Mayaa~

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"The gown..." said King Zaiden, his deep voice breaking the silence.

Maya beamed, her heart skipping. He noticed.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she replied with pride. "Sheer and lace-hand-stitched with rhinestones. I made it myself."

Zaiden leaned back onto his wide bed spreading his legs with quiet authority. His gaze darkened, voice dropping to a near growl.

"Take it off," he said, eyes never leaving hers. "And get on my lap, little dove."

Before Maya could catch her breath-before she could even gather the will to object-Zaiden's hands had already wandered.

Bold and unapologetic.

His fingers found her mounds as if they had long been acquainted, his touch possessive, warm and utterly unhurried. She gasped, sharp and soft, as he palmed her gently, expertly, each motion deliberate.

"Zaiden..." she whispered, half in protest, half in surrender.

But he was already there-his lips wrapped around her puckered nipples trailing heat and promise with every brush of his mouth. His kisses were slow, reverent, like a man worshipping a sacred relic. And yet, there was a quiet hunger beneath it all, a storm lurking just under the calm.

"Shh..." he murmured against her breasts, voice rough velvet. "Let me taste what you made mine the moment you walked into the throne room in that dress."

Maya's fingers curled into the fabric of his robe, her breath shallow. The room was no longer cold stone and firelight - it was a cage of desire and he was the only one with the key.

He pushed one thick finger inside her tight yet leaking heat gaining a sultry moan from her sinful mouth.

Zaiden smirked while sucking her tits, savoring every tremble, every unspoken plea.

"So responsive," he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction. "My little dove melts so easily for me."

"You think you'll ever forget this?" he asked, low and husky. "I'll make sure no one else even dares to touch you the way I do."

Mayaa shuddered with fear and something close to- submission.

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