The kiss ignited further, their mouths moving with increasing fervor, tongues sliding against each other in a rhythm that sent sparks racing through their veins. Arvin's hand drifted downward, fingers grazing the soft fabric of Mirha's gown, tugging lightly at the ties as if drawn by an irresistible pull. He was hooked on her, the taste of her lips and the warmth of her body fueling a fire that threatened to consume them both once more.
But Mirha felt the weight of exhaustion settling deep in her bones, her limbs heavy from the day's passions. As the kiss deepened, her hand rose instinctively, fingers wrapping around his wrist to halt his advance. She pressed gently but firmly, a silent plea amid the heat of their embrace.
Arvin paused, his breath ragged as awareness dawned. He felt the tremor in her touch, the subtle sign of her fatigue, and immediately withdrew his hand. Pulling back slightly, he searched her eyes, a flicker of nervousness crossing his features—concern that he might have pushed too far. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, his voice rough with restraint.
Mirha sat there for a moment, her teeth grazing her lower lip in a nervous habit, the flush of their kiss still warming her cheeks. Then, with a soft sigh, she shifted, easing herself down onto the cushions to lie facing him, her body curling slightly in the dim light of the study. Arvin followed suit, stretching out beside her, their faces inches apart, the storm's distant rumble underscoring the quiet intimacy.
The silence stretched, comfortable yet charged, until Mirha's voice broke it, soft and curious. 'What do you have planned for tomorrow?'
Arvin shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he propped himself on one elbow. 'Nothing much, really. Just listening to people's plans for the year-end festivals. The usual preparations.'
Her eyes lit up, a genuine smile spreading across her face, chasing away the remnants of weariness. 'I can't wait,' she said, excitement bubbling in her tone, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the cushion between them.
Arvin reached out, his thumb brushing her cheek in a tender caress, feeling the softness of her skin. 'Are you excited about it?'
'Yes,' she replied, leaning into his touch, her gaze steady on his.
He nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. 'You'll attend this time, but as a concubine, so... you won't dance with anyone but the Emperor.'
Mirha's smile faltered, the joy dimming as reality sank in. Arvin didn't always join the dances—he often observed from his throne, overseeing the festivities with a ruler's detachment. She imagined herself perched on the high chair beside him, watching the whirl of skirts and laughter from afar, isolated until the night ended. Her lips pressed together, the disappointment subtle but evident.
Arvin caught the shift immediately, his hand stilling on her face. 'Hey,' he said softly, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. 'We can dance.'
Her smile returned, tentative at first, then brighter, warming the space between them.
'Only one dance, though,' he added, a teasing glint in his eye.
Mirha's grin widened, untroubled. 'It doesn't matter,' she murmured, scooting closer until her forehead rested against his, their breaths mingling in the cozy hush.
Arvin's smile widened, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. 'Maybe with a kiss... or more... we can add it to more dances.'
Mirha's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in shock at the Emperor's bold naughtiness, heat flooding her cheeks even as a thrill shot through her. She stared at him, caught between surprise and the spark of desire his words ignited.
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through the air between them, and reached for her, his fingers curling around her arm to draw her near. His lips captured hers in a slow, burning kiss, the kind that started gentle but built like a smoldering fire, his tongue teasing the seam of her mouth until she parted for him. The heat of it seeped into her skin, making her pulse quicken.
Mirha felt her core clench tight, a sudden ache blooming low in her belly despite the exhaustion weighing her down. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, knuckles whitening as she fought the urge to arch into him.
Arvin noticed the way her body tensed, the subtle shift in her breathing, and it fueled his own hunger. With a gentle but insistent pull, he drew her fully against him, his free hand sliding up her thigh to bunch the fabric of her gown, lifting it higher until it pooled around her waist. The cool air kissed her bare skin, but his touch was warm, possessive.
She didn't stop him—couldn't, even if she'd wanted to. Her body responded on instinct, legs parting slightly as he guided her over him, positioning her to straddle his hips. His cock, already hard and throbbing, pressed against her entrance, slick from her earlier arousal. He gripped her hips and eased her down, inch by inch, until he filled her completely, stretching her walls around his thick length.
