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Daemon blinks slowly, his eyelids resisting the motion as if they're weighed down. There’s a dull thumping in the base of his skull and a sour twisting in his gut. He hasn't felt this out-of-it since he went on a bender in Volantis and woke up two weeks later in the back room of a Myrish tavern.
What the fuck happened?
He remembers arriving at his brother’s house. Remembers attending the garden party-turned-surprise wedding. Remembers the stunned faces—his niece’s most of all. Remembers offering his congratulations to Viserys and Alicent, and his condolences to Rhaenyra. Remembers eating. Drinking. Dancing. More drinking.
Then nothing.
But did he drink that much? He doesn’t think so—no more than a usual night out, and with far fewer party-enhancing drugs, even. His thoughts are slippery as he tries to piece everything together. But his memory fizzles away to black somewhere between the time he switched from wine to whisky.
Don’t panic. This isn’t your first blackout.
Even so, a low-level anxiety buzzes around his skull. Daemon strains until, finally, his eyelids relent, and he’s met with a flood of darkness. His vision is blurry, every movement of his eyes sending a pulse of pain ricocheting around his head.
It’s still so dark, but his pupils expand enough to drink in the little light that exists and make sense of the world—a dim light coming from somewhere just behind his right ear. Another thin sliver of light from beneath a crack in a door.
Vague shapes shimmer just beyond the scope of his vision: A desk, perhaps? Yes, a desk, with a computer, emitting a tiny dot of red light. A fireplace. A dresser. A bedroom, then, he thinks. Which means, he must be on the bed.
A few more brief flashes of the evening are revealed to him.
A toast. Raising a glass of fine Pentoshi sparkling wine. His head growing fuzzy, his thoughts turning to thick sludge. Sick, unsteady. Had to sit down. Someone offered him water. Or maybe more wine.
The same someone helping him upstairs. Thin arms looped around him, him sagging against a smaller frame.
A black dress.
A flash of silver against a slender neck.
A cascade of white-blonde hair.
A doll’s eyes.
A demon’s smile.
Rhaenyra.
That's when details in the room come into sharper focus:
The poster above the desk: Dark Sister, her favorite band.
The familiar array of framed dressage awards along the wall.
The gleaming trophies on the mantle.
The door leading to her en-suite bathroom, next to an identical one for her walk-in closet.
The set of glass-paned double-doors leading out to her private balcony, curtains drawn across them.
Daemon has been in this room many times over the years—from carrying a sleepy Rhaenyra to bed after letting her stay up late eating ice cream and watching R-rated movies, to dragging a sloppy drunk Rhaenyra up the stairs and shoving her into a cold shower after picking her up from some club she managed to wheedle her way into. He knows the layout and the details as if it were his own room.
There’s no doubt now where he is.
And if he’s in Rhaenyra’s room, that means he’s in Rhaenyra’s bed.
Fuck.
Did he finally slip? Rhaenyra had been prancing around him in that slutty little dress of hers, pressing her tits together whenever he caught a look of her, giving him her best fuck-me eyes. She was practically begging for it.
She’d been begging for it for years, truth be told, growing more brazen with each passing day. But Daemon always kept his hands to himself, no matter how she might tempt him.
He needs to get the fuck out of here first, and figure out what he did (or, hopefully—didn’t do) later.
Except he can’t seem to move.
He’s not just on Rhaenyra’s bed; he’s tied to Rhaenyra’s bed. He rolls his eyes from side to side, confirming that his arms are outstretched, chained to the bed posts, holding him up in a seated position. Glancing down he sees his ankles similarly chained, with straps disappearing under the bed, his legs spread in a wide V across the red silk sheets.
Panic rises in his chest, his throat, and he immediately attempts to strain against his bindings to free himself. But he can’t. He can’t move. He can’t feel. It’s like Daemon’s whole body is numb—or, beyond numb, as if it doesn't exist at all, and the only thing he can move is his eyes, and his sluggish thoughts.
His brain scrambles to make sense of it, but comes up empty.
What the fucking fuck.
Once more he casts his gaze around the shrouded corners of the room, hoping this time he’ll find an answer, the key to this fucked-up mystery.
That's when he sees her.
His niece, his captor, Rhaenyra Targaryen, emerges from the shadows, her wicked grin gleaming like a knife's edge.
"Uncle. You're finally awake," she says smoothly.
He tries to speak but his tongue refuses to obey him, laying fat and useless in his mouth.
What in the seven hells is she playing at?
She taps something in her hand, and the fireplace immediately flares to life, bathing the bed in a shifting, flickering light. Daemon suddenly feels like he's in the spotlight, like he's about to be put on trial, all his sins laid bare.
"I'm sure you're wondering what you're doing here, tied to my bed."
