TO LOVE A KING || Maegor II Targaryen [SLOW UPDATES]

078▪️A NIGHT WITH THE KING

When it was over, when his mouth had finally left hers and her body lay trembling beneath him, Maegor hovered abve, gazing into the warm, honey-brown depths of her eyes.

There was a glint in his own, equal parts reverence and hunger, as if he still couldn’t believe she was real. His hand traced her skin gently, as though ready to claim her with more than touch.

He fumbled at her entrance, thick with tension and restraint, his arousal nudging her folds with growing urgency.

Though his desire pressed hard against her, Maegor held himself back, teasing her softly. Alicent’s breaths came shallow and sweet, her fingers clutching the sheets, her body instinctively arching toward his.

Then, with a shuddered whimper, she felt him begin to enter.

A sharp cry escaped her lips. "Ah!" The pain was instant, bright, and undeniable as he broke through, stretching her, filling her completely. Her body tensed, then trembled beneath the sudden pressure. She felt herself tear, felt the sting of it, and he felt it too.

"Fuck! Gods…!" Maegor stilled, looking down to find blood where their bodies joined.

"You're a virgin?" he murmured, disbelief caught in his throat. Guilt surged through him, as if he had stolen something fragile and sacred.

"I didn’t know....Alicent..."

He made to pull away, but she stopped him.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she drew him deeper, pulling his face down to hers. "Don't..." she whispered. "Make me yours." her voice raw and aching, trembling at the edge of pleasure and pain.

Maegor stared at her, stunned. Of all the women he'd known confident, carnal, experienced none had shaken him like this. Alicent, who mocked him, challenged him, burned him with words… was untouched until now. He hadn’t expected this. She had always seemed so worldly, so sharp-edged. Yet here she was vulnerable, open, trusting him with her first.

His lips crashed into her with fierce resolve, the kiss soaked in both pain and defiance.

He moved slowly, carefully, letting her adjust. His hips rolled gently, easing her into the rhythm of his body. Every inch of him was focused on her, the way she gasped into his mouth, the little cries she tried to stifle, the heat and tension of her breath on his skin.

His strokes were deliberate, deep, but unhurried. Their bodies molded together in a rhythm that grew softer, more intimate, until what began as hunger became something closer to reverence. He whispered into her ear low, wicked things meant only for her, words that made her gasp and shiver as he filled her again and again.

And through it all, the King moved inside her as if she were the only war he had ever wanted to lose.

Alicent clung to him, her nails dragging along the broad plane of his back as Maegor moved within her, his rhythm fierce and urgent. Their bodies collided in a fevered storm, unrelenting, raw, driven by a need neither of them could name. Time blurred. It felt endless, like falling through a dream made of fire and flesh.