Chapter 87: Deal Fulfilled [R-18](II)
Azula's quarters were austere, befitting a princess of the Fire Nation on campaign, yet draped with heavy silks in crimson and gold that muted the harsh reality of the stone fortress. The air was cool, smelling faintly of incense and something sharper, metallic. She didn't bother with the lamps, letting the faint moonlight filtering through the high, narrow windows cast long, shifting shadows that danced with the firelight from a small brazier in the corner. It added to the theatricality, a stage set for a transaction.
She moved to the center of the plush rug, her back to him, shedding her armor with fluid, practiced movements. The breastplate clattered softly onto a nearby table, followed by her shoulder guards. Her tunic, then her undershirt, were unceremoniously discarded, revealing the toned, almost sculpted lines of her back, the faint scar tissue from a forgotten training accident tracing an elegant curve near her shoulder blade. She didn't invite him to help, didn't even glance his way. It was an unspoken command.
Zuko watched, a tightening in his gut that had little to do with affection and everything to do with territory and power. This was a conquest, even if he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she was merely allowing it. His own armor felt suddenly stifling. He began to shed it, piece by piece, the metallic clatter less graceful than hers, more impatient. His scar, usually a source of self-consciousness, felt like a brand of ownership in this moment, a testament to the battles he'd fought to stand here.
When he looked up, she was facing him, clad only in her underthings – simple, dark trousers, clinging to her hips, and a thin, silk bandeau that barely covered her breasts, leaving her stomach bare save for the intricate temporary golden tattoo that spiraled around her navel. Her eyes, in the dim light, were unreadable, but the ghost of a smirk played on her lips. She raised a hand, not to beckon, but to gesture. "Come."
It was less an invitation and more a summons. Zuko felt a surge of indignation, quickly drowned out by the thick, insistent throb in his veins. He closed the distance between them, his breath hitching as he stopped just before her, the air between them suddenly charged. He reached for her, but she intercepted his hands, her fingers cool and precise as they unbuckled his belt, then his trousers, pushing them down with an economy of motion that was almost clinical.
He was hard Instantly, springing forth from the confines of his garments, thick and rigid. Azula's eyes flickered down, a calculating gleam in their depths. She took a step back, then knelt, a graceful descent to the rug. Zuko tensed, a rush of blood to his head. She looked up at him, her gaze unwavering, before slowly, deliberately, she leaned in.
Her lips were cool at first, then warmed, closing around the head of his dick with a soft suction that made him gasp. He gripped her shoulders, knuckles white, as she began to draw him in, her tongue flicking across the sensitive tip before encircling him. She worked with an unhurried intensity, a practiced rhythm that bespoke of a chilling expertise. He could feel the soft pressure of her throat as she took more and more of him, her cheeks hollowing with each draw, the wet, slick sound echoing in the quiet room. Her hands, surprisingly gentle, moved to the base of his shaft, guiding him, milking him. He groaned, a sound torn from deep in his chest, his hips beginning to buck instinctively against her mouth as the pleasure became almost unbearable. He could feel himself nearing a critical point, his vision blurring.
Just as he was about to burst, she pulled away, a thin, glistening line of saliva connecting them before snapping. He gasped, trembling, fighting for breath, his cock aching, desperate. She rose, a faint, almost imperceptible sheen of his come on her lips, which she licked clean with a slow, deliberate motion that was pure provocation. "Satisfied, Crown Prince?" she purred, her voice a low vibration that seemed to wrap around him.
He was beyond words, beyond thought, his body a trembling testament to her control. He reached for her, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her waist. He lowered his head, roughly seeking her mouth, but she turned her head, offering him her neck. He nipped at the sensitive skin, then moved lower, to the swell of her breast. He pushed aside the silk bandeau, letting it fall to her waist. Her breasts were smaller than he remembered, firm and perfectly shaped, her nipples dark and taut. He suckled, tasting her salty skin, his tongue lashing around the peak. She gasped, a small, choked sound, her hands digging into his hair as he devoured her, moving between them both, his mouth hot and wet, drawing out the cries she usually kept so guarded. He moved with a hungry urgency, determined to claim a pleasure from her as intense as the one she had just inflicted on him, his teeth gently raking her soft skin, eliciting another sharp intake of breath.
He lifted her, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and carried her to a low divan piled with cushions near the brazier. He laid her down, then knelt between her thighs, parting them with his knees. Her dark trousers were still clinging to her, a thin barrier between them. With a single, decisive tug, he ripped them, the silk tearing with a satisfying sound, revealing the soft, dark curls between her legs, already damp.
"Mine," he growled, the word ripped from him, primal and possessive. Azula's eyes, usually so sharp, were clouded with a desire that mirrored his own, a flicker of something raw and untamed that she rarely allowed to surface.
He didn't waste anotherr second. He positioned himself, pressing the head of his cock against her slick entrance. She was wet, so wet, a testament to her own suppressed desire. He pushed, slowly at first, then with a surge of heat and hunger that made her cry out. He slid into her, a deep, full penetration, her folds tightening around him immediately, clinging, squeezing. It was a perfect fit, tight and slick. He groaned, burying his face in her neck, inhaling her scent – smoke, metal, and something uniquely hers, something that made his animal instincts roar.
