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Summary
Rhaenyra doesn’t want much, not really. Just a few things: the weight of Daemon’s arm slung low across her hips, the weight of his hand on her belly, the weight of his (soft, wonderful) cock against her thigh. She’s getting what she wants, too, or most of it, and she can’t complain.
But Daemon still hasn’t let her touch him the way he touches her. She thinks she can guess why; she’s been on top of him, kissing him, pulling his hair and digging her nails into the back of his neck the way she knows he likes, grinding down on his lap like her life depends on it, and he’ll stay soft even as she’s soaking wet, drooling for him even before he gets his hands or his mouth on her. But she’s felt him hard too, and she has a rough idea of the size of him—does he think that will scare her away? It won’t.
Series
- Part 3 of the outfield