at him. “No where, My Lord,” her voice was strangely low, and instead she sat up, and then on her knees to reach for the blanket shucked down at the end of the bed. She pulled it up and when she turned back, he was resting on a single elbow. He looked down at what she was doing and seemed to not disapprove, and shifted up the bed, resting his back on the pillows that they hadn’t managed to make it too.
She pulled the blanket up with her, and his hand splayed at the bottom of her back, angling her to return to him. He tugged her closer when she left distance between them. “Woman,” he grumbled, shifting over to close the small distance left.
“Have you forgotten my name?” Alyssa asks, only half serious.
He scowled. “It is too soon for my seed to catch, Alyssa," his voice low and burning. "So I can only guess that you are not so quiet and dutiful as you appear.” He relaxed against the pillows and closed his eyes. She laid her chin on his chest, shifting with every raise and fall of his chest.
“Does duty require silence, my Lord?” She asks. His chest lurches with a silent laugh, one that does not reach his mouth. But his hand rises to her upper back, resting still. Alyssa could feel the coolness of the metal of his ring against her shoulder blade. His breathing slowed and the rest of the tension leeching from his body. “Are you going to rest now, my Lord?”
He did not answer, because he was already asleep.