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Summary
It pleased him that their first kiss was filled with the metallic taste of the other’s blood.
It pleased him to know the taste of her in this way.
He wanted to know the taste of her in every way. He would greedily drink saliva from her mouth, release from her cunt, perspiration from her skin, milk from her breast—and this, blood, was no exception.
If she had a wound, his tongue would happily lave at it as if it were her folds, unwilling to waste the flavor that wept from her, for no matter the source, it would belong to him, her husband.
And in return, she was his. His niece. His queen. His love. Only ever to be shared with his heirs, while they grew inside of her.
Or, she no longer waits for him in her rooms — why would she, when she now belongs in his bed?
Series
- Part 2 of incendium