Chapter 29: UNEXPECTED FUCKING
"Who do you think you are to give orders to me?"
The Queen’s reply rolled out in an estranged, glacial voice, yet some undercurrent of velvet still coiled inside it.
Dax shook his head, anchoring himself with his palms against the bed, still sitting upright.
"I’m not giving orders," he murmured, leaning closer, the heat of her body a palpable force. His hand, smooth and desperate, trailed up the bare thigh of the leg she had knelt astride him.
"I just want to have you... badly, but my way."
The Queen stiffened; the sensation of that touch lanced through her with a new, disquieting intimacy. Dax leaned farther, his mouth brushing the hollow of her neck.
His kiss was soft and deliberate, it wasn’t the impatient grab of a supplicant or the reverent, fearful caress of a subject. It was knowing. It seared through the thin linen of her wrap, branding her skin, and it made her arch with a low moan she hadn’t planned to give.
"All right," she exhaled, voice splintering into a moan.
"Have me your way, then..."
...
Dax’s mind flickered. Even as his lips travelled down her throat, he wondered how masking someone’s ecstasy could possibly help him battle Parallax servers; wondered how he would claw his way out of this nightmare.
But when the Queen acquiesced, he felt a flicker of his Beyonder aura, which was subdued for so long pulse back through him; courage, like a coal rekindling. He could not pass this nightmare as an ordinary man. He had to pass it as a creature of the Devil’s making.
He also noticed something else: the Queen’s movements were ancient, ritualistic and abrupt; no tenderness, no foreplay, just a hunger to consume. Now he understood why she had never reached her peak since her husband’s death.
Through Stevon’s memories, he knew the late king had been the only one who could draw a true climax from her, a beast in a man’s body who had made her moan until the castle trembled. Since then, she had taken many men, but none had satisfied her.
That was about to change. Dax had read many erotic book and had watched many porn, in fact he knows many porn sites, but who was counting, the main was that it was about to be of help now. No knowledge indeed was in vain .
He only needed to unlock the gift the Devil had buried in him.
...
Still kissing her neck, his wet lips left a heated trail down to the swell of her cleavage. She shivered.
"Don’t stop, Stevon... don’t stop..."
But Dax did stop, lifting his head when he reached the shadowed space between her magnificent breasts.
The Queen opened her eyes, startled.
"W-why are you stopping?" she breathed, trying to sound stern, but the word came out as a tremor of desire.
"When I said doing this my way," Dax said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her heated cheek. "I didn’t expect you to call me by name."
The Queen winced faintly.
"What should I call you then?"
A smirk curved his lips into a full, devastating grin.
"Call me Daddy."
She exhaled a breath that sounded almost like a purr.
"Okay... Daddy," she whispered, the syllables rolling off her tongue like smoke, searing down Dax’s spine.
"Can we continue then?" she asked, unable to mask her urgency. Maybe this Stevon was the one indeed.
But Dax shook his head, his blue hair swaying with the motion.
"No, not yet." He shifted.
"Can you release me for a second... please?"
The Queen hesitated, her body taut with yearning. But she had given him her word: the ceremony would go his way.
She slid from atop him and sat at the edge of the bed. The linen still clung to her hips, unable to veil the soft, magnificent curve of her body without her forcing it down.
Dax rose as well and sat beside her.
"We won’t be starting here," he said, courage flowing back like wine.
Her eyes, bright and fevered, turned to him.
"What do you mean, Daddy?"
"I need three things," he replied, clearing his throat.
"First, tell your servants to set dinner for us in your dining hall."
"What is a dining hall?" she asked, brow furrowing.
Dax exhaled, slightly taken aback.
"I mean the place where you eat."
She nodded. Understanding flickered in her eyes.
"Secondly, after we dine, we return here and end things. And the final thing..." Dax smiled; if only she knew what was coming.
"The final thing is that you, ma’am, will go into the kitchen and cut me some melon."
The Queen decided not to protest but rather do as he had requested. Yet her eyes sharpened.
"Stevon," she hissed, voice like a coiled viper, "should you fail me after all this, you will regret being born."
Dax swallowed. The threat rumbled his gut.
The Queen rose and glided from the chamber. In the hallway she summoned her servants to set the dinner before making for the kitchen herself.
Dax drew a deep breath. He had been holding himself together; desire coiled through him like a drawn bowstring.
"Fuck this," he muttered, springing from the bed and heading for the kitchen as well.
The kitchen wasn’t far from the Queen’s room.
He soon stood at the threshold, leaning on the doorframe, watching her slice the melon he had demanded. She stood with her back to him, her figure outlined by the torchlights, and every graceful motion of her body seemed like a provocation.
Judging by the vitality in her curves, perhaps she was in her early forties, an age that lent both maturity and power to her beauty.
The kitchen itself was a cavern of stone and shadow, lined with dark oak shelves and copper utensils that glimmered like coins.
A waist-high block of polished black marble was the preparation counter, and it stretched across the centre, its surface cold and slick like a sacrificial altar. It was there she had placed the melon.
As she cut, her movements made the linen at her chest and hips sway and tremble, and Dax felt his restraint erode. He crossed the threshold in a single impulsive stride.
He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
The Queen startled.
"Stevon... what are you doing? I-I was getting you the melon..."
He drew her closer, his body pressing against hers, his heat aligning with her curves like a shadow finding its shape.
"I know," he murmured. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing it yourself, and not sending your servants."
Speaking of servants, she glanced around and saw the guards casting sidelong looks. Her eyes flashed.
"Get out. All of you."
They scurried away.
She turned back to him.
"Daddy, we can’t have the ceremony here in the kitch..." Her protest melted into a moan as his hands slid across her linen, fingers tracing secret paths like a magician invoking an old spell.
She gripped the marble counter for support, eyes closing, breath ragged. The cold stone seemed to drink her heat like an altar yearning for sacrifice.
She had never felt such a sensation. It made her legs tremble and sharpened her hunger into something that felt like punishment.
"I want you, Daddy," she gasped. "I want you now..."
But Dax ignored her pleas, still teasing her in between and beneath, building her desire as though stoking a ritual fire. She leaned farther onto the counter, arching back, pressing herself against him as her moans grew.
Dax trailed one hand upward, circling the contours of her body through the linen. Even through the thin cloth her softness filled his palms like warm water spilling between his fingers. The Queen’s breath hitched.
"Yes, Daddy... don’t show mercy..."
Dax’s hunger grew; He wanted more, to feel her without any barrier. With a single decisive motion he tore at the linen, not crudely, but as if unveiling a hidden relic and the garment fell away from her like a torn veil.
Her breasts spilled free, luminous and trembling in the candlelight. Her gasp was half outrage, half surrender.
"Would you look at this..." he murmured, drawing a slow breath, tracing a fingertip around them in a perfect, worshipful circle before squeezing gently. The softness filled his palms and puffed out between his fingers, the sensation hardening his resolve all the more.