(Ahem.... dear readers, read at ur own risk!!!)
Jaime gasped, his eyes flying open, a look of profound, agonizing confusion on his flushed face. The sudden absence of her touch was a physical agony. His body, primed and suspended over the precipice of release, screamed in desperate protest.
"Not yet," Cersei whispered, her green eyes flashing with a dark, sadistic amusement.
She stood up, leaving him gasping and thrashing against his bonds. For the next hour, the royal bedchamber became a theater of exquisite, mind-breaking psychological torture.
Cersei did not simply rely on the agonizing absence of her touch; she orchestrated a symphony of sensory overload. She would return to him, dragging the cool, discarded silk of her gown agonizingly slowly across his feverish chest and down his trembling thighs.
She leaned in, her hot breath ghosting over his skin as her tongue darted out to slowly, wetly lick the sensitive pulse point at the base of his neck. Jaime shuddered violently, his head falling back as she nipped at his earlobe, whispering wicked, degrading promises into the dark.
Her hands were everywhere, light as a feather one moment and cruel the next. She would trace the hard lines of his abdomen with her manicured nails, occasionally dipping lower to tease the heavy, aching flesh between his legs.
When his hips bucked forward to chase her hand, she would suddenly shift her weight, her fingers digging sharply into the tense muscle of his buttocks and the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs, a sharp pinch that spiked his adrenaline and forced a ragged groan from his lips.
She learned the exact cadence of his breathing, the specific flutter of his pulse, the rigid tension in his jaw that signaled he was about to surrender. With the soft slide of her golden hair brushing against his abdomen, she would build him back up to the absolute brink of climax.
And every single time he reached that apex, every time his back arched and he cried out for her to finish it, she would abruptly stop, leaving him stranded in a blinding haze of unfulfilled lust.
Jaime was losing his mind. The heavy Arbor gold mixed with the overwhelming surges of dopamine and the agonizing, crushing frustration of denial was completely fracturing his psyche. He was sweating profusely, his skin slick and flushed, his chest heaving like a dying stag.
The golden lion of Lannister, the most feared knight in the Seven Kingdoms, was reduced to a weeping, desperate addict, begging the goddess before him for a single drop of mercy.
"Cersei, I beg of you," Jaime sobbed, his voice raw and broken, tears of sheer physical frustration leaking from the corners of his eyes. The silken ropes had rubbed his wrists raw and bloody, but he didn't care. He couldn't feel the pain. He could only feel the agonizing void of her absence. "Why? Why are you doing this to me? I'll do anything... just please..."
"Because you belong to me, Jaime," Cersei answered, her voice soft but echoing with absolute, terrifying authority. She stepped between his legs once more, running her manicured nails lightly up his chest.
"Body and soul. And I cannot help you, I cannot love you properly, until I know exactly what is festering inside your soul. You are carrying a darkness, my sweet brother. Let me take it from you."
She moved close to him again, but this time, she did not use her hands.
Cersei swung her leg over his bound thigh, effectively straddling his lap, but she kept her weight completely supported by her own legs and the heavy wooden arms of the chair. She lowered herself, hovering directly above him, positioning her wet, swollen core mere inches from his mouth.
Jaime's eyes went wide, his pupils blown completely black, swallowing the green of his irises. The intoxicating, heavy scent of her—myrrh, spilled wine, and the unmistakable, raw, musky sweetness of her own heavy arousal—filled his senses, drowning out all rational thought.
"You want me, brother?" Cersei whispered, her voice dropping into a dark, mesmerizing cadence.
"More than life," Jaime gasped, straining his neck forward, desperately trying to close the agonizing gap between his lips and her core. He wanted to devour her, to bury his tongue in her heat, but the ropes held his torso pinned tight against the backrest. He could feel the radiant heat of her skin, he could smell her desire, but he could not touch her.
But Cersei's sadistic symphony was far from over. Her emerald eyes darkened with a wickedly possessive gleam. Slowly, deliberately, she relaxed her lower muscles, exerting a master's control over her own body. She did not release it all at once. She teased him, allowing a thin, hot stream of golden liquid to break from her core, raining directly down upon his upturned face.
Any other knight in the Seven Kingdoms would have recoiled in horror and disgust. But Jaime Lannister was so profoundly broken, so entirely enslaved by his toxic worship of his twin, that the degradation felt like a holy baptism. He was not disgusted in the slightest.
The sudden, searing heat of her urine splashed against his cheeks and flooded his parted lips, carrying a sharp, salty, and incredibly musky tang that his obsessed mind registered as an absolute, heavenly nectar.
His eyes rolled back in absolute, degenerate ecstasy. He opened his mouth wider, catching the hot stream directly on his tongue, gulping it down as frantically as a man dying of thirst in the Dornish sands.
Cersei slowly controlled the flow, letting it drizzle teasingly over his lips, then rushing it, playing with his desperate need to consume her. He swallowed her liquid greedily, treating the humiliating offering as if it were the finest Arbor gold.
The hot wetness splashed over his chin, soaking into his golden beard and the collar of his tunic, but he just kept drinking, letting out pathetic, muffled groans of sheer pleasure between frantic gulps. He wanted to be consumed by her; he wanted to consume all of her.
To Jaime, the heavenly taste was absolute surrender, the undeniable proof of his total submission to his Queen.
When the stream finally slowed to a few hot, dripping drops, Cersei let out a soft, approving hum.
Jaime was left completely breathless, his chest heaving, his face and throat slick and glistening with her golden mark. It was maddening. He bucked against the chair, his hips thrusting upward into empty air, letting out a feral, frustrated whine. His mind was completely shattered by the sensory overload, desperate for another taste, desperate for release.
"You can have all of me," Cersei whispered, her voice a gentle, maternal coo weaving through the haze of his shattered mind. She hovered right above his mouth, letting another heavy drop of her juices fall onto his tongue, which he swallowed with a pathetic, eager groan, his lips smacking as he savored the heavenly taste.
"But you must unburden yourself first. Father knows you killed the pyromancers, Jaime. He knows you hid something beneath your golden armor the day you killed the Mad King. What are you keeping from me, my love?"
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Guys, just released extra chapters and u can check it out on p@treon (patreon.com/Haruto_27).