In Kuroinu

She slid off the desk and put her hand flat on my chest and pushed. I stepped backward and the backs of my legs hit the chair behind the desk, the queen's chair, high-backed and heavy, and she kept pushing until I sat in it.

"Nobody sits in this chair," she said.

"I'm sitting in it."

"Yes." She climbed onto my lap. Her knees settled on either side of my thighs and her weight came down and her hands braced on the chair's arms and she was looking at me from above, her hair falling forward around her face. "You are."

Her hand went between us. She wrapped her fingers around my cock and stroked once, firm, and her thumb dragged over the head. I was still hard from going down on her and the sensitivity was sharp and her grip was confident and unhurried. She angled me against her and sank down.

Slow. Her pussy was still wet and swollen from the orgasm and she took me inch by inch. Tighter than I expected. The swelling from her first orgasm gripped me at the entrance and then the slickness took over and she sank and her jaw tightened as she went and her eyes stayed on mine. She settled with her full weight on my lap and I was buried inside her and she was hot and tight and there was no glow. No hum. Her body clenching around me in aftershocks from what my mouth had done and the heat was all her own.

She put her hands on the chair's arms. Fingers curling over the carved wood. She started to move.

Sophie rode with control. Her hips rose and fell in measured intervals, her breathing timed to the motion, her eyes locked on mine. She watched me while she fucked me. Every rise was calculated, base to tip, and every descent was timed, her pussy squeezing at the top of each rise before she dropped back down. Her breasts moved with each stroke and her stomach flexed and the thin scar on her side caught the firelight when she pushed up. The wet sound of us was quiet. Controlled. She was keeping even that measured.

When my breath hitched she adjusted the angle. When my hands tightened on her hips she rolled harder in that direction. She was reading me the same way she'd read my face across the throne room that morning.

"You're analyzing this," I said.

"I'm a queen. I analyze everything."

"You analyze during sex."

"You're inside me. It would be impractical to stop thinking now."

"Impractical."

She dropped her hips hard and I hit deep and my head went back against the chair and a sound came out of me and her chin came up and the corner of her mouth moved.

"Impractical," she repeated.

She was winning. She knew it. My cock was throbbing inside her and every controlled drop she made built the pressure higher and she could see it on my face.

I gripped her hip. Harder than before. My fingers dug into the soft skin above the bone and I held her there and changed the angle, pulling her forward so her clit ground against the base of my cock, and I thrust up to meet her on the next drop.

Her mouth opened. Her rhythm stuttered.

"Oh-"

I did it again. Harder. My hips snapping up into her when she came down and the impact was louder than her breathing and the wet sound changed and her hands on the chair arms tightened. I kept the angle. Kept thrusting up. Meeting her every time she dropped and she grabbed my shoulders. Her nails dug in. Her hips were moving faster and she was grinding down on me and the wet sounds were filling the study, loud and shameless, and her teeth were set and her eyes were squeezed shut.

"Nn- ah- that's-"

She was panting. Her fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to bruise and her pussy was clenching around me on every stroke, tightening, the grip getting harder.

"Stop thinking," I said.

Her eyes opened. On mine. For a second she looked furious. Then she ground down on me hard and her jaw dropped and a sound came out of her that wasn't anything she'd planned.

I gripped both hips. Held the angle. Thrust up into her and the chair rocked and she gasped and her back arched and her head threw back and she came.

Loud. Her hands clamped on the chair arms, white-knuckled on the carved wood, and her pussy clenched around me in hard waves and the chair rocked under us and across the desk her crown slid off the stack of correspondence where she'd set it and hit the floor. It rolled. A slow arc across the stone. Past the fallen papers from earlier. Past the quill. Coming to rest against the leg of a bookshelf.

She watched it go. Through half-closed eyes, panting, her body still clenching around me, she watched the crown of Lesdea roll across the floor.

She didn't get up.

She looked at me. Her breath was ragged and her lips were swollen and her light-brown eyes were all gold in the firelight and her hands were still gripping the chair arms and she was still on my cock and the crown was on the floor.

