That Prince Is A Girl The Vicious King's Captive Slave Mate

Chapter 777:

“I’d abandon everything—meetings, wars, my own fucking name—just to live between your thighs.”

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

“I’ll become useless to society.”

She melted beneath him, her moans pitching higher as he angled deeper. He makes me feel like the most desirable female in the world.

Closing her eyes, her world narrowed to this: his skin against hers, the slap of flesh, the way his breath fractured when she clenched around him.

Their bond pulsed. Humming with energy, charged.

“Look at you…” His voice fractured, hips stuttering. “Fuck.”noveldrama

Emeriel glanced back. He was watching their union, mesmerized by the way they moved together—the slide of his hardness in and out of her, glistening with her arousal.

“Such a beautiful sight,” he groaned, his rhythm slowing to a torturous drag.

“Watching myself disappear into your pretty pussy. If I could paint, I’d have this scene framed, hanging above our bed—a fucking masterpiece. You’re art, Riel. Perfect, obscene art.”

The words alone sent shocks through her. His thrusts had slowed to a near-maddening pace, yet her pleasure climbed higher, tighter, fed by his mouth. His words were as intoxicating, as arousing as his touch.

“More, dearling?” His fingers dug into her hips, possessive.

“Yes, please.”

His strokes picked up, turning brutal. Each snap of his hips carved her open, claiming her in a way that went beyond flesh. She took every inch, greedy, desperate, arching back for more. He wasn’t just making her addicted to sex—he was making her addicted to him. To the stretch of his arousal, the growl in his throat, the way he owned her.

Had it really only been yesterday she struggled to take him? The thought was laughable now. How had she survived without this for so long? Without him?

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“Ohhhh.”

Her moan broke apart as he leaned forward, hands slamming against the headboard, caging her as he plundered her. Godsss… so good.

She surrendered completely, letting the sensations drag her under. Her climax hit like a storm—violent, overriding—her back bowing as she sobbed into the sheets, fingers twisting helplessly in the fabric.

And through it all, he held her there, buried to the hilt, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered:

“Mine. Always mine.”

Grand King Daemonikai was in a good mood.

Before leaving for court, he had leaned down to kiss a sleeping Emeriel on the cheek. Whatever remnants of exhaustion remained in his body were dulled by her scent and the strength of their reawakened bond.

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