No shit.
She steps closer to the footboard, and tosses the fireplace remote aside. Backlit by the dancing flames, she seems to glow with a hellish light. She's still wearing the sinfully tight black minidress she had on at the party. It made her look like pure temptation before; now it’s menacing, deadly. A trap.
“It’s no use trying to move. Or speak. Not yet, anyway,” she says casually, swaying as she moves around the side of the bed.
If Daemon could feel his heartbeat he’s sure it’s fucking pounding in his chest right now. That sweat is dripping from his brow. That he’s shaking with the dark anticipation of whatever Rhaenyra is about to do next.
“Don’t worry!” she says quickly, holding up her hands in some approximation of a comforting, non-threatening gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you, Uncle. I’d never do that.”
She smiles in what he assumes she considers a reassuring way, but she’s never looked more like a hungry predator.
“It's just a shame I was never much of a chemistry student myself,” she laments. “I had to enlist some help to produce just the right compound. Couldn't just buy something off the street from some shady drug dealer.”
A swell of nausea passes over him, followed by cold dread.
She shakes her head vigorously.
"No, no. Only the best for my Uncle."
She fucking roofied me.
“Something that would knock you out, you know?” Her brow furrows thoughtfully. “But only temporarily. Just enough time so I could get you up here, and get you undressed.”
That’s when his brain finally registers the fact that he’s currently naked tied to Rhaenyra’s bed. His eyes must have bulged at the realization, because Rhaenyra grins wickedly. In his delirium he can’t help but be mildly impressed that Rhaenyra managed to drag him upstairs, take off his clothes, and lash him to the bed by herself. Those Pilates classes were really paying off.
“I needed something very special. Something that would keep you inert while your feeling returns to you. Because this next part really is no fun if you can’t feel anything.”
He’s not sure if she reminds him more of a dominatrix or a serial killer right now. Either way, it’s unsettling.
“Lucky for me, Mysaria knew someone in Lys who was very knowledgeable about such things. And very discreet.”
Mysaria! Fucking traitor.
When he gets out of here, he’s going to wring that traitorous whore's pretty neck.
“Oh, she was more than happy to help me with this little endeavor. I suppose you must have done something terrible to earn her ire, Uncle.”
If you call breaking off a perfectly serviceable friends-with-benefits situation because Mysaria wanted more, and Daemon was unwilling to provide it, terrible—then yes, he did something terrible. But it was her fault. He didn’t anticipate Mysaria having such a petty streak, however.
Rhaenyra is at the bedside now. She extends her hand, tipped with blood-red claws, and trails one lacquered nail along his shin. It’s jarring to see it drag across the flesh, but to feel nothing.
“Hmm.” She taps her index finger against her lips as she observes him with clinical detachment. She repeats her careful inspection on his other leg, then on each of his arms. “While we wait for your sensation to return, I suppose I ought to explain myself?”
Great, a fucking villain monologue.
Rhaenyra sighs theatrically and tucks her hair behind her ear.
“You’ve been so cruel, Uncle,” she says seriously, her dazzling eyes boring into his.
Whatever this game of hers is, she’s fully committed to her role.
“All these years, you’ve treated me like your favorite. You’ve spoiled me. You’ve flattered me. You’ve flirted with me. Gods, all the little touches, your hands always lingering. It's enough to drive a girl mad!”
She huffs, tossing her arms up.
“As impatient as I was to have you, I thought perhaps it was merely a matter of my age. Of being on the up-and-up with the legality of it all. So I was content to wait, because I always thought once I turned eighteen, you’d give up your silly pretense, and finally take me. Isn’t that what all the games were about, Uncle? Wasn’t it always supposed to be that way?"
She sighs, and wipes a non-existent tear from her cheek.
"Yet you rejected me. Continue to reject me, over and again. I have to see you with other women, showering them with your attentions and affections. Affections that should be mine. Don’t you understand how badly that hurts me?”
She points an accusatory finger at him, her lower lip quivering—with despair? With rage? Daemon can’t tell.
He wants to scream at her, shake her, until she understands that it’s all been for her own good. She’s still only nineteen fucking years old. A child. Does she not realize what he’s done to spare her? He could have fucked her raw the first time she offered herself to him. He could have ruined her. But he didn’t. Because he’s a good uncle.
“So what’s a girl to do, hm?” Rhaenyra muses, shrugging her shoulders innocently.
She resumes her gentle prodding of his limbs, and runs her nails over his chest. The way she leans over him affords him a generous view of her tits, which he’s sure is no accident. She went through a hell of a growth spurt a few summers ago, and has been making it known to him ever since. As if he wouldn’t have noticed, anyway. He’s spent more than one night jerking himself off with those lush fucking tits in mind.
