Mirha stirred awake to the rhythmic patter of rain lashing against the chamber windows, a fierce storm raging outside that muffled the world beyond. She couldn't gauge the hour—dawn or midday, it all blurred in the dim, gray light filtering through the heavy curtains. A deep soreness throbbed between her thighs, her pussy tender and swollen from the night's brutal claiming, yet a lingering warmth pulsed there too, a sated glow that made her core clench involuntarily at the memory.
Blinking slowly, she turned her head and found Arvin still asleep beside her, his chiseled face softened in repose. His full lips were parted just slightly, breath steady and deep, dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. He looked so utterly peaceful, vulnerable in a way that twisted something tender in her chest. She didn't dare move, didn't want to shatter this quiet intimacy, so she lay there, propped on one elbow, simply watching him. Her gaze traced the strong line of his jaw, the faint stubble shadowing his skin, before drifting lower to his bare arm draped across her waist.
Red welts and bruises marred his flesh—angry scratches from her nails, dug deep in the heat of passion hours ago. Evidence of how she'd clawed at him, lost in the frenzy of his cock pounding into her, stretching her wide and raw. Heat flooded her cheeks, a blush burning hot as shame and regret mingled with the ache. She'd marked the Emperor like some wild animal, leaving him battered from her desperate grips. Guilt gnawed at her; she reached out tentatively, fingertips brushing the edge of a particularly deep scratch, but pulled back before he stirred.
Then, a sharper urgency hit—her bladder full to bursting, demanding release. Panic flickered; she needed to piss, but the thought terrified her. Her pussy felt torn, abused from Arvin's relentless thrusts, the multiple times he'd filled her with his thick cum until it leaked out in sticky trails. Urinating would sting like fire, she was sure of it, the sensitive folds too raw to handle the flow. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to ignore the pressure building low in her belly, but it only made the soreness flare, a dull throb radiating through her clit.
Desperation won out. She thought quickly, recalling the private bathing chamber adjoining the bed—its hot spring-fed basin, steaming and soothing. Careful not to jostle him, Mirha slid from under the sheets, her muscles protesting with every shift. Her legs wobbled as she stood, pussy lips rubbing achingly together, slick with remnants of their mingled fluids. She padded barefoot across the cool stone floor, the storm's thunder rumbling like a distant growl.
In the bathing room, the air hung humid and warm, scented with faint minerals from the spring. Mirha hiked up her loose shift, perching on the edge of the low basin where the water bubbled gently. She spread her thighs wide, exposing her battered sex to the steam rising from the pool. Taking a breath, she relaxed, and the piss finally came—a hot stream that burned fiercely as it passed over her inflamed entrance. She hissed through clenched teeth, the sharp sting making her eyes water, her free hand gripping the basin's rim until her knuckles whitened.
It hurt, gods, it hurt, like acid trailing over scraped skin, but she forced herself to finish, body trembling. Once empty, relief warred with the lingering fire. Spotting a nearby copper cup on a shelf, she snatched it up, dipping it into the warm spring water. Tilting it carefully, she poured the soothing liquid directly over her pussy, letting it cascade over her swollen folds. The heat numbed the raw edges, easing the bite into a tolerable warmth that spread through her core. She sighed, repeating the motion, fingers parting her lips slightly to let the water flush away the last traces of cum and soreness, her clit twitching under the gentle rinse.
For a moment, she lingered there, thighs splayed, the steam curling around her like a lover's breath, chasing away the worst of the ache. But the storm outside mirrored the one in her mind—guilt over the marks on his skin, the wild abandon she'd unleashed, and the undeniable pull toward him that made her want to crawl back into his arms despite it all.
Mirha limped back into the bedroom, the storm's relentless downpour drumming against the windows like an insistent heartbeat. Each step sent fresh jolts through her tender pussy, the raw ache flaring with every shift of her hips, but she forced her expression into one of calm as she spotted Arvin propped up against the pillows, his dark eyes fixed on her with quiet concern. He'd sat up, sheets pooling around his waist, revealing the broad expanse of his chest marked by faint red lines from her earlier frenzy.
She halted her uneven gait, straightening to stand tall despite the buzzing waves of pain radiating from her core. Arvin's brow furrowed, his voice soft but probing. 'Are you alright?'
Mirha mustered a smile, thin and masking the throb that made her thighs quiver. 'Yes, I am,' she replied, the words steady even as her body betrayed her with a subtle wince.
He didn't buy it—his gaze sharpened, reading the tension in her posture. With a subtle signal of his hand, he beckoned her closer. Swinging his legs over the bed's edge, feet planting firmly on the cool stone floor, he rose in one fluid motion. Mirha took her first step toward him, her knee buckling slightly, but she caught herself, stabilizing into a careful stride that hid the limp.
Arvin met her halfway, his strong arms encircling her waist and pulling her flush against his chest. The warmth of his skin seeped through her thin shift, grounding her amid the soreness. He dipped his head, lips brushing her ear as he whispered, 'Sorry.' The apology rumbled low, laced with regret for the intensity he'd unleashed on her body.
Instinctively, Mirha's arms wound around his neck, her fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape. 'Sorry,' she echoed, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
He drew back slightly, confusion etching his features. 'For what?'