"Again."

I stood. Lifted her. Her legs wrapped around my waist and I was still inside her and I turned and put her on the desk and she went back onto her elbows. The position shift drove me deeper and she gasped and her hips tilted up. Papers were under her back. Sealed correspondence. Documents with the crest of Lesdea pressed into the wax. Her hand swept behind her and knocked a stack of scrolls off the far edge and they hit the floor and she pulled me down by the back of the neck and kissed me.

The desk was cool under her. Polished wood against hot skin. She was soaking. Two orgasms' worth of wet, the sound when I thrust into her obscene in the quiet study, and she was wider now, more open, but every thrust still gripped and the heat was deeper.

I drove into her. Her legs around me and her heels digging into my lower back and the desk shuddered. Her hips met mine on every stroke, rising up to take me, and her breath was coming in short bursts against my mouth and her hands were on my back, my shoulders, gripping and releasing, and the wet sounds were louder than the fire.

"Harder-"

I braced my hand on the desk beside her head and gave her harder. The desk groaned under us. A glass weight rolled off the corner and shattered on the stone. She didn't flinch. Her pussy was clenching around me on every thrust and I was hitting deep and each stroke ground against her clit.

"Ah- ah- Haru-"

Her hands found my face. Both hands on my jaw, pulling me down. Our foreheads pressed together and her eyes were open and looking straight into mine from an inch away and her body was shaking under me and she was getting tight, the grip changing.

"Sophie," I said.

Her eyes went wet.

"Haruto-"

Her back arched off the desk and her legs locked around me and her pussy clenched so hard I couldn't move and she held me there. Her hands on my face. Her eyes open. Looking at me.

"Haruto," she said again. Quieter. From her chest.

I thrust deep and came inside her. No glow. No pulse. The desk creaking and the fire and her hands on my jaw.

I held still. She held me. Her legs stayed locked and her hands were on my face and we breathed and the fire popped and the crown was still on the floor by the bookshelf.

I pulled out slowly. She let her legs fall and she lay on the desk for a long moment, papers stuck to her back, her hair fanned across a territorial map of the northern provinces. Sweat on her stomach catching the firelight. Then she sat up.

She swung her legs off the desk. Stood. Walked to the chair and sat in it, naked, straight-backed, her hands on the armrests. She crossed one leg over the other and looked at me and her chin was level and her eyes were clear.

I pulled on my pants. Found my shirt on the floor near the wine bottle.

"This doesn't change the political arrangement," she said.

"I know."

"The medallion I gave you carries my full endorsement. Use it wisely."

"I will."

"Marie goes north to Celestine's court as my representative. You'll coordinate with her on diplomatic matters."

"Understood."

"And I expect regular reports. Intelligence on the Shield Alliance's disposition. Military assessments. Troop movements." Her eyes held mine. "Weekly, at minimum."

"Weekly."

She was quiet for a second. The fire was burning lower. The room smelled like sex and wine and the scattered papers on the floor rustled in the draught from the window.

"Come back to Lesdea someday," she said. "That's not a request from your queen. That's a request from Sophie."

"I'll come back," I said.

The corner of her mouth came up. She let it stay this time.

I walked to the door. Put my hand on the iron latch. Looked back.

Sophie was reaching down beside the bookshelf. Her fingers closed around the crown and she lifted it and turned it in her hands and the metal caught the firelight. She set it on her head. The weight settled and her posture shifted under it, a fraction straighter, and she was the queen of Lesdea again, sitting naked in her chair with the crown on and the study wrecked around her.

She caught me looking. Her eyebrows went up a fraction.

"You're still here."

"I'm going."

"Then go. Dawn comes fast."

I opened the door and walked out and the corridor was cool and dark and quiet. The door closed behind me. The guards at the end of the hall didn't look at me.

I walked back through the palace, down the narrow stair, out the side entrance, and into the night. The air was cold after the fire-warmed study and the streets were empty and the stars were out and I had the taste of wine on my lips and the smell of a queen on my skin and no magic had made any of it happen.

Tomorrow we went north.

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