Married To Darkness

Chapter 514: Consumed but stuck

Salviana wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him flush against her, choosing for this moment to lose herself in the heat of the man who called her his wife.

The kiss deepened once more, hungry and consuming, until Alaric pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers again, their breaths mingling in the warm glow of the hearth. His hands slid down her body with deliberate reverence, palms gliding over the silk of her gown until they reached the hem. With a low, appreciative hum, he gathered the fabric slowly, bunching it up her thighs and exposing the smooth skin beneath.

"Gods, Salviana," he murmured, voice rough with need as he dropped to one knee before her. "Look at you... perched here like a queen on her throne. My queen." His large hands parted her knees wider, gentle but insistent, as he settled between them. The cool wood of the dresser contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from his body and the flush already creeping across her skin.

He leaned in, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, trailing higher with each one. "So soft... so perfect," he whispered against her flesh, his breath hot and teasing. "Every inch of you drives me mad. The way you taste, the way you tremble for me... I could spend eternity right here and never tire of it."

Salviana’s fingers tightened in his dark hair as he finally reached her core, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate line along her folds. A gasp escaped her lips, her back arching instinctively. Alaric groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through her.

"Mmm... divine," he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, his eyes flicking up to meet hers—dark, hungry, and utterly devoted. "Sweeter than any wine in Embrez. You’re dripping for me already, my fire. All this for your husband?" He dove back in without waiting for an answer, his tongue lapping at her with long, languid strokes that built a slow, aching fire in her belly.

He took his time, savoring her like a man starved. His mouth moved with expert precision—circling her clit, then sucking gently, then flattening his tongue to drag over her entrance again and again. Every few moments he’d pull back slightly to murmur praises against her slick skin, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent shivers racing up her spine.

"That’s it... let me hear you," he groaned, the sound raw and needy as her hips twitched against his face. "You’re so responsive, Salviana. So wet and warm and mine. Fuck... the way you taste— I could live on this alone." His hands gripped her thighs firmly, holding her open for him as he buried his tongue deeper, thrusting it inside her before returning to lavish attention on her swollen clit.

Salviana writhed on the polished wood, her legs trembling around his shoulders. One hand stayed tangled in his hair, the other braced behind her on the dresser as soft, broken moans spilled from her lips. The amber light from the hearth painted their bodies in shifting gold and shadow, highlighting the tension in her arched back and the way his broad shoulders flexed with every movement.

Alaric groaned again, louder this time, the vibration sending sparks through her core. "Look at you writhing for me... so beautiful. My strong, fierce wife, falling apart on my tongue." He sucked her clit into his mouth with a wet, obscene sound, flicking it rapidly until her thighs quivered uncontrollably. "Come for me whenever you need to, love. I’m not stopping. Not until you’ve flooded my mouth and begged for mercy."

He didn’t rush. Minutes stretched into a delicious torment as he alternated between slow, teasing licks and fervent, devouring sucks, his groans and praises never ceasing. "Perfect... so fucking perfect," he muttered between strokes, his voice thick with arousal. "This pretty little cunt is all mine. The way it clenches around my tongue— gods, Salviana, you’re going to ruin me."

Her body tensed and trembled under the relentless pleasure, hips rocking against his face as much as his firm grip allowed. Alaric’s hands slid up to her waist, steadying her as he continued his worship, lost in the taste and sound and feel of her. The room filled with the wet sounds of his mouth, her breathy whimpers, and his deep, appreciative groans—echoing softly against the stone walls as the fire crackled on, indifferent to the world outside.

He showed no sign of stopping, only pressing closer, more insistent, as if determined to draw every last moan and shudder from her body before the night was through.

Alaric’s tongue never faltered. For long, unrelenting minutes he devoured her—slow, broad strokes followed by tight, focused circles around her swollen clit, then dipping deep inside her again and again. He groaned hungrily against her slick folds, the vibrations rolling through her core as his hands kept her thighs spread wide on the dresser.

"Fuck... you taste so good," he rasped between long licks, voice thick and wrecked. "So wet for me, my sweet fire... let me feel you come on my tongue. I want it all."

He sucked her clit gently, then harder, flicking the sensitive bud with rapid strokes until Salviana’s hips jerked and her fingers twisted tighter in his dark hair. Her moans grew louder, breathier, her body trembling on the edge—but the release refused to crest. Tension coiled tighter and tighter in her belly, yet something held her back, a quiet knot of unease that wouldn’t unravel no matter how skillfully he worshipped her.

Alaric noticed. He always noticed.

After several more minutes of devoted, relentless pleasure, he slowed, pressing one last lingering kiss to her glistening honeypot before pulling back. His lips were shiny, chest heaving as he rose to his feet. Without a word, he slid his arms beneath her— one around her back, the other under her knees— and lifted her effortlessly from the dresser. Salviana curled into his chest almost instinctively, her face tucking against the warm column of his throat, legs wrapping loosely around his waist as he carried her toward the large, canopied bed.

The amber firelight followed them, casting shifting shadows across the stone walls and the heavy furs draped over the mattress. He laid her down gently in the center of the bed, her silk gown still bunched around her hips, then climbed in beside her and pulled her close. One large hand cradled the back of her head while the other stroked soothing circles along her spine.

"Are you ok, my love?" he asked softly, voice low and rough from exertion, but laced with genuine concern. His forehead rested against hers once more, eyes searching her face in the dim, flickering light. "You were shaking, dripping for me... but you didn’t come. I could feel you holding back. Talk to me, Salviana."

He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek with his thumb, his touch tender now, patient. The hunger in his gaze hadn’t vanished—it had simply been banked, waiting.

"Whatever it is... you don’t have to carry it alone tonight. Not with me." His voice dropped even lower, warm and steady. "I’m right here. Let me in."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, then another to the corner of her mouth, giving her space to speak while his body remained wrapped around hers—protective, warm, and utterly devoted. The crackle of the hearth filled the brief silence as he waited, thumbs tracing slow, comforting patterns on her skin.

"Alaric! I love you! Why don’t you love me back?!" she yelled, shocking him.