Her eyes darted to the bruises blooming on his arm, the scratches she'd inflicted in the grip of ecstasy—deep, angry welts that spoke of her uncontrolled passion. Arvin followed her gaze, glancing down at the marks before a low chuckle escaped him, vibrating through his chest. 'I've healed from worse,' he said, his tone light, dismissive of the pain she'd caused, as if her touch was a badge he wore proudly.
Gently, he guided her to the bed, his hand steady at the small of her back. They sat side by side, the mattress dipping under their weight, and he turned to her with earnest eyes. 'I'll have Mayora call Ruso to bring some pain relief.'
'No,' Mirha protested quickly, shaking her head. 'I won't be needing that. It's nothing serious—just sore for today, probably tomorrow too, but it goes away.' She met his stare, willing him to believe her, even as another twinge shot through her folds, a reminder of how thoroughly he'd stretched and filled her.
Arvin studied her for a long moment, then nodded, accepting her words without argument. Silence settled between them, thick with unspoken tenderness, the storm outside a soothing backdrop. Leaning in, he captured her lips in a slow kiss, his mouth warm and unhurried, tongue teasing the seam of hers until she parted for him. As he deepened it, his hand slid upward, palm cupping the soft swell of her breast through the fabric, thumb circling her nipple until it peaked under his touch.
A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment. 'Your Majesty,' came a muffled voice from the other side, 'Lord Heman is here.'
Arvin pulled back with a frustrated sigh. 'OK,' he called out, his eyes flicking back to Mirha, intent on reclaiming her lips. But before he could, a low growl rumbled—not from the thunder, but from her stomach, betraying her hunger after the night's exertions.
Mortification heated Mirha's cheeks; she buried her face in her hands, peeking through her fingers at his amused grin.
Arvin laughed, the sound rich and genuine, pulling her hands away to press a quick kiss to her knuckles. 'Let's go out and eat,' he suggested, already rising and reaching for his discarded tunic.
Mirha nodded, slipping from the bed with careful movements, her pussy protesting the motion but easing slightly now that the urgency had passed. She gathered her clothes—the flowing gown from earlier, its silk whispering against her skin as she dressed, the fabric brushing her sensitive thighs like a lover's caress. Arvin donned his own attire swiftly, a simple yet regal shirt and trousers that hugged his powerful frame, before offering her his arm.
Together, they stepped toward the door, the storm's fury outside contrasting the quiet warmth building between them, a promise of more stolen moments amid the day's demands.
Arvin led Mirha out of the chamber, his arm linked protectively with hers as they navigated the dimly lit corridors of the palace. The storm had eased to a steady drizzle, pattering against the arched windows like distant applause, but the air inside remained heavy with the scent of rain-soaked stone and lingering woodsmoke from the hearths. Mirha walked with measured steps, her soreness a constant undercurrent, though the warmth of Arvin's presence dulled the edges of her discomfort. They passed by the study on their way to the dining hall, and Arvin paused at the threshold, curiosity drawing him to check on his right-hand man.
Mirha trailed just behind him, her hand slipping from his arm as he pushed the heavy oak door open with a creak. The room beyond was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, shelves of ancient tomes lining the walls and a massive desk cluttered with parchments. But their entrance went unnoticed at first—Lord Heman had his wife pinned against the edge of the desk, his mouth claiming hers in a fierce, devouring kiss. Mayora's fingers clutched at his tunic, pulling him closer as their lips moved with raw hunger, tongues tangling in a rhythm that spoke of pent-up need. Heman's hands roamed her sides, gripping her hips to press her body flush against his, the sound of their shared breaths ragged and urgent.
Mirha's cheeks flushed hot, a deep crimson blooming across her skin as she caught the intimate display. She ducked behind Arvin's broad frame, peeking out just enough to avert her eyes fully, granting the couple a moment's illusion of privacy. Her heart raced, a mix of embarrassment and vicarious thrill stirring in her chest, reminding her all too vividly of her own recent passions.
Arvin cleared his throat, the sound deliberate and resonant in the charged silence. Mayora jolted back first, breaking the kiss with a gasp, her lips swollen and glistening. She smoothed her disheveled hair, eyes widening in surprise as she dropped into a hasty curtsy. 'Your Majesty, I'm sorry,' she stammered, her voice breathless, cheeks tinged with the same flush that colored Mirha's.
Heman straightened unhurriedly, though he bowed deeply, his expression composed despite the evident arousal tightening his jaw. 'Good evening, sire,' he greeted, his tone steady, laced with a hint of amusement.
Arvin's lips quirked into a knowing smile, his gaze flicking between them. 'Mayora, escort the Precious Concubine to the dining hall. See that she eats something substantial—hunger doesn't suit her.' His words carried a gentle command, protective of Mirha's well-being after the night's toll.
Mayora nodded, head bowed low in deference, and gestured for Mirha to follow. 'This way, my lady,' she murmured, her earlier embarrassment fading into professional poise as she led Mirha out. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the two men in the study alone.
Arvin turned to Heman, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as he crossed his arms. 'Someone is hungry.'
Heman met his gaze with a wry grin, straightening his tunic where Mayora's hands had rumpled it. 'Very,' he admitted, the single word heavy with implication, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Arvin threw his head back and laughed out loud, the sound echoing off the stone walls, rich and unrestrained. It eased the tension in the room, a shared camaraderie between ruler and loyal advisor.
Heman leaned against the desk, his posture relaxed now, though a teasing glint lingered in his eyes. 'I suppose you know how it feels again, now,' he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, acknowledging the emperor's own recent indulgences without prying further.