A Court of Smut and Song

Jealousy, Jealousy (manon x dorian)

Summary: After Manon sees Dorian flirting with one of the younger witches, she sets out to remind him just why she's the only one he would ever want.

"I needed to give those little bitches a reminder of what's mine," she snarled against his chest. He moaned, throwing his head back as she continued her path of delicious torment.

"I'm in the palm of your hand, Manon. I always have been." She hummed in response, mouth finding his nipple and swirling. His cock throbbed as he laced his hand in her white hair, gripping at her scalp with a small whine.

Of three things Manon was absolutely certain. One, her new coven was a little too flirty. Two, she had never been so jealous as she had been in that meeting. Three, she was about to fuck the shit out of the King of Adarlan.

Stomping down the hallway of the newly revamped castle, the clicking of her boots on the concrete was the only sound. Her heart was pounding in her chest, nervous to be around him even after all this time. Taking one last deep breath, she threw open the door to the King's private chambers as if she owned the place. Lounging on an armchair, shirt fully unbuttoned and showing his slim and fit torso and nearly empty scotch glass in his hand, was Dorian.

An achingly slow and lazy grin covered his face, eyes dark and lustful the moment they landed on her frame in his doorway. It sent a rush through her, causing her breathing to become uneven. From the doorway, she stared at him for a moment, taking in all over again just how beautiful he was.

"You look good enough to eat, sweetheart," he drawled, grin widening even further. It was a wicked grin. One full of plans of what he wanted to do to her. It was exhilarating to be looked at by him in that way.

"Likewise," was all she was able to cough out, determined to not let him see how much he was already affecting her. He let out a small laugh, lifting his glass to his plush lips and draining it. He slouched down further, long legs spread wide. His hands fell lazily in his lap, head leaned backwards toward the back of the chair. He raised two fingers and gestured for her to come to him.

Kicking the door shut without a glance, she walked over to him quicker than she should've, giving herself away and letting him know just how desperate she was for him. Without waiting for an invitation, she straddled his hips, sitting down into his lap. He looked up at her like he wanted to devour her. His hands lazily grazed up her thighs, taking his sweet time, drawing feather-light circles as he went, eyes still locked with hers.

She grabbed both sides of his face, gently pressing her lips to his. He sighed into her touch as if it brought a new kind of relief. She shuddered at the contact, feeling his hands slowly drift up to her back, pushing her chest closer to his own.

"Hello, Princeling," she grinned against his lips.

"Hello, Witchling," he grinned right back, leaning back to look up at her once again. "What is it you're after, darling?" His eyes twinkled in dark anticipation. She knew what he was asking. Dorian was the only male she had ever let mount her. Had ever let dominate her. But on occasion, she enjoyed being the one in charge, making him beg for her touch. It was another power entirely to see a King knelt before her, working desperately to please her. But that wasn't what she wanted tonight. She wanted to drown in him, losing herself in his directions and desire.

"I wanna make you feel good, Your Grace," she smirked, pressing your lips back to his, feeling his smile against her own. His lips moved to nibble on her earlobe, sucking and biting gently. She sighed into him, avoiding the urge to grind her hips down onto his.

"Shall we put that pretty mouth of yours to better use then, angel?" His voice was low and husky, filled with need. It sent an indescribable feeling through Manon, feeling his breath as he spoke into her ear. Mewling softly, she turned her head and kissed his neck gently and slowly. She could feel his heartbeat pounding in his veins.