Chapter 210: Chapter-210

Elara tightened her grip on his hair, pulling his head back slightly until he was looking up at her again. “You will service me. Thoroughly. Without hesitation. Without stopping until I tell you to stop. If you displease me, you’ll regret it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mahir said, voice barely above a whisper.

Her hand tightened painfully. “Louder.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

“Good.” She released his hair, spreading her legs wider. “Now eat me.”

Mahir dove forward like a man starving.

His mouth was hot and eager against her, tongue immediately finding her clit with practiced skill. Elara gasped sharply, hips jerking forward into his face. Her hand returned to his hair, gripping hard enough to hurt, using him to grind against exactly where she needed.

He groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her core. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider, holding her open for his assault. Tongue working relentlessly—circles, then licks, then sucking, then back to circles. No hesitation, no uncertainty. Just desperate, devoted service.

Elara’s other hand went to his head as well, both fists tangled in his hair now, holding him in place as she rode his face. Her hips moved in sharp, demanding thrusts, setting the rhythm she wanted. Using his mouth exactly how she needed.

“Faster,” she ordered.

He obeyed instantly, pace increasing, tongue working harder, more desperately. He was panting against her now, struggling to breathe but not daring to pull away.

’Slap.’

The sound was muffled against her thigh. Mahir whimpered but didn’t stop.

“Harder,” Elara demanded.

He redoubled his efforts, sucking her clit into his mouth, tongue flicking rapidly. One hand slid up her thigh, finger circling her entrance before pushing inside. Then two fingers, curling exactly right.

Elara’s back arched. The pleasure was sharp, intense, building fast. Her magic responded immediately, pressure releasing through the contact, flowing into him through the collar bond. Not the violent discharge of a crisis episode—just steady, controlled venting. Exactly what she needed.

“Yes,” she hissed, grinding harder against his face. “Like that. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

Mahir moaned against her, fingers thrusting in time with his tongue. His face was soaked with her, cheeks glistening, but he didn’t care. Didn’t slow. Just served.

Elara’s control was fraying now, pleasure coiling tight in her belly. She slapped him again—hard across the cheek, leaving a fresh handprint. “Mine,” she snarled. “You exist for ’this’. To serve ’me’. Say it.”

He pulled back just enough to gasp the words, lips shiny with her arousal. “I exist to serve Your Highness. Only Your Highness.”

“Good boy.” Her grip tightened, yanking him back to her core. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

The orgasm hit her like a wave, magic discharging in a bright flare through the collar bond. Elara cried out, back arching, thighs clamping around his head as pleasure ripped through her. Her magic poured into him—steady, controlled, ’safe’.

Mahir groaned through it, taking everything she gave without complaint.

When the tremors finally faded, Elara released his hair. He stayed where he was, panting against her thigh, face flushed and marked, eyes dazed.

“Clean,” she ordered.

He obeyed immediately, tongue gentle now, lapping softly at the mess between her legs. Thorough. Methodical. Ensuring she was satisfied.

Elara watched him with cold eyes, hand idly stroking his hair now instead of pulling. Possessive. Appreciative.

When he finished, she patted his cheek—gently this time, right over one of the red handprints.

“Up,” she said.

Mahir rose unsteadily to his feet. His trousers were visibly tight, arousal obvious, but he made no move to address it. Just stood there, awaiting orders.

Elara looked him up and down appraisingly. “Strip the rest. Then kneel.”

He obeyed without hesitation.

Naked now, kneeling before her again, collar glowing faintly at his throat.

Elara stood, walking around him slowly. Inspecting. Her fingers trailed across his shoulders, down his back, possessive touch making him shiver.

“You did well,” she said finally. “Adequate service.”

Mahir exhaled shakily. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Elara watched Mahir dress with cold eyes, but when he reached for his shirt, her hand shot out.

“Stop.”

He froze, shirt half-lifted. Looked at her.

“You’re not finished,” she said flatly.

Mahir’s eyes widened. “Your Highness, I—I cleaned you. I thought—”

’Slap.’

The sound cracked sharply. His head snapped sideways again, the fresh slap overlapping the old handprint.

“You don’t ’think’,” Elara said icily. “You obey. You serve. You wait for orders. Understood?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mahir said immediately, voice hoarse.

She grabbed his wrist—the one holding the shirt—and yanked it down. “Kneel.”

He dropped instantly, knees hitting carpet. Naked from the waist up, collar glowing at his throat, eyes locked on hers.

Elara stood, circling him slowly. Her fingers trailed across his shoulders, nails dragging just hard enough to leave faint red lines. “You exist for my pleasure,” she said. “My relief. My control. Your body is mine to use. Your magic is mine to drain. Your obedience is mine to demand. Repeat it.”

“I exist for Your Highness’s pleasure,” Mahir said immediately. “My body is Yours to use. My magic is Yours to drain. My obedience is Yours to demand.”

“Good.” She stopped in front of him. Grabbed his chin roughly, forcing his head back so he had to look up at her. “You were adequate with your mouth. Now prove you can take what I give you.”

Mahir swallowed hard. “Your Highness—”

’Slap.’

“Bed. On your back. Now.”

He scrambled up and obeyed, lying back on her bed, hands at his sides, chest rising and falling rapidly. His arousal was obvious, straining against his trousers, but he didn’t touch himself. Didn’t dare.

Elara climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips. She ground down once, deliberately, feeling him twitch beneath her. Watching his face flush deeper, hearing him bite back a groan.

She leaned forward, hands planted on either side of his head, hair falling around them like a curtain. “You don’t move,” she ordered. “You don’t speak. You take what I give you. Understood?”

Mahir nodded, eyes dark and desperate.

Elara reached between them, unfastened his trousers with efficient movements. Freed him. He was hard, flushed, leaking already. She wrapped her hand around him—firm, possessive grip.

Mahir’s back arched. His hands clenched in the sheets. But he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

“Good,” she said, and sank down onto him.

The stretch burned beautifully. Elara gasped, head falling forward as her body adjusted. Mahir made a choked sound beneath her but kept still, trembling with the effort.

She didn’t give him time to adjust.

Rose up and slammed back down. Hard. Setting a punishing rhythm immediately. Using him exactly like she needed—deep, fast, relentless.

Mahir’s hands stayed fisted in the sheets. His chest heaved. Sweat beaded on his skin. Every thrust pulled desperate sounds from his throat, but he didn’t beg. Didn’t plead. Just took it.

Elara’s hands went to his chest, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. “Mine,” she snarled, riding him faster. “You take it because you’re ’mine’.”

“Yes—Your Highness—” The words were gasped between thrusts.

’Slap.’

Across his chest this time. Red handprint blooming on his skin.

“No speaking.”

Mahir bit his lip bloody, nodding frantically.

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