He pulled back, then plunged again, hard and fast, a rhythm of pure, unthinking instinct. The divan creaked rhythmically under their assault. She arched against him, her heels digging into his back, her hips rising to meet each thrust. He felt her pussy squeezing around his dick with every movement, a sensation so intense it made his vision swim. He moved faster, harder, pushing deeper, his hips slamming against hers with a slobby, wet slap that echoed in the quiet room. He was a humming beast now, a low growl emanating from his chest, vibrating against her back as he gripped her hips and pushed into her from behind, doggy style. Her nails raked his shoulders, leaving thin, stinging trails. This wasn't graceful, it wasn't beautiful, it was raw, primal, a frenzied claiming of one body by another. He felt the tension building inside him, a coil tightening tighter and tighter until, with one final, ragged roar, he emptied himself deep inside her, his body shuddering with release. She cried out too, a sharp, surprised sound of climax, her body convulsing around him, milking him dry.
He collapsed onto her back, breathless, his body spent, the hum receding into a heavy pant. The air was thick with the scent of their sex, musky and sweet. He thought Azula would push him off, would regain her composure instantly. But she lay still beneath him for a long moment, her breathing as ragged as his own, her body still trembling faintly.
Then she shifted, her hips rolling slightly, a subtle movement that rekindled the embers of desire within him. He pulled out, a soft, slick sound of separation, and turned her onto her back, propping himself above her, looking down into her face. Her hair was splayed wildly around her head, her lips swollen, her eyes half-lidded, still glazed with the afterglow. Her cheeks were flushed, a stark contrast to her usual pallor. She looked utterly ravaged, and utterly beautiful.
He kissed her, a deep, possessive kiss that tasted of sweat and sex and something dangerous. She met him, her tongue tangling with his, a silent acknowledgment of the connection they had forged, however temporary or strategic.
"Again," she whispered, her voice husky, barely audible. There was no demand in it this time, only a raw, unvarnished yearning.
He didn't need to be told twice. He shifted, pulling her hips against him, pressing his still-swollen cock against her now-slick pussy. This time, he lowered himself slowly, eyes locked with hers, watching her expression as he slipped back inside. She was even wetter now, his entrance smoother, deeper. Her folds clamped around him instantly, a greedy, insistent grip.
This round was different. It started slower, a deliberate grinding of hips, a deeper exploration. He leaned down, suckling her breasts again, drawing out long, drawn-out moans that she couldn't suppress. He moved inside her with a languid intensity, each thrust a promise, a slow burn that built with agonizing precision. Her hands gripped his ass, pulling him deeper, her legs wrapping even tighter around his waist, trying to get every inch of him.
"Zuko," she gasped, her voice thick with emotion, unlike anything he'd ever heard from her. "Harder… so much harder."
He obeyed, his rhythm accelerating, but never losing the depth, the deliberate friction. He felt her internal muscles clenching and unclenching around him, a relentless squeeze that pulled him further into the depths of her pleasure. The slobby, wet sounds of their bodies meeting filled the room, a rhythmic squelch that was both vulgar and exhilarating. Her moans grew louder, more frantic, becoming less words and more raw, guttural cries that tore from her throat. He could feel her tightening, a sensation that was becoming addictive. He leaned into her, pressing his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling, hot and ragged.
"Look at me," she pleaded, her voice cracking, her eyes wide, glistening with unshed tears of pleasure. He looked, and saw not the calculating princess, but a woman utterly consumed, stripped bare of her defenses. It was a glimpse into a vulnerability he'd never seen, and it inflamed him further.
He plunged relentlessly, reaching depths he hadn't known possible, feeling her internal walls grip and milk him with a ferocity that stole his breath. She bucked against him, her body arching high, her hips rising to meet every single thrust, a frantic dance of raw, uninhibited desire. The combined sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that washed over them both. She was screaming his name now, a guttural, desperate sound, her climax building, her pussy squeezing him so tightly he felt himself on the verge. And then, with a final, earth-shattering series of spasms, her entire body went rigid, convulsing violently around him, taking him over the edge with her. He roared, his own release a volcanic eruption, deep and prolonged, emptying himself into her with a force that left them both shaking, utterly spent, yet tingling with a profound, shared aftershock.
It was more Intense than any of their prior sexual encounters, a brutal yet exhilarating coupling that left them clinging to each other, breathless and slick, the lines of power and manipulation momentarily blurred by the sheer, overwhelming force of their bodies.
For a moment, lying tangled together on the ruined divan, Azula allowed herself to simply feel. But the moment passed. A faint, knowing smile touched her lips as she felt Zuko's heavy breathing against her neck. He thought he had won. He thought he had exerted his will. But she had simply given him what he thought he craved, a temporary illusion of control. And now, she had him exactly where she wanted him: complacent, sated, and utterly within her trap.
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