Chapter 171: Chapter-171

Heena looked at him and pulled his chin with one hand, bringing his face down to hers as their lips touched. She started kissing him passionately, deeply, making his breath catch. Larus’s face turned bright red, his eyes widening in surprise before fluttering closed.

But soon he was lost in the flow of it, kissing her back with growing confidence, his arms wrapping around her waist.

They didn’t even remember how they got out of the bathroom.

The distance from the bathing chamber to the bedroom should have been long—through the sitting room, past the dressing area, across the marble floors.

But somehow they were just… there.

Standing by the bed, no robes on either of them anymore, skin still damp from the bath, breathless and flushed.

Larus ended up on the bed somehow—pulled down or falling back, neither could recall—lying against the silk sheets, his wheat-gold hair spread around his head, his face absolutely crimson.

Heena climbed over him, straddling his hips, one knee on the bed while her other leg was positioned differently, looking down at him with an expression that was both hungry and tender.

Larus stared up at her, his eyes wide, his breath coming in short gasps. His hands came to rest uncertainly on her thighs, trembling slightly.

“Your Majesty,” he whispered, the title escaping him without thought. “I—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, too overwhelmed, too nervous, too completely undone by the moment and by her.

Heena smiled down at him—not her cold imperial smile, not her calculating political smile, but something warm and genuine and full of affection.

She reached between them, wrapped her experienced hand around his already-hard cock, and stroked him once, twice—slow, firm, knowing exactly how to make his hips twitch. Larus bit his lip, a tiny, shy groan slipping out, but he didn’t speak again. Just watched her with those wide, reverent eyes.

Heena lifted her hips, positioned the flushed head of him against her slick entrance, and sank down—inch by slow, deliberate inch—until he was fully sheathed inside her.

Larus’s back arched clean off the bed. A broken, helpless moan tore from his throat. “Your… Majesty…”

The words hit Heena like a spark to dry tinder.

In a single heartbeat her mind cleared—crystal-sharp, ice-cold, perfectly focused. ’This is who he is calling. This is who I am.’ Not a woman in love. Not a wife softening. The Empress. The ruler. The one who owned him completely.

The clarity flooded her veins like power.

She began to move—slow at first, rolling her hips in deep, languid circles that dragged him against every sensitive spot inside her. Her walls clenched around him deliberately, milking him with practiced skill while she watched his face.

Larus’s hands tightened on her thighs, trembling harder. Another low groan, shy and raw. “Your Majesty…” he gasped, voice cracking.

The title hit again. Her mind sharpened even further. Passion flared hotter, wilder. She braced one hand on his chest, nails digging in just enough to leave faint red lines, and started riding him with more force—still controlled, but deeper, harder, the wet sound of their bodies meeting filling the room.

Larus’s head fell back against the pillows. His mouth opened on a long, shuddering moan, eyes half-lidded and glassy. “Your Majesty—ah—Your Majesty…”

Every time he said it, the effect on Heena was instantaneous. Clarity. Control. Hunger. She grew slightly rougher—hips snapping down with sharper snaps, one hand sliding up to pin his wrists above his head against the silk sheets. She leaned over him, breasts brushing his chest, and rode him like she was claiming territory.

Larus couldn’t form full sentences. He never could in this state—too shy, too overwhelmed, too lost in the pleasure only she could give. Just broken moans and groans and that single reverent title spilling from his lips like a prayer.

“Your Majesty… Your Majesty…” he whimpered, hips jerking up instinctively before he forced them still again, remembering he was meant to take whatever she gave.

Heena’s breath hitched at the sound. The title kept striking her mind like a hammer on steel—reminding her exactly who she was, exactly who he belonged to. She became fiercer, riding him faster, grinding down on every thrust so the base of his cock rubbed perfectly against her clit. Her free hand reached back to cup and roll his balls gently, then squeezed just enough to make him cry out.

Larus’s entire body trembled beneath her. A desperate, shy groan tore free. “Your Majesty—please—Your Majesty—”

The words ignited her again. Clarity burned brighter. She released his wrists only to grip his hips instead, holding him down so she could take him even deeper, rougher, using his body with the confident skill of someone who had done this a hundred times before while he had done it none.

His moans turned into soft, overwhelmed sobs of pleasure—still shy, still barely more than her title and raw sound. “Your Majesty… ah—Your Majesty…”

Heena’s own climax coiled tight and vicious. She rode him mercilessly now, walls fluttering and clenching around him on every downstroke, chasing her pleasure while never once letting him forget who ruled this moment.

“Come for your Empress,” she commanded, voice low and rough. “Now.”

Larus obeyed instantly—back bowing, a choked, broken cry of “Your Majesty—!” ripping from his throat as he spilled deep inside her in hot, pulsing waves.

The feeling of him coming undone beneath her, the way he moaned nothing but her title even at the peak, slammed Heena over the edge right after him. She clenched around him hard, riding him through every shuddering pulse until her own pleasure crashed white-hot and perfect.

She slowed only when his tremors finally eased, collapsing forward to rest her forehead against his. Their chests heaved together, skin slick, bodies still joined.

Larus’s arms came up shakily, wrapping around her waist—not holding her down, just clinging like she was the center of his world. He pressed one shy, trembling kiss to her shoulder and whispered, barely audible:

“Your Majesty…”

.

.

.

At dawn

Heena looked at Larus sleeping beside her. She was sitting up now, the silk sheets pooled around her waist, watching his peaceful face in the dim candlelight.

He looked exhausted. Well, he ’should’ be—Heena’s body was literally strong enough that even five trained soldiers couldn’t defeat her in combat. And on top of that, the original Celeste had been physically powerful from birth, her bloodline gifted with enhanced strength and stamina.

Poor Larus had done his best, but he’d been completely overwhelmed.

She looked toward the window, carefully extracting Larus’s arm from around her body without waking him, and walked naked across the room to stand by the glass.

She reached into a hidden compartment in the window frame and pulled out a cigarette—one of the few modern conveniences she’d managed to recreate in this world using local herbs.

Heena ’hated’ smoking. Genuinely despised it.

She looked at the cigarette with a sneer as she lit it with a small flame from a candle. If her parents from her original world were here right now, they would have slapped her. Her mother would have beaten her senseless for even ’thinking’ about smoking.

Heena wasn’t a smoker. Never had been, not really. But whenever her mind was in too much chaos, whenever she needed complete peace to think clearly, she allowed herself one. Just one.

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