He who Kills—chapter segment—warning, explicit sexual content!
He pushed himself inside her again, the full length of him reaching deep within her womb.
She cried, her nails clawing into his back.
How had he let himself get to this? He couldn’t know.
Forgotten in the chaos of passion.
Guilt had been something he held to in his youth, these times he spent with the Queen easing that grasp with each thrust of her hips.
If there was a salvation for him he didn’t want it.
How could something that felt so good be wrong? Why had the gods let man experience the pleasures of sin if they desired for their perfection? Was it all a cruel joke? Only meant to lead them into the depths of temptation?
His seed spilled into her. Her hand stroking his cock as it flowed into her hand, across her thighs and sex. He needed to get out of here. Out of the castle. Escape the hold that it had upon him. The hold she had upon him. He needed to leave. Needed to burn. Sick of this desire. Sick of what had trapped him here.
Thorne stumbled from her chambers. Wet silk clinging to him as he left, his soul still in her bed.
Still inside her.
The halls reeked of sex and death.
The blood of sin.
Of the pleasure the kings had been drunk upon, each in his time.
Mothers waiting.
Thorne thought, tears escaping down his cheeks.
The Queens scent followed him down the hall. It still clung to him. Haunting him in the soul of lust.
There were two graves that awaited him.
One choice.
He already chose.
Stay damned and die.