He covers my mouth with his hand, eyes twinkling in mischief when he leans in closer, his breath against my jaw causing a warm tingle to spill into the pit of my stomach. “Be quiet,” Cardan tells me and I suck in a breath at his startlingly low tenor. A charm he knows he can’t quite use, yet the feeling it invokes is still subtle and teasing every cell in my blood. Maybe I forget to exhale because I start to feel lightheaded.
His tongue darts out, a warm trace against my skin and suddenly my chest is heaving against his, senses starting to flood and heighten. I feel the trail of his finger tip slide from the center of my throat to right between my breasts where my unsteady heart drums into his finger pad. My chest tightens, heavy and straining against my clothes, at the sensation of not being touched where I desperately want to be.
He lifts his head enough for me to make out his sharp edges despite the dim lighting. The moon casting its light through tall windows, weaving through stacks of papers and books, is the only way of light I have. Cardan licks his lips if not obscenely then very much wickedly, and so very aware of my lidded eyes that follow the dart of his tongue hungrily. If he’d not been holding me up, I’m sure I’d already be on my knees. His finger taps against my sternum, jarring me with its uneven beat. His eyes cast down, catching the bob of my throat as I swallow. His finger suddenly pressed on my skin — not hard, but enough pressure to cause a reaction. Slowly he moves it up and down, gently rubbing my skin until it feels raw.
“Can you do that for me, Jude?” It’s silent between us for the beat it takes me to understand his question, to run it back to what he’s requested; nothing but my heavy breaths and his nearly mirthful gaze. And then the bustle of noise behind the door we’re planted against, reminds me of why my answer should be no. I’m nervous now, for a completely different reason. The arms at my side twitches but I find my self stunned, unable to move them from their limp positions. Would I push him away if I could?
I know I wouldn’t when I find myself nodding slowly in final answer, my fluttering eyes trying to maintain his eye contact, my body feeling electric at the anticipation. He finally lets his digit reach the neckline of my bodice fingering the laces before he pulls at the knot and peels the fabric away from my skin. It’s just enough to expose my breasts, to let the air taste my skin. He draws a line down the path of on breast, filling the curve to the pointed tips. My moan is muffled against his hand, sounding like a pitiful whine when he only traces his path back to the center of my chest and down the other breast. I shut my eyes, willing my trembling hands to fist tightly to relieve my racing mind, to focus on the pricks of pain my fingernail instills on my palms instead of the overbearingly light touches from King Cardan.
“Promise me, Jude,” he removes his hand from my mouth, bringing it to the side of my jaw, inching his digits to weave into my hair. My lips part, greedily sucking in air. I feel absolutely minuscule standing before him in the dark than I ever did standing beside him on a dais. “Promise you’ll stay quiet for me,” completely aware that he’s unable to charm me, yet trusting me enough to keep my word. I peer up at him, wondering how we’ve gotten to this point. There’s a banquet or a party or a revel occurring just on the other side of this wall, and he’s here with me, hiding like school kids playing hooky.
My hands finally move on their own accord. I find the waistband of his pants, nestling my fingers against his warm skin, pleased to feel the tightening of his muscles if only for a moment. I pull him closer to me, or he lets me, at least, letting our hips meet. “If I don’t?” I whisper, brazenly. “If i scream your name right now?” His fingers grip my hair tightly, yanking my head back, forcing my gaze up. The hand that had been tracing my skin finally settles atop a breast, my nipple now caught between two of his fingers rolling it taught. I let out a noise, caught at the back of my throat, muffled by my own volition, finding that I’ve subconsciously decided I’m willing to play his game. Maybe it had been decided when he offered me his hand earlier and I took it without a thought, let him lead me away and didn’t think twice about entering the dark room with him.
He pinches me harder, testing me, and my mouth opens in a silent gasp. I tighten my grip on his pants, knuckles embedding into his skin. “I promise…” I whisper inaudibly. He brings his head closer as if to hear me better. When his fingers in my hair loosen, I lean forward burying my face into the crook of his neck. “I promise,” I repeat onto his skin. I bite down on his neck when the onslaught on my nipple becomes too much to bear. My fingers flatten against his stomach, just under his shirt and I think fleetingly that it feels wrong, somehow more dirty, that both of us are still clothed fully,
He eases his fingers on my breast, taking the pad of his thumb to soothe at the reddened skin. My body quakes but I’m at his mercy tonight. Cardan brushes my hair back, gentle as he skims the side of my cheek and guides my head backwards to look at me. He bends and traces my parted lips with his tongue. “Ah,” I let out, managing it to reel it in at the last second. It tickles when the rough tip licks at the supple skin of my lips. He teases before entering my mouth and stroking my tongue with his, coaxing it further into his mouth, sucking it and tasting it, coercing a sloppy dance that brings heat to my cheeks and down my chest.
