Sable and Sin: A Queen's Embrace
Read the storyGareth closes the space between us, and kisses me with a longing that trembles on the edge of restraint, and a wistfulness that speaks of all the things we cannot say aloud. My hands wrapped to the back of his neck, and his, around my waist. He undo my corset slowly, the clothes becoming looser and looser. Our attire fall heavily to the ground, one by one until we are bare before each other. I run my fingers through his sable, wavy hair, careful of the twisted horns that mark him as both dangerous and impossibly mine. His lips press gently to my temple, then to my cheek, and I feel the weight of all the unspoken words between us—the promises, the fears, the futures we might never have. Gareth and I laid out on the soft rug of fur by the fireplace that crackles softly. I straddled just his waist unsure of how to do this. Unsure of how or what pleases him, but the flares in his eyes says I was on the right path. “Gareth—” He slowly guided my waist as a little practice, his fingers indenting into my skin. “Just like that, my queen,” he moaned. Eagerly, I settled my melting core over his hard cock, pressing down slowly. Inch. By. Inch. I hissed from the painful pleasure while Gareth tried to maintain composure, our eyes locked on each other. I began to grind him, circling my hips on him, moaning softly with each full circle. Gareth guided my movement faster, thrusting occasionally as he couldn’t help himself. “Impatient, are we?” I breathed. A sharp gasp escaped from me when suddenly he changes the position to me on my back, and him waist down deep inside. He rolled his hips into me, teasingly slow. “Very.” The pit of my stomach tightened and coiled with ardor. “Oh, Gareth!” I breathed hard, clawing at his skin. “I feel… I might…” He pulls away to push my knees down, and drives deeper, hitting the sweet spot of my clit. I puffed at the sensual friction, at the sight of this beautiful monster making salacious love to me. “Come when you’re ready,” he grunts. “I’m almost there, too.” “Can’t you go faster?” I gasped a laugh. He entangled his hand into my hair, a grip of pleasure, then angled my head for a deep kiss. Gareth tasted like Festive Day on a soft, snowy night—cinnamon and firewood, warmth and memory wrapped into one. I leaned closer, breathing him in, letting the familiarity of him anchor me even as the hour pressed against my chest. “Don’t coax me, Queen,” he growled deviously against my lips. But he returned my request with faster thrusts, his