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The faint strains of “The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown” and ribald calls from the celebratory crowd filter through the door to Rhaenyra’s bedchamber as Daemon swings it shut behind them. There has been no bedding ceremony – he’d threatened an intimate encounter with Dark Sister for any man who laid a hand on his bride, and whether it had been due more to fear that he’d be given cause to make good on his words or Viserys’s own aversion to seeing Rhaenyra publicly stripped, the King had swiftly agreed – so it’s left to them to disrobe each other of their wedding finery.
He wishes he could say their attire fares the better for it, but in truth their haste once finally alone is too great for care. She all but rips his doublet from him. He attempts to be more conscientious with her gown, but loses patience when he searches for the lacing and finds she has instead been sewn into it.
When they are both stripped bare, he takes a moment just to take her in. The sight of her, lithe and perfect with the warm firelight painting golden highlights on her fair skin, makes his breath catch.
Odd that it should feel so momentous. Daemon is, by now, no stranger to his niece’s naked form. These past moons he’s made himself familiar with every curve of her body and sound of her pleasure over a hundred clandestine hours in and out of his bed, stopping short only of taking her maidenhood. Yet it is different, to be looking on his wife. To know that they are bound in the eyes of gods and men, that he can have her freely, that none can ever again deny or impede his claim to her.
Rhaenyra’s eyes rake over him in turn, eager and ravenous, and she reaches out to pull him close. “Want you inside,” she demands.
He slips a hand between her thighs, cupping her mound and petting her slick lips as he presses the pad of one finger into the seam of her. “Like this?”
“Uncle,” she whines. “Stop teasing. You know what I meant!”
“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” Daemon laughs. “Patience, you’ll get what you want. But I have to prepare you first.”
While there is every chance that years of dragon riding may have already torn her maidenhead, it does not change the fact that her body is yet untried. He is not a small man, and she will not be able to accommodate him easily; the vice grip of her muscles around just one of his fingers proves the truth of that. If he wants Rhaenyra to feel only pleasure in his bed, he cannot afford to rush – no matter how she baits him nor how his cock throbs with impatience.
He leans in to suck her pouting lower lip between his, and she moans into his mouth as he walks her backwards until her knees hit the edge of the bed.
He lifts her onto the mattress and she scoots back until she can recline against the pillows. She stretches performatively as she makes herself comfortable, arching her back to emphasize the swell of her breasts and spreading her legs to expose her glistening sex to his gaze. He knows the display to be a deliberate provocation, but finds himself unable to resist all the same.
On hands and knees he stalks towards her, caging her body beneath his. He tangles a hand in her hair and tilts her head back, sucking kisses into the exposed curve of her neck. Her body writhes beneath him as his attention moves downward to her breasts. Her hands clutch at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, and he breaks away with a smirk.
She moans when he pushes his first finger back into her, the sound echoed by his own low groan at the lush wetness so readily sucking him in, and in no time she’s begging for more. Her breath hitches at the second, muscles offering more resistance. He brings his thumb around to stroke her pearl before he adds another, her tight walls gradually softening as she shivers with the pleasure of it.
He works her up until she comes around the stretch of three fingers, and only as her cunt flutters with the aftershocks does he pull them free to ease his cock in.
Even so, her eyes go wide and watery. She bites down on her lip to stifle a shout, too brave and determined to cry aloud.
Daemon stills as soon as he’s fully seated in her. Strokes her hair and peppers light kisses over her face while he waits for her to adjust.
It’s torture to hold back from thrusting when she’s so tight around him, and lush and hot as only the blood of the dragon can be. But though patience has never been counted among his virtues, he’ll be damned if he hurts Rhaenyra.
He dips his head to suck her abused lower lip between his, soothing away the indentations of her teeth as he swallows her labored breaths.
“That’s my fearless little dragon,” he encourages as she starts to roll her hips, flexing experimentally around him. “Ñuha azantys.” My warrior.
He holds himself in check still, letting her explore at her own pace. But apparently that’s not enough for her. “Move,” she demands.
“Rhaenyra, are you sure?” he questions, for there’s still strain written in the lines of her face.
But she brushes off his concern with a fierce disavowal. “I like the burn.”
“Fuck!” Daemon can’t contain the curse that spills from his lips, his hips bucking before he can make the conscious decision to let them. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Rhaenyra just regards him with a satisfied little smile and locks her legs around his waist to hold on for the ride.
He groans as she arches up to meet him. “There, just like that, Princess. You’re taking me so well.”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Give it to me. I want to give you everything.”
She squirms beneath him, wet and tight and fucking perfect, and nothing has ever felt so good as the way she fits him. The niece who’s always held his heart, the Valyrian bride he’s always wanted, his sweet little wife, his at last. His to cherish and protect, his to keep well-pleasured and full with his seed. “I swear you were made just for me,” he hisses in satisfaction. “This is what you were born for: my cock in your cunt, my babes in your belly.”
