CHAPTER 32: DINNER

Daxon had been dressed in a long, archaic robe of black, a garment that evoked the vestments of a forgotten priesthood.

It fell from his throat to his ankles like a shadow given fabric, high-collared and close at the neck but flowing at the hem, its sleeves etched with faint sigils stitched in silver. The weight of it whispered of ancient rites and cloisters; it was a male’s ceremonial attire.

The queen’s "eating house" lay only a short passage from her chamber, past the perfumed kitchens whose heat and aromas drifted like ghosts through the stone corridors. And her chamber itself was only a short corridor from the guest-room Daxon had been given.

Within moments he reached the place.

When he stepped inside, his senses were struck by a riot of fragrance: roasting spices, honeyed smoke, and wines older than kingdoms. Along a massive table of polished blackwood, lit by the gold tremor of candles in iron sconces, stood dishes fit for ritual.

There was ash-petaled lark braised in saffron, moon-pearled eels curled in their own silver broth, sun-root custards shining like molten amber, and scarlet drake-hearts stewed with rose and clove. Each glistened beneath the flickering light.

But the true centerpiece, the only thing his senses would truly acknowledge, was her.

The Queen. She stood beside her chair, a vision in a gown of cream-colored silk so fine it looked like liquid. Golden thread traced intricate, swirling patterns that swooped from the high neckline all the way down to the floor, but the dress itself was a masterpiece of temptation.

It hugged every devastating curve of her hourglass frame, and the neckline plunged boldly, partitioning her magnificent breasts and presenting a cleavage so profound and perfect it stole the very breath from his lungs.

His cock, already stirring at the sight of her, began a steady, insistent throb against the confines of his trousers, a rising dance of pure, undiluted need. Clara had been right. This was paradise.

"Leave us," the queen commanded, her voice dropping from regal to intimate. Her servants and guards scurried away without a sound, leaving them in the vast, candlelit silence.

She turned to the table, presenting him with the breathtaking sight of her back, the fabric straining slightly over the subtle, perfect curve of her ass.

"Come, Stevon. Dinner is served, just as you wished. We have the best cook, and the wines... they are from the southern slopes, aged for... oh!"

Her words dissolved into a sharp, breathy gasp as Daxon’s hands settled on her hips, then slid boldly around to her front, one palm finding the luscious weight of her breast through the silk.

He squeezed, firm and possessive, his fingers kneading the impossibly soft, full flesh.

God, those breasts. To him, they were the ninth wonder of the world. They would have been the eighth, but that perfect, round ass now pressing back against the iron-hard length of his cock through his robes had to claim that title.

Dax wandered how her back was not already hunched by carrying those magnificent breasts. Or, was it because the equation was balanced already by those perfect round subtle ass, pressing on his shaft.

"S-Stevon... Daddy... just... a moment... we have to... eat," she stuttered, her body betraying her words with a violent, delicious shiver.

He answered by squeezing more firmly, fumbling with the delicate fabric until he found a hardened nipple, pinching it gently through the silk, then with a little more pressure.

"Ahhhhh!" Her moan was high and tight, her eyes slamming shut. That was how Dax had noticed she wants it.

She pushed her ass back against him, the softness a maddening pressure on his aching shaft.

"Yes, Stevon... Daddy..."

He lifted his body from hers just enough to get his hands on the gown’s shoulders. He pulled the fabric down, baring her smooth skin to the warm air.

The silk fought him for a moment, clinging to the generous swell of her breasts before giving way.

He ran his hands from the flat plane of her stomach up to those freed beauties, cupping their full weight, his thumbs brushing over pebbled, dark rose nipples.

"Ow... uhh..." she mewled, her eyes tightly closed.

He left her breasts, his hands sliding down her sides to her hips, taking the gown with him. He pulled it down, down, over the globes of her ass, down her trembling thighs, until it pooled at her feet in a whisper of silk.

He kicked it aside.

From his crouched position, he looked up. Her body was a pale goddess in the candlelight, her breasts hanging lush and heavy, her face mostly hidden behind them.

And below... below. That neat triangle of dark curls was already glistening, her red, wet lips parted, calling to him.

"How about I drink from your lips?" he rasped, his voice rough with lust.

She bent her head, a furrow of confusion on her brow.

"My lips? You mean... you want to kiss me?"

Dax grinned, a wicked, predatory flash of teeth.

"Not those lips. The ones below."

A deep blush painted her chest and neck.

"O-oh," she breathed, the shyness a potent aphrodisiac. "O-okay."

