Tonight, Jasten dined with our daughters, his laughter a fragile, beautiful thing. Later, in our private chambers, he knelt before me, not as a king, but as a husband. His hands trembled as he lifted my skirts, his mouth finding my cunt with a desperation that had nothing to do with duty. He licked and sucked until my thighs shook, not to teach a lesson, but to beg for one. To remember what my pleasure sounds like. I came against his tongue, my fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, we were just a man and a woman. Then I guided him to stand, turned him to face the mirror, and watched as I took his soft cock into my mouth. I worked him slowly, feeling him harden against my tongue, tasting the salt of his skin. ‘Watch,’ I whispered, my lips stretched around his shaft. ‘Watch a queen service her king. This is the respect you command. Now, take me from behind. Fill my ass, not my womb. Let us have this one thing that is just for us.’ He did, his grip on my hips bruising, his cries raw. His cum inside me felt like a surrender we both needed. Sometimes, a body must be used for solace, not just for sons.