“No,” Rhaenyra counters, smirking up at him. “This is what you were born for, Uncle. To serve your house, to serve your future queen. To give me pureblooded Targaryen heirs.”
“Is that what you want?” Daemon growls, her insinuations driving him mad with lust. “You want me to fuck an heir into you?”
Her breath catches. “Kostilus, valzȳrys.” Please, husband.
Her breathy plea very nearly makes him spill on the spot. He seizes hold of her hips, stilling her a minute while he regains control of himself, and then drives into her harder than before.
She grips him tight each time he bottoms out, clenching around him like she’s trying to milk him.
“Greedy girl,” he accuses fondly. “Perfect Targaryen bride, so eager to carry her uncle’s seed.”
“What of it? It’s mine.” Rhaenyra attaches her mouth to his neck, sucking possessive marks into his skin. “Is it greed to want my due?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t give it to you, if you’re going to be so demanding.” He taunts her by pulling out momentarily. “You would look quite comely with my spend painting your belly and your pretty tits.”
His teasing is rewarded with her shriek, indignant and aggrieved. “Uncle! You wouldn’t dare!”
“Wouldn’t I?” Daemon gives his cock a lazy pump.
“You are my lord husband. It’s your duty to seed my womb,” Rhaenyra declares imperiously. The degree of dignity she’s able to summon is really quite impressive considering the way she’s splayed and panting beneath him, wanton as any whore.
“And we all know how devoted to duty I am,” he mocks. “If you want my seed so badly, beg me for it.”
“I need it,” she pleads, charmingly desperate. “Fill me up, kepus, please.” He plunges into her once more, and her lips find his ear. “You know you want to.”
Brat.
The clutch of her silken channel feels too good to deny himself again, so instead he repays her impertinence with a sharp tweak to her nipple. “Try again,” he growls.
“Please,” she gasps. “Give your little niece a babe. I want – I need to feel you spilling in me, filling my womb.”
“Are you going to be a good girl and take what I give you, then?”
“Kessa,” she swears. Yes.
Satisfied with her capitulation, Daemon presses a hand to her where their bodies are joined and rubs at the tender bud. The way she trembles at the excess of pleasure, moaning and writhing on his cock, makes it feel as much a reward for himself as for her.
With his free hand he grips her rounded ass, using the leverage to pound her harder until she’s gasping for breath. He groans as he feels her body tensing, riding the edge of release.
“That’s it. Take your pleasure from me, let me feel you,” he coaxes. “Come on your kepa’s cock.”
Rhaenyra’s eyes go wide and her mouth opens on a keening cry as she convulses in ecstasy. Her cunt clenches so hard that she damn near pushes him out for a moment, and he digs his fingers into the meat of her thighs as he forces himself back deeper.
He’s too close now to slow, pumping frantically into her even as she squeals with oversensitivity in the wake of her climax. “So good for me,” he grunts as he buries himself deep, feeling almost drunk on the knowledge that he can, that she’s his, that he doesn’t need to pull free but can lose himself in how incredible she feels around his cock as he gives in to the pleasure surging through his veins. “Going to give it to you, going to fill up this needy cunt until you’re leaking for days.”
On that thought, Daemon comes harder than he can ever recall, pouring liquid heat into her depths until she’s so full of his seed that he half expects to see her stomach bulge with it.
He lingers inside her for long minutes, reluctant to leave the welcoming embrace of her body. The feel of her so hot and so slick with him is a sensation worth savoring, and the walls of her cunt still contract occasionally, wringing every last drop from his spent shaft.
He admires the sight of her when he finally pulls away. She’s flushed and breathless, her expression entirely pleasure-dazed. Her little cunt is pink and pretty and dripping with him, and her thighs wetly smeared with her maiden blood and his spend. He wipes the mess on the sheets for the sake of servants’ gossip before gathering her into his arms again.
He runs his hands over her hair, still arranged in a network of intricate jewel-studded braids that hadn’t seemed a priority to remove earlier. Now he carefully picks apart the plaits to let the silken strands flow freely, and she relaxes into his ministrations with a soft sigh, her eyelids drifting closed.
Rhaenyra muffles a yawn against his chest, and a small sound of distress escapes her lips.
His fingers still in her hair, worried he’s tugged too hard. “What’s wrong?”
“I wanted more,” she pouts, “but I can’t seem to stay awake.”
She sounds so aggrieved by this inconsequential plight that he can’t contain a smile. Daemon presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “It has been a rather long day,” he points out. “Sleep, ābrazȳrys. You’ll still have me in the morning.”