"The merchants who are evacuating," he said, his voice steady despite the throat-fucking, "will not have access. Only you. You will have the exclusive route. Through Catorian territory. Through the northern pass."
Her eyes, rolled back, flickered. The words, cutting through the fog of the throat-fucking, registered. The 'he-is-offering-me-a-trade-route' realization that was so absurd, so impossible, so 'why-is-he-telling-me-this-while-his-cock-is-in-my-throat' that her brain struggled to process it.
"No tax," he continued. "From me. You can claim there is a tax. Charge more from the common people. The profit is yours."
"Gah—♡! Gah—♡!"
Her internal thoughts were chaos. 'What? What is he saying? A trade route? From Millbrook? Direct? No tax? He is giving me— why? Why is he favoring me? He humiliated me. He pissed inside me. He is fucking my throat. And he is offering me— the most profitable trade deal I have ever heard of—'
'Why?'
'What does he want?'
'What does he—'
