Serpent Emperor's Bride

Chapter 173: Malik Kneels for His Malika

[Silthara Palace — The Emperor’s Chamber — Continuation]

Moonlight spilled through the open balcony doors, silver and soft against the darkened chamber. The curtains swayed gently beneath the midnight wind, carrying with it the scent of lily, silk, and dark lotus pheromones thick enough to make the air feel heavy.

A quiet breath escaped Levin as he knelt upon the carpet between Zeramet’s legs, his silver hair cascading down his back like liquid moonlight, and Levin was sucking his cock. The thick vein pulsing against his lower lip.

Zeramet’s hand slid into Levin’s hair slowly, fingers threading through the soft strands before tightening slightly—not cruelly, but possessively.

"Consort..." his voice lowered, roughened by want and emotion alike, and his thumb brushed against Levin’s cheek. "If you wish to apologize...then do not hold yourself back from me."

Levin’s breath trembled softly at the words, his gaze lifting upward for only a moment before lowering again, warmth rushing across his face beneath Zeramet’s intense golden gaze, and his fingers were a vice in his hair, not cruel but utterly unyielding. A low, guttural sound vibrated through the Zeramet’s body, down the length of his shaft, and into Levin’s throat.

"Go deeper, consort." Zeramet’s voice was a dark caress, a command that brooked no hesitation.

Levin’s own muffled groan was lost in the act of submission.

"Hngh....hmph..."

His knees ached on the plush carpet, naked, and his hole was twitching under the cold moonlight streaming from the open balcony doors. But the shame was a distant thing, burned away by the more immediate, overwhelming reality of his husband’s taste, his scent, and his absolute control.

Levin’s hands, which had been braced against Zeramet’s powerful thighs, slid higher, fingertips digging into the hard muscle there, not to push away, but to hold on.

He obeyed. He let his jaw slacken further, his throat open, and took Zeramet in deeper. His eyes watered.

Zeramet watched him, his expression an impassive mask carved from moonlight and shadow. Only his eyes held a fierce, possessive fire. He held Levin there for a long, trembling moment, letting the consort feel the full, stifling depth of his surrender.

Then, with a slow, deliberate pull, he withdrew, leaving Levin gasping, a thin strand of saliva connecting his lips to the glistening tip.

"Look at you," Zeramet murmured, his thumb sweeping over Levin’s slick, bruised bottom lip. "My proud, defiant Moonflower, brought so low. Do you enjoy your humility?"

Levin’s breath hitched. He couldn’t lie. Not here. Not now. The truth was a hot coil in his gut as he whispered, his voice ragged. "You...really know how to talk dirty...zer..."

A soft chuckle escaped Zeramet, low and dangerous, as he leaned closer, forehead almost touching Levin’s. "Then say it properly. I want to hear the truth from your lips."

"...I... enjoyed it."

A slow, dangerous smile touched Zeramet’s lips, not mocking, not victorious, but deeply pleased.

His hand left Levin’s hair slowly, trailing down the side of his neck and over the elegant line of his collarbone. The touch was feather-light, almost unbearably gentle—and it made Levin shiver despite himself.

"How beautiful..." Zeramet murmured softly, his thumb brushed across Levin’s pulse. "Even your surrender sounds proud."

The midnight air shifted between them, warm with dark lotus pheromones and quiet breath as Zeramet continued, his voice lowered. "Your apology...is dangerously sweet, my moonflower, but apologies are not completed merely by being offered."

His gaze darkened slightly.

"They must be accepted."

Then he stepped back, only a little, only enough for cool night air to slip between them, and Levin felt the absence immediately.

A subtle ache and then a pull that made his body lean toward Zeramet without thought. Zeramet’s gaze moved over him slowly, carefully, and taking in every detail.

The faint flush spreading across Levin’s skin, the uneven rise of his chest, and the vulnerability he had allowed no one else to witness.

And beneath that gaze, Levin’s breath faltered again.

"Stand, consort."

The command came softer than before but no less absolute. Levin obeyed slowly; his legs felt weak beneath him, unsteady from emotion and closeness alike, but he rose anyway beneath the heavy silver moonlight.

And there he stood bare before the Malik of Zahryssar and...in front of his own husband after a long time and exposed in a way that had nothing to do with silk or skin.

Zeramet stepped closer once more, near enough for warmth to return between them. His hand lifted, guiding Levin’s trembling fingers into his own grasp, firm, steady, and intimate.

"You wished to apologize," Zeramet murmured near his ear. His breath brushed warm against Levin’s skin, making another shiver pass through him.

"And I wish...to remind you that...you...belong to me and are not allowed to leave my side."

Levin’s breath caught from the terrifying intensity with which Zeramet loved him, possessed him, and needed him.

Their foreheads nearly touched again, and the palace beyond them vanished into silence: no court, no empire, and no enemies waiting in shadow.

Only this room. This night and this closeness were reclaimed after nearly being lost. Zeramet’s hand settled against Levin’s butt, gripping it tighter and drawing him nearer until there was no space left between them.

And Levin, instead of retreating, moved closer willingly.

"You make me dangerous, consort," Zeramet whispered softly, his golden gaze locked with Levin’s completely. "As though the world itself becomes unbearable whenever you pull away from me."

