Filth - HOtD

Filth -HOtD

// This one is a vent piece.  I couldn't pick any of the current characters I am writing. So, I picked Cerys Velaryon and Daemon Targaryen instead. 

xxxx

His calloused hands sunk into the supple flesh of her thighs, keeping them apart so she could be exposed to his greedy purple eyes. He couldn't keep himself from grinning at her, because she looked almost like a different woman. Not so long ago she was defiant and filled with rage and he couldn't argue that she was justified in her anger, after all, he was the one who killed her father. Not so long ago, she insulted him as she reluctantly agreed to get married to the man. Not so long ago, he realized that she had not been touched prior to getting married to him and that became a challenge for Daemon.

He was a conqueror, a dragon rider and she was a virgin island that no one before him had explored. Her reluctance to consider him a good person intrigued him and he set a goal for himself. He wouldn't just make her his. He would make her want him. He would make her crave him. He wouldn't assault Ceryse like she believed he would, too barbaric for his liking. Instead, he would coax her into thinking he was a gentleman. Instead, he would treat her well and slowly but surely would convince her that he was not the man she thought he was.

Daemon was a conqueror and relished the idea that he conquered her mind, body, and soul. She became his, of her own volition. She let him defile her, She let him claim each crease and curve of her body and she let him devour her most secret place. Daemon enjoyed her complete surrender. He enjoyed claiming her over and over again and pushing her buttons so hard that she couldn't help but moan his name. Slowly but surely, he managed to become the only thought she had in mind. He managed to introduce her inexperienced mind to a brand new world of debauchery and the most satisfying thought he had, was that her father would have turned in his grave if he knew that his only daughter, his cherished child, was fucking with the man who took his life.

Ceryse embraced her sensuality. She revealed an inner beauty that complimented her beautiful frame. She was soft, yet her body could withstand the harshest seas and oceans. She was supple, yet strong as it was required to be for a seafarer. She had angelic features and bright white hair that complimented her soft black skin. She was a temptress, wild and with a temper, and slowly but surely she had turned the tables on him. It was filthy, sweaty, and a union forged in sin. Daemon found himself to be the one who was addicted to her, unable to spend a day far away from his new wife. He found himself to be turned on by the sound of her voice, the kind touch of her soft hand over his neck, and the way she moaned out his name. He found himself addicted to the wet and tight confines of the walls. How could he not, when she was so deliciously constricting his length.

She drove him mad with desire and the more he took her, the more he wanted Ceryse. Tonight; perhaps, more than ever. The Prince wanted his wife. The fire within him burned her skin, his heart was racing against his ribcage as he wanted to devour her whole. They were true filth, for he enjoyed wrapping his hand around her gracile neck, squeezing it lightly to remind her that she belonged to him. They were true filth, covered in sweat, tears, and spit. She begged for him, to go harder inside, to snap his waist until he disappeared completely in her wet and tight walls. She begged for him to run his fingers through her silver locks and pull them towards her. Filth as the words that escaped their lips were unholy and wouldn't be repeated once they sobered up and recovered. 

Daemon could care less now. He could care less about the motivations that led him to wed his niece. He could care less about achieving his goal because, to him, Ceryse wasn't conquered. She only revealed how much more depth she had and how much he underestimated her. She was losing sight, but that didn't make him love her less-- oh, the forbidden word.-- instead, he became even more protective of her. She would remember him, his grunts, his groans, the taste of his sweat, the intense purple eyes set upon her, studying her. She would remember him, his powerful thrusts into her, the wrinkles on his face, and the scars over his body. He wanted her... All of her.  Filth, they were true filth. She was lying on their bed, legs spread by his hands, and was biting at her thumb, anticipating his next move. how exquisite she looked, so welcoming, vulnerable, and yet so filthy. 

-TBC-