The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 344: Matriarch of the blue rose (18+)

Jolthar gave a guttural groan.

He drove into her in one fierce, deep stroke.

Hmmmh AHHH!!

Raayani cried out, her voice muffled by the tree bark.

He was so big, stretching her, filling her with an intensity that bordered on pain before it melted into pure, blinding pleasure.

There was no gentle easing, no slow build. This was a claiming.

He didn’t wait for her to adjust.

He set a punishing rhythm immediately, each thrust a powerful surge of his hips that slammed her body against the tree. The rough bark scraped at the silk covering her front, a sharp counterpoint to the incredible, slick friction building where they were joined.

”Is this what you came for, my lady?” He grunted, his breath hot on her neck. His arm tightened around her waist, holding her immobile for his use.

”Is this the attention you wanted?”

”Yes! Gods, yes!

” she gasped, the words torn from her. Her own hands scrambled against the tree, finding purchase as he pistoned into her.
Each impact sent a jolt of pure sensation through her core. She could feel the raw power in his body, the coiled strength in his thighs as he powered into her, again and again.

It was savage.

It was perfect.

He released her hair, his hand sliding around to her front, down over the slick silk covering her stomach. His fingers found the taut peak of her nipple through the fabric, pinching and rolling it, and she arched back against him with a sharp cry.

The dual assault was overwhelming.

The pleasure was a live wire, sparking through her veins, coiling tighter and tighter deep in her belly.

His pace became even more frantic, more desperate.

The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting filled the air, a primal music. She could feel the muscles of his abdomen clenching against her back, feel the sweat-slicked skin of his chest through her torn dress. He was muttering things against her skin, filthy, beautiful things about how she felt, how tight she was, and how he’d wanted this since he first saw her.

Her own desires matched his intensity, a wildfire burning within her.

His questing hand left her breast and slid lower, down over the silk, past the waistband of his trousers where their bodies were joined, his fingers seeking the slick, heated core of her. He found the swollen bud of her pleasure and pressed down, circling it in time with his brutal thrusts.

It was too much.

The coil snapped.

Her climax seized her without warning, a violent, crashing wave that tore a scream from her lungs. Her inner muscles clamped down around him, milking his length in rhythmic, convulsive pulses.

Her vision whited out, reduced to nothing but the feeling of him pounding into her, drawing out the shattering pleasure until she was sobbing, her legs trembling violently, held up only by his viselike grip around her waist.

Feeling her climax, Jolthar lost the last shred of his control.

With a roar that seemed to shake the very leaves above them, he buried himself to the hilt inside her. She felt the hot, pulsing rush of his release, and the sensation triggered another, smaller aftershock that made her gasp.

He held himself there, pressed deep, his body shuddering against hers as he emptied himself.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the rustle of leaves. The rough bark of the tree pressed into her cheek.

The scent of sex and sweat and forest air hung heavy around them. His weight was a warm, solid presence against her back.

His weight a heavy, satisfying anchor against her back, Raayani floated in a haze of spent pleasure.

The rough bark was a distant sensation against her cheek, the musk of their joining a perfume more intoxicating than any from her court.

Jolthar’s breath warmed her neck, his chest rising and falling against her spine in a rhythm that was slowly beginning to steady.

A soft crunch of a twig, impossibly faint, snapped the silence.

Jolthar went utterly still.

Every muscle in the powerful frame pressed against her tensed, transforming from a satiated lover back into the warrior in a heartbeat.

His head lifted from where it rested against her hair.

Raayani, her senses still swimming, felt the shift.

”What is it?” she murmured, her voice hoarse.

He didn’t answer.

His dark eyes were fixed on a dense thicket of ferns behind the great oak they had just used. His expression was no longer smug or satisfied; it was sharp, focused, and predatory.

He saw something she did not.

A flicker of movement.

A glimpse of rich, purple fabric.

The briefest flash of a horrified, pale face framed by dark, intricately braided hair.

Then, the sound of frantic, retreating footsteps faded quickly into the forest.

A slow, lustful grin spread across Jolthar’s face as Cleora’s fleeing form vanished into the shadows.

The interruption hadn’t broken the moment; it had forged it into something new, something harder and far more potent.

He turned back to Raayani, his dark eyes glowing with a feral triumph.

”It seems we have an audience,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through the space between them.

Raayani frowned as she looked at Jolthar.

But the look in his eyes—that look of pure, undiluted possession—chased the doubts away, replacing them with a fresh wave of scorching heat. Her own complicated feelings about the audience, about her daughters, and about her position—all of it evaporated under the intensity of his gaze.

There was only him.

Only this.

She lifted her chin, a spark of defiance and raw need flashing in her eyes.

”Then let us give them a performance they will not forget.”

His grin widened.

Letting her feel the thick, hot length of him against her sensitive flesh.

A shudder ran through her.

”You are mine,” he growled into her ear, his breath scalding.

It wasn’t a question. It was a law of nature.

”Yes,” she gasped, pushing her hips back in a desperate, silent plea. ”Yours.”

He obliged.

He drove into her with a single, brutal thrust that stole the air from her lungs.