I took a deep breath as I tried to figure out the real reason why the king was here in my chambers. His scent surrounded me. He smelled of smoke, citrus, and sweat and I found it so enticing that I breathed it in once more.
“I enjoyed painting once,” I answered carefully.
The tension between us was thick.
His jawline tensed and I pressed my thighs together, uncomfortably aware that just his presence had caused my body to pulse with a warm desire. My pussy clenched and I came to the reluctant conclusion that I was wet. Not once had I felt the urge to slide my fingers in between my legs since I’d been in this room, but simply him standing in front of me right now made me want to.
“I’ll bring you an easel and paints. I’ll make sure you have everything you need,” he answered. I wondered if he could sense my arousal. I did everything I could to hide it, but when his nostrils flared just the slightest bit, I knew that I couldn’t.
He would know I was wet for him.
“Thank you, Magnar,” I answered dutifully. He took a single step closer and I didn’t move a muscle. His fingers clenched into fists for a moment, but then he visibly relaxed. I didn’t let down my guard.
“It is my pleasure, Ariana. I’ll bring you some supplies tomorrow,” he said curtly before he turned around and walked out of the room. He locked the door behind him.
I was caught off guard by his visit and my core pulsed greedily with desire. Locked safe inside and all alone, I lifted my dress and hesitantly explored my inner thighs. I wasn’t just a little wet. I was soaked and my clit throbbed with need. When I lightly grazed my finger over top of my pulsing bud, I jolted as a rush of electric desire caught me off guard. I chewed my lip and turned my gaze nervously to the door. There was no indication that he was coming back. The servant typically didn’t come check on me for at least another hour.
I had the room to myself and I nervously licked my lips.
I wanted to feel what he’d made me feel again, that moment of bliss that had left my body languid and sated.
With a bit more boldness, I pressed the flats of my fingers more firmly against my clit just like he had done. I slid them up and down as my core began to simmer with an urgent sense of arousal. It was so intense that it caught me by surprise. My pussy clenched as my fingers worked my clit even more fervently. The more I touched myself, the braver I became until I felt the once familiar sensation of pleasure coursing through my veins.
My thighs began to tremble and even though I bit my lip, I couldn’t help it as soft cries of need escaped my throat. My nipples pebbled tightly, and my other hand slipped beneath my dress to toy with them, squeezing and pinching them lightly enough to send myself into a frenzy. My fingers danced along my clit, circling faster and faster as I approached the edge of bliss.
My back arched against the soft chair and I moaned, pressing harder until I was close enough that I could taste it.
My thoughts flashed to the memory of his fingers between my thighs, of his palm branding my bare backside and my needy pussy and then of those same fingers pressing deep into my flesh and my orgasm burst over me.
White-hot ecstasy rippled through me and gripped me so tightly that it ached. I keened, but my fingers didn’t slow. Every muscle in my body tensed hard and I could feel my inner walls gripping greedily at empty air. I ground my hips into my fingers and cried out even louder as tendrils of scalding pleasure coursed up and down my limbs. My toes curled and I pinched my nipples even more firmly as I dragged out every moment of my orgasm that I could.
When my release finally began to fade, I slowly explored myself. There was even more slick dripping from my body and even though I’d come once, I only felt partially sated, unlike before. Tentatively, I reached between my thighs once more and pressed against my clit. With my touch, my desire returned with a vicious ferocity and it wasn’t long before I wanted to come again.
I made myself come several times and by the time I managed to pull my hand away, I finally felt satisfied. My heart was pounding in my chest and for several minutes, I simply breathed and gathered myself. When I was ready, I padded into the bathroom and prepared a bath.
I languished in the hot water for at least an hour, maybe two, before I climbed into bed. I slept hard that night and didn’t wake once.
For the next several days, Magnar visited me in the evenings. He brought me the painting supplies I requested and sometimes he sat in silence watching me paint. Occasionally he would bring gifts such as a jeweled necklace or a ring or books about whatever subject I told him interested me. With each visit, I could feel the tension between us growing more palpable and every night after he left, I would touch myself and orgasm while thinking about him. I tried to think of anything else, but my thoughts ultimately always turned back to him.
One night, he brought with him a set of paints and I begrudgingly took them. I was feeling so incredibly frustrated, both with my uncontrollable arousal and my captivity within this room that I snapped at his kindness. I couldn’t help myself.
“Why do you visit me like this? Is it so that you can feel less guilty for holding me prisoner?” I spat and