My knees quiver, and my heart suddenly spasms when there’s a knock on the door. My body tenses, pulling away from him, panicked, when the knock becomes more insistent. Cardan is unbothered, however, only managing to quirk his brow, daring me to do a thing. The knob on the door jiggles roughly and I only understand much later that Cardan had locked the door before he’d even press my back against it.
He places a kiss to my neck, a nip on my skin just below, a stroke of his tongue just under, then quietly trails his lips to my neglected breast. Warmth engulfs the hardened peak as the door jerks behind me to no avail. “Hello?” Someone calls and I feel even more panicked when I realize that I recognize the voice. I let go of my hold on Cardan, one hand moving to grip deep in his curls as if seeking stability. The other hand is fisted and bitten down on by my teeth.
His tongue flicks at the bud, circles the pointed nerves, then gently bites down on it. I could cry, I realize, with how attentive he’s being, with how hyper aware he’s made me. He holds a palm flat against my stomach as if to keep me from sliding on to the floor, to keep my knees from locking. He takes more of me into his mouth sucking and lapping at my encased nerves. I bite down hard, grip his hair even harder.
“Is anyone in there?” Someone asks, irritation is in their tone now, aggression in their shove against the door, enough to make me wonder idly just where had Cardan dragged us? It’s fleeting though, because Cardan tugs at both nipples now, by hand and mouth respectively, and I bite down harder on my knuckles, tasting metallic not long after. He pulls away slowly to look at me, then winks when the aggravator on the other side threatens something like treason.
Cardan’s hand skims my body to meet the overstimulated skin, to thumb at the tenderness. He kisses my neck a few times, ignoring the commotion on the other side of the door, ignoring my turmoil, but utterly attentive to the way I’m spasming at his every touch. He holds me now, with a hand to the small of my back, the other one guides my hand out of my mouth. He kisses it sweetly, against every red mark and broken skin I’ve scarred onto myself. “You did so well,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl, for me.” He lays my hand on his shoulder and reaches between us, fisting my skirts, bunching up the material and finding a thigh to hook on to his hip. He settles between my legs and presses against me, hard where all my nerves are soft and sensitive. Unable to hold it in, I drop my head to his shoulder and let out a whimper. “Should I reward you now?” He asks, hardness slowly moving against the heat between my legs. My nails dig at his skin when he concedes, “I’ll let you scream as loud as you want.”
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maegor i and rhaena…I thought I was the only one who saw something in that 👀 I can totally imagine Maegor lowkey obsessed with his niece whilst she hates his guts, peak problematic romance ❤️ I kinda wish HOTD adapted the book from the beginning or at least from Aenys and Maegor’s era as I thought their sections were very entertaining. But I guess then we would have had to sit through Jaehaerys’ storyline which is less exciting imo. Would love a flashback episode or something.
MAENA is the OG Daemyra!! He kills her husband and takes the crown from her only to crown her again as his wife! Against all reason - she hates men! Don't tell me this is not unhinged yandere behaviour. ☠ It's like nothing but the first ever Targaryen girl born after the Conquest is good enough for him, Mummy's first choice of bride for her miracle dark magic baby! 🙏
There's no reason to believe that we won't get any more shows based off different time periods in Fire & Blood, but the problem with Maegor's storyline is that it's really, really brutal. While Henry VIII and his many wives are really popular material for screen adaptations, Maegor truly surpasses him in every way in terms of abuse and cruelty and I don't really think we need to see more stories based on brutality against women. At least when it's in print, you can fast-forward through the paragraphs, but would we really need to see what happens to Alys Harroway and her family in graphic detail?
One way to avoid this would, naturally, be to sanitize Maegor and make him less awful, but, again, that's not the point of him. He's not really called "the cruel" for nothing. I suppose it could work if you don't really show Maegor all that much and he just appears every now and then, focusing the story on Aenys' brood. But then again you wouldn't really be able to expand on his character.
My grand idea to adapt Maegor's story would be use the sitcom format, complete with laugh track, even when his lines are gruesome and not funny, and kept the brutality suggested in the background. It would amplify the horror in a more psychological way, as opposed to all the gore.
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