“Do I please Your Majesty?” I murmur. He lifts his gaze from my sex to my face and says, “Always,” in a tone so tender I can hardly bear it. He doesn’t remove his clothes. He’s moving in, kneeling between my legs— This cannot be happening. The Ash King himself, His Royal Majesty, Perish the son of Prillian, Ard Rí of Bolcan and High Vanquisher of her enemies, is pressing his mouth into the heated center of me. He touches his tongue to my clit, flicking the tip, and I whimper, arching against the polished back of the throne. He chuckles, a warm breath of delight, and begins to enjoy me in
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