Chapter 134: Chapter 135: we won

Elara’s pov

I screamed his name, my inner walls clamping down viciously on his fingers, rippling and fluttering as I rode out the convulsions. He didn’t stop; he worked me through it, prolonging the ecstasy until I was a quivering, sobbing wreck, my body slick with sweat and completely boneless.

Only when the last aftershock faded and I lay gasping for air did he pull away, his face glistening with my essence. He rose up over me, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a raw, primal need that scared and thrilled me in equal measure. He stripped off his remaining clothes with frantic haste, and when his cock sprang free, heavy, thick, and angrily flushed with blood, my breath hitched. He was magnificent, a weapon of a man poised to strike.

He didn’t ask for permission this time. He hooked his arms under my knees, spreading me wide, folding me nearly in half as he settled the heavy, blunt head of his cock against my soaking entrance. The stretch was immediate, a burning, exquisite friction as he pushed forward, forcing my body to accommodate his thick length. I gasped, my nails scoring his shoulders, my eyes rolling back as he filled me inch by inch, possession radiating from every tense muscle in his body. He seated himself to the hilt, his hips flush against mine, and held himself there, letting me feel every pulse and throb of him inside me. “You’re tight,” he gritted out, his voice ragged. “So fucking wet for me, Elara. Dripping down my cock.”

Then he began to move, and all thoughts of tenderness vanished. He withdrew almost all the way, the ridge of his head catching on my sensitive rim, before slamming back into me with a force that stole the air from my lungs. He set a punishing rhythm, his strokes long and deep, hammering into me with a raw, primal need that bordered on violence. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a wet, rhythmic cadence that was obscenely loud in the quiet palace. I met him thrust for thrust, my hips rising to meet his, desperate for more. The angle allowed him to grind against my clit with every downward stroke, sending sparks of electricity shooting up my spine until I was mindless, moaning his name like a prayer. “Harder,” I begged, the word tearing from my throat. “Don’t stop. Just like that.”

He growled, a low, vibrating sound that I felt in my chest, and obeyed. He released one of my legs to grip the headboard, using the leverage to drive into me with even greater force, the bed frame slamming against the wall with every thrust. The pleasure was coiling tight in my belly, a hot, heavy knot that threatened to snap. He watched me through heavy-lidded eyes, his gaze locked on my face as he fell apart, sweat beading on his brow. “Come for me, wife,” he commanded, his voice rough with dark triumph. “Come all over my cock.” He reached between us, his fingers finding my swollen clit and rubbing it in tight, harsh circles that matched the erratic rhythm of his hips. That was all it took. The world shattered, my vision whiting out as a scream tore from my throat, my inner walls clamping down on him like a vice, rippling around his length as wave after wave of ecstasy drowned me.

The sheer force of my climax triggered his own undoing. With a guttural roar that sounded more animal than man, he drove into me one final time, burying himself impossibly deep as his cock began to pulse violently. I could feel the hot, thick spurts of his cum coating my insides, marking me in the most primal way possible, filling me up until I was overflowing with him. He shuddered above me, his entire body taut as a bowstring, his grip on my hips bruising as he rode out the waves of his release, grinding his pelvis against mine to ensure he didn’t waste a single drop. We stayed locked together like that for a long moment, our bodies trembling in the aftermath, the only sounds in the room our ragged breathing and the frantic pounding of our hearts gradually slowing down.

Slowly, the tension drained out of him, leaving him heavy and sated against me. He didn’t collapse entirely but shifted his weight to his elbows, framing my face with his forearms to keep from crushing me or the child. He pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes closed as he inhaled deeply, as if trying to memorize the scent of sex and sweat and skin that filled the air. I reached up, my fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until our breaths mingled. It was intimate in a way that went beyond the physical act—a silent acknowledgment that the lines between us had been irrevocably blurred. There was no assassin and no queen anymore; there was just a man and his wife, tangled in the sheets, bound by blood and pleasure and something far more dangerous.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words raw and hoarse, spoken against my lips like a vow. He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, his gaze searching mine, stripped of all defenses. It wasn’t just a declaration; it was a surrender. He was letting me see the parts of him he kept hidden from the world, the vulnerability, the fierce devotion, the terrified hope that this wasn’t a dream. I smiled, a slow, weary expression that reached all the way to my soul, and pulled him down for a kiss. This one was soft, unhurried, and achingly sweet, a gentle contrast to the ferocity of our lovemaking. When he finally settled beside me, pulling me into the curve of his body so that my back was pressed against his chest, I knew the war outside was still waiting, but in here, in the quiet dark, we had already won.

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