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Rhaenyra passes the night preceding her wedding in her girlhood room. So tradition demands, though it seems a little absurd, so little does she use these chambers. Indeed, she has grown so accustomed to spending her nights in Laena’s arms, whether with or without Daemon, gossiping and caressing into the late hours, has grown so unaccustomed to sleeping alone, that rest long eludes her.
Sleep must have found her at some point, though, for she’s woken from it abruptly. Woken by the press of a hot, heavy body above her in her narrow maiden bed.
The hour is early, the sun yet to crest the horizon, and she squints up at the man atop her. Her uncle’s eyes gleam in the predawn gloom, a predatory glint of heat and hunger. She’s caged beneath the bulk of him while one of his hands pushes her nightshift up to expose her bosom and the spit-slick fingers of the other part her folds.
“You shouldn't be here,” she murmurs. Not that such a thing has ever stopped Daemon, as they both know. It’s more an observation than any true attempt at chastisement.
“And yet you're going to spread your legs for me all the same.”
He’s stripped her shift fully off over her head now, exposing the whole of her form to his leering gaze, and pulls his other hand from her body to twist the fabric into a rope of sorts. Mind still half-clouded with sleep, she doesn't process what he’s about until he’s already bound her hands above her head. Her yelp of indignation turns to a whimper when his fingers slip between her legs once more.
Piqued by his presumption, she turns to baiting him to salve her dignity.
“If your cock needs tending, you've a perfectly good wife to importune, you know,” she reminds him.
“I hunger for you,” Daemon says, a hint of growl in his voice. He shifts his weight atop her to press her into the further mattress, his arousal insistent at her hip.
She arches an eyebrow. “Such partiality. Laena may be jealous.”
Laena will do no such thing, of course, and he scoffs at the very suggestion. Rhaenyra remembers being cradled against her chest, hands fondling her breasts, as Daemon fucked into her nights before. Remembers her husky voice as she reached out to cup the swell of his sac. “Seed her for me, won’t you, valzȳrys?” If their cousin is jealous of anything it will only be not getting to watch.
“Laena has a babe to tend. You, talītsos, need filling.”
“This is hardly the time,” she ventures a last faint protest, but it’s half-hearted at best, and only serves to goad him on.
“Is that why you're dripping all over my fingers?” Daemon smirks, twisting those fingers within her to call attention to her response. The sound they make is wet, obscene. Her breath hitches despite herself. “You’ll not deny me, ilībio dārōñe, I'll have you as I will.”
It isn't decent, the way his domineering words make her nerves spark with anticipation. She shouldn't like it, but, gods help her, she does, desire burning like an ember in the pit of her stomach.
But despite all he’s said, despite all he’s threatened and promised, he makes no move to enter her. Instead he draws his fingers from inside her, leaving her cunt empty and aching, while he kisses a hot trail down her chest. He sucks red marks into the soft skin around her breasts as his hands cup and knead.
“I thought you meant to take me,” Rhaenyra grumbles.
His mouth twists in an expression of triumph, all smug satisfaction, and she realizes that’s exactly what he’s been waiting for. “So you do want it, then?”
“Uncle…,” she whines.
“Tell me you want it,” he demands. “Beg for my cock.”
“Fuck me, please, Kepus,” she entreats, too worked up to stand on pride. “Need to feel you deep inside me, your cock stuffing me so full.”
Daemon sits back on his knees, pulls her legs over his hips. With his big hands grasping her firmly by the waist, he drives into her so suddenly it punches the breath from her lungs.
“Gods,” Rhaenyra gasps. She’s impaled so deeply on his length it feels like she’s being split in two.
Again and again he buries himself to the hilt, urgent, ungentle, stones slapping against her flesh. He punctuates his motions with crude endearments, a string of filth about how clearly she needs it, how she was made to sheath him, how hot and tight and eager her cunt is for him. He’s not wrong, for his touch steals her very senses, makes her helplessly wanton and needy, yet everything of his manner betrays that his is the greater desperation.
“You are mine,” Daemon pronounces, fierce and vehement with each snap of his hips. “When you stand up there today and let him cover you in his cloak, when you pledge yourself to him before all the world, you'll do it with my seed dripping down your legs and remember who you truly belong to.”
Ah, there's the crux of it.
Her marriage will not truly change anything. It is wholly a matter of politics and convenience, a way to keep her close at court and a cloak of respectability over her reputation and the children she will have. But no matter that openly acknowledging their relationship was never an option, and no matter that cousin Laenor has no more interest in her than she in him, her uncle in his pride and possessiveness resents any other man having a public claim to her. And he’s determined to assert his ownership in the most primal of ways.
Rhaenyra could tell him that her courses are overdue, that she suspects a part of him is already indelibly embedded within her. Spitefully, she does not, withholding the news until he ceases to act so boorish. Besides, she is as much aroused as she is irritated by his possessive mood; no small part of her thrills at the frenzied urgency with which he is compelled to lay claim to her, the way he fucks her like he has something to prove.
“Do it, then,” she goads. “Give me all your seed, Kepus, I want to be overflowing with you.”
His thumbs smooth over her stomach where her skin ripples with the force of his thrusts. “I’m going to see you swell,” he swears. “Fill your hungry cunt until you quicken with it. You’re so fucking ripe for it.”
“Fuck!” Her cunt clenches involuntarily at his words. He groans, and presses her thighs to her chest so he can pound her even deeper. The shift in position makes her feel stuffed impossibly fuller, makes stars dance at the edge of her vision.
“You want it, don’t you? You're going to take every drop for me,” he grunts.
Rhaenyra can make no coherent response. She's beyond speech, only an animal moan spilling from her lips.
“Touch yourself,” Daemon commands. “I want to feel you coming on my cock as I pump you full.”
She does as he bids, reaching down to rub at her bud. With the way his deep strokes are hitting the most sensitive spots within her just right and his words fanning the flames in her core to an inferno, she knows it won't take much. Ripples of hot pleasure from inside and out collide in a shockwave that pushes her over the edge, making her world go white for a moment.
With a curse he follows, managing only one last stuttering thrust before he presses all the way in and stays there, his cock throbbing and pulsing and flooding her cunt with a torrent of liquid heat.
He does indeed leave her overflowing, a rim of white froth leaking out around his shaft even before he pulls out and when he does a thick spill follows. Daemon catches as much as he can on his fingers and pushes it back inside her.
“Don't waste that,” he tells her. “I want it to take.”
It already has, she thinks. She hopes. But it’s too soon to be sure, so she does her best to keep his seed within her, to preserve every chance.
The first rays of morning sun steal through the windows, the break of day putting an end to their sport. Rhaenyra is still drifting in a pleasure-drunk haze when Daemon dresses and takes his leave of her to slip away through the tunnels. And when, scarce minutes later, the outer door creaks open.
Her cousin strides in, first of the attendants come to prepare her for the day’s ceremony, and stops short when she catches sight of her. Laena casts an exasperated eye over Rhaenyra’s disheveled state: hands bound, thighs sticky, chest strewn with love bites.
“Do neither of you know the meaning of restraint? Not a lick of sense between you,” she huffs, equal parts fond and aggrieved. “Lucky I was the first one here.” She undoes the ties at Rhaenyra’s wrists with brisk efficiency and takes hold of her hands to none-too-gently tug her upwards. “Come on, up you get. We’d best make you presentable before your mother sees you. Or, gods forbid, mine.”