There’s a sudden stirring in his groin, a tingling that pulses briefly before it fades away. Daemon’s eyes flicker down and up again, until Rhaenyra catches his gaze. Her lips curl into a triumphant smile, matched by the gleam in her eye.
“Aha, almost ready,” she says cryptically.
The tingling reappears in his fingers and toes, though try as he might to even rouse the faintest wiggle, he still can’t move a single muscle. Daemon can only watch as Rhaenyra steps back from the bed, and starts sliding her panties down her legs. She shimmies them down to her ankles, then daintily steps out of them with her bare feet, toes painted the same violent red as her fingernails.
“So you see, this was my only option, really. I tried everything else. I did,” she insists. “Yet you persist in denying yourself. I know you want me, Uncle. So this is for your own good. And it's only fair, the way you’ve treated me,” she says, her ruby lips forming into a petulant pout.
Gods, how many times has he wanted to kiss that impertinent mouth? How many times has he restrained himself? From kissing her, from grabbing her, from shoving his cock down her throat to silence her bratty demands? He should have just done it. Because now she’s taken things this far, and Daemon isn’t entirely confident she’s not going to cut his balls off before this is all over.
“I had to take matters into my own hands. To give you a little push, you know?”
Rhaenyra turns her back to him, then bends slowly and plucks her panties from the floor. Daemon is certain if he had any control over his motor functions, he’d be licking his lips right now. Her tiny skirt rides up over her ass, two perfect round globes of flesh, begging for him to sink his teeth into.
Fucking Pilates.
Her pose also gives him a tantalizing peek of her cunt, luscious pink lips just barely visible between the seam of her thighs. He’s seen a lot of her over the years, in tiny bikinis, in skimpy pajama sets, in hundreds of outfits deliberately designed to grab his cock’s attention. But never like this. Never without some shred of fabric, no matter how flimsy, separating her from his view.
"The real trick was finding the proper time," she explains. "How fortunate we had this party, right? Plenty of people drink too much at my father's parties. Especially if it's a wedding."
She can't conceal the bitterness in her voice at that last bit. Even trussed up as her prisoner, Daemon feels a stab of pity.
"Plus, I already had the restraints set up," she says, returning to her cool, collected tone. She flashes a winning smile. "Win-win."
Daemon's pity quickly gives way to possessiveness, roaring to life in his chest like a snarling beast.
Who else has Rhaenyra been tying to her bed?
"I know what you must be thinking—why bother tying you up in the first place, if I was going to drug you like this?"
With his mind the murky fog it presently is, he hadn't been thinking that. She gives a tittering giggle, pressing a hand to her mouth.
"I admit, that's just for me. You look so lovely all tied up, Uncle. I really wish you could see it."
He’s definitely leaning towards serial killer now.
Rhaenyra makes no effort to pull her skirt down as she approaches. Daemon catches a quick glimpse of her cunt, completely bare save for a thin strip of silvery curls, lips blushing delicate pink like flower petals. His mind swims with hazy, half-formed fantasies: parting those lips with his tongue, drinking her in, inhaling her—
Fuck.
With the sinuous grace of a jungle cat, Rhaenyra climbs into the bed, and prowls towards his helpless form with vicious intent. She positions herself between his spread legs, leaning back on her heels as she makes a show of twirling the panties around her fingers.
“Haven’t you ever wondered what my pussy smells like when I think about you, Uncle? What it tastes like? When I’m so wet because all I can think about is what you’d do to me?”
His cock twitches, and Rhaenyra grins with delight.
Seven fucking hells.
“I knew you’d like this, Uncle. You and I have always enjoyed our little games, haven’t we?”
He’s pretty sure this is more along the lines of an actual crime than a game, but she leans forward then, and presses her panties to his nose. All other thoughts flee his head as the rich, spicy scent of her floods his senses. Daemon, for the first time maybe ever, truly appreciates having a sense of smell.
She’s still smirking as she balls up the panties, and pushes them into his mouth.
Fucking menace.
“In case the effects wear off sooner than expected,” she says. “Can’t have you screaming for help, can we?”
Except Daemon’s starting to think he might not want to escape, after all.
Rhaenyra runs her nails down his chest, and sweeps them across his thighs as she nestles herself into a comfortable spot eye-level with his cock.
“I’ve wondered about you, of course,” she purrs, her warm breath tickling the sensitive head. “I knew your cock would be beautiful. But it’s perfect.”
She hums appreciatively and nuzzles her cheek against the shaft. A few gentle caresses of her doe-soft skin are all it takes to get him hard.
He'd blame the effects of the drug, assume it had some kind of aphrodisiac mixed in to ensure his dick cooperated with her plans, but deep down he knows the simple truth: his niece is unbearably sexy, and he's a bit of a slut.