A sharp gasp escaped her, and she bit down on his lower lip, the sting making him groan into her mouth. The fullness of him inside her sent waves of pleasure rippling through her tired frame, chasing away the fatigue for the moment.
Arvin sat up slowly, his arms wrapping around her waist to support her as he shifted their positions. In one fluid motion, he flipped her onto her back beneath him, settling between her thighs in missionary. He kept their bodies close, his weight a comforting press as he began to thrust—slow, deliberate strokes that dragged his cock along her sensitive inner walls, building the friction with agonizing patience.
All the while, he kissed her deeply, swallowing her soft moans, his tongue mirroring the rhythm of his hips. Mirha's hands roamed his back, nails digging in lightly as the pleasure coiled tighter in her core. She was bone-tired, her muscles aching from their earlier exertions, but the sensation of him moving inside her was too intoxicating to deny. She didn't want him to stop—needed the slow burn to push her over the edge one more time.
He didn't. Arvin kept the pace steady, his thrusts deepening gradually, each one hitting that spot that made her gasp and cling to him. Her climax built swiftly despite her weariness, crashing over her in shuddering waves long before his own release. She cried out against his mouth, her pussy clenching rhythmically around his cock, milking him as stars burst behind her eyelids.
Only then did Arvin let go, his hips snapping forward one final time as he buried himself deep and came, spilling hot seed inside her with a guttural groan. He collapsed partially over her, both of them panting in the aftermath, the storm's rain pattering against the windows like a distant applause to their shared ecstasy.
After a while, Mirha shifted on the bed, her body still humming faintly from their earlier passion, though exhaustion tugged at her limbs. She sat up slowly, smoothing down her gown with trembling fingers, and met Arvin's gaze. 'It's late,' she murmured, her voice soft and laced with weariness. 'I'm sleepy.'
Arvin propped himself on one elbow, his eyes lingering on her flushed skin, the way her hair tumbled messily over her shoulders. 'Sleep here,' he suggested, his tone casual but inviting, patting the space beside him.
She hesitated, a shy smile curving her lips even as heat crept back into her cheeks. 'If I stay in this bed with you, I'm afraid we wouldn't sleep at all.' Her words hung in the air, teasing yet honest, her core still sensitive from his thrusts, a reminder of how easily he could unravel her.
He chuckled, low and rumbling, sitting up fully now, his bare chest marked with faint scratches from her nails. 'Then stop me,' he challenged, his voice dropping to that husky timbre that always sent shivers down her spine.
Mirha's breath caught, her eyes flicking to his mouth, remembering the taste of him, the way he'd claimed her just moments ago. 'You know I can't stop you,' she replied, her tone a mix of surrender and truth, her body betraying her with a subtle ache of longing.
Arvin fell quiet, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the study, the rain still drumming steadily against the windows. He searched her face, wondering at the layers beneath her words—the power he held as Emperor, or the pull she felt toward him, undeniable and raw.
Finally, Mirha rose from the bed, her legs a touch unsteady as she straightened her gown. She bowed gracefully, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. 'Good night, Your Majesty.'
'Goodnight,' he echoed, watching her with a gaze that burned even from across the room.
Mirha slipped out of the study, the door clicking softly behind her. The corridors of the palace were hushed, lit only by flickering torches that cast long shadows on the stone walls. She made her way to her chambers, the cool night air soothing her heated skin. Once inside, she dismissed the attendants with a quiet word and drew a bath, the steam rising in fragrant curls from the hot water scented with lavender oils.
She sank into the tub with a sigh, the warmth enveloping her sore muscles, easing the lingering tenderness between her thighs where he'd filled her so completely. Her fingers trailed absently over her skin, tracing the faint bruises from his grip, a secret map of their desire. As the water lapped gently, her eyelids grew heavy, and she lingered just long enough to rinse away the evidence of their joining before toweling dry and slipping between cool sheets. Sleep claimed her swiftly, deep and dreamless, her body curling into the pillows.
Back in the study, Arvin remained on the bed, staring at the door long after she'd gone. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind turning over her words like a puzzle. Can't stop me because I'm the Emperor... or because she wants it too? The question gnawed at him, stirring a mix of possessiveness and curiosity. He extinguished the lamps one by one, the room falling into darkness broken only by the storm's flashes, and lay back, the scent of her still clinging to the sheets.