Levin’s fingers tightened instinctively against him, and beneath moonlight spilling across silk sheets and silver scales, the distance between them finally began to disappear.

Then unexpectedly, Zeramet’s lips brushed against Levin’s cheek, once and then again, slow and lingering.

"Now..." Zeramet murmured, his voice warm against his skin, "...it is my turn."

Levin blinked softly, confused. "What do you—"

The world tilted.

Not with a shout, but with a deliberate, graceful descent. Zeramet, the Malik of Zahryssar, sank to his knees on the very carpet where Levin had knelt. The sight was so utterly disorienting that Levin could only stare, his mind refusing to process it.

Zeramet’s large, capable hands settled on Levin’s hips, his touch firm but not forceful, and he drew Levin forward until he stood cradled between the emperor’s kneeling thighs.

"Zer..."

Zeramet’s hands settled firmly against Levin’s butt, his touch steady and possessive all at once. "You should not be the only one trembling tonight, my moonflower."

"No," Levin breathed, panic spiking through his submission. "Wait, Zer... you’re the Malik; you should not—"

Zeramet looked up at him completely calmly.

"Malik kneels for his Malika." The words were simple and absolute.

And before Levin could gather another protest, Zeramet leaned closer, his lips brushing slow warmth against Levin’s cock, making Levin inhale sharply.

"Hngh—"

His fingers immediately tangled into Zeramet’s hair, more from shock than intention.

The first touch of his tongue was a flat, hot stripe from root to tip. Levin cried out, his hands flying to Zeramet’s shoulders. It was too much. It was not enough. It was blasphemy and worship fused into one devastating act.

"Zer... hold on... hngh..."

Levin’s words dissolved into a moan as Zeramet’s mouth closed over him, taking him in with a slow, devastating suction that made Levin’s knees buckle. The hands on his hips held him upright, a steadfast pillar as his world dissolved into sensation.

Zeramet was not hesitant. He was deliberate and his tongue swirled, his lips created a perfect, tight seal, and the heat...that threatened to melt Levin’s spine.

He could only look down, mesmerized, at the impossible sight: that his husband bowed before him, serving him.

Then Zeramet’s thumb, slick from his own mouth, found the tight hole of Levin’s body behind. Not an intrusion, not yet. A slow, circling pressure. It rubbed in time with the pulls of his mouth, creating a loop of pleasure that coiled tight in Levin’s gut.

"Haaaa..." Levin’s head fell back, a strangled plea.

He was trembling violently, caught between the urge to thrust into that perfect heat and a instinct to pull away. His fingers clutched at Zeramet’s shoulders, his knuckles white. "You... you really shouldn’t..."

PLOP!!!!

Zeramet pulled off with a wet, soft sound that echoed in the quiet chamber. He looked up, Levin’s arousal glistening on his lips. A faint, wicked smirk touched his mouth. He saw the panic, the trembling consort of his.

"My pride is not so fragile it cannot bend for you," Zeramet said, his voice gravelly. His thumb pressed more insistently, making Levin jolt. "Your pleasure honors me consort, so, be silent and take it."

He took Levin deep again, and this time, his rhythm changed. It became relentless, a demanding pull designed to unravel. His other hand joined the first at Levin’s backside, not just circling now, but applying a steady, maddening pressure that hinted at a fullness to come.

Levin’s moans were continuous, a broken stream of sound. The dual assault—the devastating warmth of Zeramet’s mouth and the relentless, promising pressure behind—drove him mad.

His breaths dissolved into uneven sounds, soft and broken against the heavy silence of the chamber.

"Hngh... Zer..."

His fingers tightened helplessly into Zeramet’s silver hair, the sensation became overwhelming, too warm, too intimate and too much.

And then—

Levin broke completely beneath the intensity of it. His breath caught sharply as his entire body trembled, the release hitting him suddenly and deeply enough to leave him momentarily stunned.

SPLURT!!!!

Zeramet finally drew back slowly, Composed and unhurried. Though satisfaction flickered unmistakably within his golden gaze.

Levin’s eyes widened immediately, heat rushing violently across his face.

"Zer—" His voice came out breathless and horrified all at once. "I told you not to—"

GULP!!!!

Zeramet gulped and only smiled faintly, dangerously and beautifully as his thumb brushed across Levin’s flushed cheek.

"My moonflower...even your essence are sweet and delicious."

Levin stared at him in complete shock, speechless and entirely undone. And that expression alone made something openly amused flicker across Zeramet’s face.

A low chuckle escaped him.

"There..." He stepped closer again, clearly entertained by Levin’s overwhelmed state. "This may be the first time I have seen you unable to argue with me."

Levin opened his mouth, closed it—then tried again but nothing came out properly. "I... you..."

And somehow that only made Zeramet softer toward him. He rose fully then, one hand sliding around Levin’s waist before pulling him gently closer once more.

Their foreheads brushed, a lingering kiss followed against Levin’s lips—slow this time, affectionate rather than consuming.

"You are so delicious my consort," Zeramet whispered quietly.

Levin’s lashes lowered faintly, still trying to recover himself while Zeramet held him against the silver-lit quiet of the chamber. And somewhere beyond the palace walls, the empire still stirred with unrest and hidden enemies.

But inside this room—beneath moonlight and dark lotus scent—there was only warmth, only closeness reclaimed and a night that neither of them wished to end too quickly.