He didn’t wait. Kneeling up, he ran his hands over the soft skin of her inner thighs, squeezing the chilled, satiny flesh. He calmly parted her legs, and the scent of her arousal, musky and sweet, hit him. Her pussy lips glistened, swollen and eager.

He leaned in and, with a predator’s grace, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her very core.

"Uhhhhhhhhh! Uuhhh!" Her moan was raw and unrestrained, so loud he was sure it echoed in the kitchens. He didn’t give a damn.

His tongue delved in, a slow, exploratory lick that tasted of pure, addictive her. It was ambrosia.

Through the haze of her pleasure, she seemed to understand his unspoken desire. Her hand fumbled on the table behind her, finding a heavy silver goblet. She tipped it, and a stream of cool, blood-red wine cascaded over her chest.

She trembled violently as the liquid raced down, tracing the valley between her breasts, over the tense muscles of her stomach, and down to where his mouth was devouring her.

The taste exploded on his tongue; the tart, fruity wine mingling with her unique, salty sweetness.

"Uhhhh! Daddy! Yes! Fuck, just like that! Yes, Daddy!" she screamed, one hand tangling in his hair, pushing his face harder into her, anchoring herself as her knees buckled.

He grabbed her by the ass, those magnificent, soft globes filling his hands completely. He squeezed, kneading the flesh as he pushed his tongue deeper into her weeping entrance, fucking her with his mouth.

"Ahhhhh uhhhhh! Daddy, you are a beast and I am your bitch!"

He wanted more. Needed to be deeper. With a strength that surprised even him, he gripped her ass firmly and lifted, rising to his feet while his tongue never stopped its relentless work.

He sat her on the edge of the table, her ass cheeks spreading against the cool, smooth wood.

"Uhhhh!" she moaned at the impact, her eyes flying open in shock.

"You are so strong, Daddy!"

She wrapped her legs around his back, her calves resting on his shoulders, opening herself to him completely. Her hands braced behind her on the table, her head thrown back as he feasted. She was crying out his name, her entire body trembling on the precipice.

He could feel her tightening around his tongue, her wetness dripping down his chin. He was so hard it was a constant, throbbing ache. He needed to be inside her. Now.

He stood up abruptly, and in a few frantic movements, the black chasuble and the clothes beneath were a heap on the floor. His cock sprung free, long, thick, and utterly rigid, the veins prominent and pulsing with his heartbeat.

He stepped between her splayed legs, not hesitating. He guided himself to her soaked entrance and, with a calm, controlled motion, drove his entire length into her in one deep, devastating thrust.

"AHHHHHHHH! OH GOD! FUCK! FUCCCCK!"

Her scream was a thing of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Her body convulsed around him, the pleasure so intense her hands scrabbled for purchase on his sweat-slicked shoulders, her nails digging in.

Dax groaned, a deep, guttural sound of absolute possession. He gripped her ass cheeks, spreading them slightly to allow himself even deeper access, and began to move.

His thrusts were piston-like, each one driving the air from her lungs, each withdrawal making her whimper, each powerful return making her scream.

"In. Out. Deeper. Harder."

Her breasts jiggled wildly with the force of his movements. The table shook violently beneath them; a porcelain plate clattered to the floor and shattered.

He didn’t care. He was a man consumed, lost in the wet, hot, velvet tightness of her, in the way her inner muscles fluttered and clenched around him, milking his cock.

"Fuck! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Uhhhh! Uuhhh!" she chanted, her voice hoarse, her body dripping, her skin flushed a beautiful, feverish pink. She’d never known pleasure like this, never dreamed her body could sing this symphony of raw need.

Dax’s waist began to ache with the effort, a sweet, burning fatigue. He needed a new angle. He slowed, pulling out of her with a wet, slick sound, his cock gleaming with her release.

Without a word, he sat heavily in one of the sturdy dining chairs, his chest heaving.

The queen slid from the table, her legs so unsteady she could barely stand. A wicked, seductive smile played on her swollen lips. She took a trembling step toward him, then another, her body still quivering from the aftershocks.

She sank to her knees between his spread legs, her eyes locked on his throbbing cock. She reached out, her fingers gently cupping his heavy sac before wrapping around his shaft. It was so warm, so hard, the thick veins pulsing against her palm.

Dax arched his back, a hiss escaping his lips at her angelic, knowing touch. She leaned forward, her hot breath ghosting over the slick, purple head.

"Now," she purred, her voice husky with promise.