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The construction on the new Sept of the Seven in Braavos came to an end. Bigger, better, and far more grand.
It was everything that the previous Sept wasn't. This Sept was going to have a constant presence of five septons and twenty septas, managing the place and conducting all the prayers.
Already, the crowds that visited the Sept numbered tens of thousands each day. Soon, that number would come down, but Bronn wasn't worried. As long as he was alive, his legend would spread.
But more than anything, he loved the sound of coins falling in the offering boxes set inside the Sept near the entry and exit. The coin was going to be used to feed the poor and repair houses of those who couldn't afford them.
That was what the people knew. Bronn took slightly over half of it for his personal crusade, or so was what he told the Most Devout that the High Septon had sent. Bronn couldn't care less what the man thought.
His House of Seven Blessings was also generating money, and that was entirely his. Still, he paid the septas, septons, and Angelic Knights in his service fairly. But the ones who earned most were the four septas who warmed his bed, not that anybody else knew.
A month had passed since he'd killed Moqorro. Too many threatening letters had come to him from various parts of Essos. But there were also some letters suggesting joy, mainly from merchant princes, ruling councils, and magisters. Some even sent gifts.
A few assassination attempts were also made on him, but they all failed. He was the most protected man in Braavos. At the same time, each assassination attempt gave him an excuse to call forth more fighters from Westeros to join his ranks.
Slowly, he planned to gather a great army without anyone even realising what had happened.
Knock! Knock!
The door to his private chambers opened. It was a solar in his House of Seven Blessings, a sizable building worthy of being called the largest mansion in Braavos, very close to the Sealord's Palace.
He looked up, finding Unella leaning her head inside.
"Lord Septon?"
"You don't need to knock, Unella. What's the matter?"
Unella smiled warmly, used to the warmth the Lord Septon showed her. "A guest has come from Westeros. It is Princess Elia Martell. She says you will wish to meet her."
Bronn frowned for a moment. He didn't want to be seen close to the Martells, as that would anger Robert Baratheon. He still wasn't prepared to handle that mess. "Did she come from the hidden entrance?"
"She did, Lord Septon," Unella said. "She sent her guards to speak with us before she arrived. Only Ser Hasty and I saw her."
"By the Seven, send her in privately. My meeting with the Martells could anger the Crown and hinder our preaching in Essos."
Unella closed the door and left. Bronn, meanwhile, put away whatever he was writing and prepared himself to meet with the first woman he'd taken underneath himself in his slow conquest. Well, not the first, but the first woman of great significance.
It had been so many years since he'd last seen Princess Elia. She was slender as a twig back then, weak of body, and broken in mind at the loss of her children. He wondered what she looked like now.
Right then, a knock came on the door, and it was pushed open. Just one figure walked in, draped in a golden-yellow silk gown, sleeveless, broad-necked, absurdly tight around her waist and hips, revealing how flared out they were.
Seven virgin cunts!
Bronn nearly drooled at the sight of the woman. She no longer looked like the frail, thin princess in trouble. No, this Elia seemed different, healthy, with a blushing complexion to her dusky skin. Her breasts were still on the smaller size, yet bigger than he remembered. Her hips were broader, fitting her overall slender, hourglass figure.
"Lord Septon!" Elia chirped and rushed towards him.
Bronn instinctively opened his arms and received the woman who nearly jumped into his embrace. She wrapped her soft arms around him, her bust flattened against him. Bronn's arms, however, tested the boundaries, wondering if she had changed.
His hands went for her lush, ripe bottom right away, one hand groping a cheek each, so soft and doughy, different from before, better. The childbirth he'd 'blessed' her with had made her ripe. He kneaded them, fingers sinking in the soft silk.
The woman didn't even flinch and hugged him tighter.
"I longed all these years to have another glimpse of you, Lord Septon," Elia mumbled and broke the embrace to look up at his face. Then she rose on her toes, her slender fingers caressing his chin.
Bronn welcomed her invitation and leaned down, one arm around her waist, another clawing her ass, his lips met her. Spice, he tasted, perhaps a Dornish wine.
It was pure, unadulterated desire for bodily warmth. Elia didn't even attempt to hide it or act demure. She welcomed his warm tongue, loosening her lips to greet him.
Years without a man's touch had sharpened Elia's every sensation into desperate need; her body starved for the divine touch. In his arms, her obsession bloomed; fierce, submissive, utter greed.
She longed for him, body and soul. Her skin hypersensitive to the slightest graze, her pulse thundering with the thrill of surrender. All these lonely nights, she'd chased the ghost of his warmth in dreams, but now the real heat flooded her veins, turning every brush into electric ecstasy that pooled low in her belly, demanding more.
She felt at home as she felt his soft, warm tongue slither between her lips. She moaned as she felt his tongue sweep in and coil with hers. She shuddered, feeling his hands grip her bottom roughly.
She was where she belonged, in the Lord Septon's embrace. Oh, she felt her body burning already, aching for his attention on other parts of her body. She could feel his spit in her mouth, yet she felt the thirst, throat going dry.
Her lashes felt heavy, her dark eyes stared at his face with hunger. Yet, she wanted to let the Lord Septon decide; it was his blessing to give, his decision.
"Ummmh." Elia moaned when she felt Lord Septon's hands brush her gown off her shoulders, and pushed down to cling to her waist, right above her hips, tightly.
The cool air kissed her newly exposed skin, sending shivers racing through her, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his palms as they rose to cup her full breasts. He kneaded her flesh with a greedy hunger that made her arch into him, fingers sinking into her softness as if claiming every inch for himself.
Elia teetered on the edge of ecstasy from his touch alone, her body surrendering to waves of bliss that felt divine. She felt so close to heaven, to the Gods. This was an Angel's warmth; Lord Septon was the Seven's Angel. And to have such private attention from an Angel, she already felt blessed.
Suddenly, her legs shook; her toes going weak.
The climax crashed over her without warning, a shocking rush of warmth flooding between her thighs in a slick, shameful release.
She gasped in shame, cheeks burning even as her body throbbed. The evidence of her surrender soaked her skin and made her feel utterly exposed.
"Ohhmm~"
Yet even in the haze, she moaned deeply when Lord Septon's thumbs flicked across her tight, brown nipples, the sharp sparks of sensation drawing fresh whimpers from her lips. The overwhelming need consumed her; she couldn't bear it any longer.
With trembling hands, she shoved her gown further down her hips. Her bare, glistening folds exposed to the air, slick and begging for more. She clearly came prepared, without even a thread of smallclothes.
The kiss never broke, fused in a devouring dance. She was drunk, out of her mind. Damned be the world if anyone walked through that door. In this moment, she was lost to him completely, her body yielding without restraint.
"Aaaah!" The cry escaped her as one of Lord Septon's hands trailed downward, his palm gliding possessively over the taut muscles of her toned belly.
His fingers toyed teasingly with the soft flesh there before dipping lower, slipping between her moist thighs. He parted her wet folds, a single finger circling her swollen petals, tracing the hot, dripping wetness, sending jolts of electric pleasure radiating through her core.
But he denied her and broke the kiss, stepping away from her.
"Lay down on the floor, my Princess."
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