Twisted-Games

my clit and thrusting his tongue inside me until my vision went hazy. I
writhed and whimpered, sliding halfway off the throne until my legs on his
shoulders and his crushing grip on my hips were the only things keeping me
from collapsing.
Too much. Not enough. Everywhere. More.
I couldn’t think straight.
My moans echoed in the room, bouncing off the tapestries and portraits of
previous kings and queens, all of whom glared at me disapprovingly while
my bodyguard tongue fucked me into oblivion on the throne.
He sucked hard on my clit, and I yelped at the overload of sensation. I
tried to pull away, but Rhys’s hands clamped around my thighs like iron
bands, forcing me to hold still until my body convulsed and came apart.
Before I could gather myself back together, he was up and inside me, his
big body shielding me from sight should anyone walk in and his cock driving
into me forcefully enough to send the chair inching back with each thrust.
So wrong. This was so wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to care as Rhys
grabbed my ankles and placed my legs on his shoulders again, bending me
nearly in half.
“Now this is how a queen should be treated,” he said, his eyes dark and
ravenous as they dropped from my face to where his cock pumped in and out
of me. “Don’t you agree?”
“Mmph ungh.” I moaned something unintelligible, unable to speak. To
think.
I was pure sensation, fire inside and out, and the last coherent thought I
had before another volcano erupted and melted me into nothing was,
sometimes, it’s good to be queen.