Rhaenyra licks her lips when she pulls back, examining his dick with a curious expression, like it’s some newly discovered creature she gets to name. More tentatively than she’s moved all evening, she wraps one slender hand around him.
“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let me play with this,” she says, her voice turning to a childish whine as she strokes him. “You spoiled me with every toy I could ever want. But you never let me have the one I wanted the most in the whole world.”
“Think of all the time you wasted, Uncle, keeping this from me.” She emphasizes her words with tender squeezes. “How many nights we could have spent just like this. I would have been so careful with it, my favorite toy. I'd kiss it every night before I went to sleep. I’d even sleep with it in my mouth, to keep it warm for you, if you’d like.”
Her eyes are sparkling with mischief when she looks up at him. Gods have mercy, she's going to be the death of him. The pure filth spewing from his beautiful niece’s mouth is more than he’s heard in the bowels of brothels and whorehouses either side of the Narrow Sea.
And his dick is harder than he’s ever fucking felt it before.
If he could move—would he even try to stop her?
You fucking degenerate.
Rhaenyra presses soft kisses to the tip of his dick, already leaking pre-come that she laps up greedily, like a kitten at a saucer. She continues with infuriatingly gentle kisses and licks and sucks on his head. If Daemon could groan, he would. Even with him at her complete mercy, she’s still a fucking tease.
"Mm, you taste so good, Uncle," she murmurs, brushing her lips over him.
Just when Daemon reaches the point where he’s ready to grab her by the hair and throat-fuck the teasing right out of her (if it was an option, anyway), Rhaenyra closes her lips around his cockhead, and starts licking and sucking her way down the length of him.
He can’t deny that he’s imagined what this would be like—her hot, wet little mouth stretched around his cock. It turns out that sharp tongue of hers is just as skilled at sucking dick as trading barbs. She swallows him down in smooth, languid pulls, stroking him with her hand in tandem with her mouth.
Still, he shouldn’t be enjoying this; it shouldn’t feel this good. In the darkest part of his heart, he knew it would, and maybe that’s why he tried so hard to keep himself away from her. Whether in his head or his heart or his cock, some part of him knew his niece’s mouth would ruin him for everyone else. Once he had her, he was never going to give her up.
Rhaenyra puts her whole body into it, rolling her hips and making her own pleasure in the act crystal clear. All of her appreciative noises, hums and muffled moans, go straight to Daemon’s ego. And when she flattens both palms on his thighs, and takes him deep into her mouth, the way her throat flutters when she nearly gags is utterly satisfying.
He wishes he could fucking move, though. He’s desperate to thrust into her mouth, to paint the back of her throat with his seed. His balls are painfully tight; if he doesn’t come soon he might pass out.
But instead of bringing him closer to release, Rhaenyra slows her pace until she pops off entirely, her devious mouth shining with spit. She shakes her head.
“Uh-uh,” she tuts. “Not yet, Uncle.”
When he gets out of here, he’s going to show her what it really means to tease.
Rhaenyra smiles as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing her lipstick across her cheek. He's always found her beautiful, but this might be Daemon’s new favorite look on her—a messy, wild, hungry for his cock.
She hitches her dress up further, moving to straddle his lap. He doesn’t get the chance to savor the view of her pussy again before she’s pressed up close against him.
Dipping her head, she runs her tongue along the pulsing vein at the side of his neck. She hums against his skin, the vibration rocking through him. The brush of her lips behind his ear sends frissons up his spine. She sucks his earlobe into her mouth, then nuzzles him as she pushes her tits against his chest.
“When you come, Uncle, it’s going to be in my cunt,” she says, smiling against his neck. “I need to feel you fill me up. Need to feel your cum leak out of me, to know you're a part of me, to know that you're mine.”
It’s like the drugs surge to full potency again in his veins, his head thick and woozy at the idea of fucking her full of his seed, getting her pregnant with his child, claiming her. He wonders if he’s hallucinating, if years of perverted fantasies have culminated in this, and he’s actually just drunk alone at home, jerking off to the thoughts of his niece in her tight little dresses, so far gone with unslaked lust he’s detached from reality.
But this is real. So very real. Rhaenyra’s body is warm and snug against his, her panties gagging him, the rosewater scent of her hair flooding his nostrils. She’s all he can see and hear, all he can taste and smell, all he can feel.
The slick heat of her pussy slides against his cock as she starts to move. She’s already so wet—soaked just from sucking him. That knowledge activates some primal sense of gratification in him.
“I’ve been planning this for some time, you know,” she says breathily.
Clearly.
Daemon makes a note to find out later exactly how long she’d been planning this. To know she'd had all this in her head the last time he saw her, that this madness was hidden away, simmering just behind her charming smile.
“I had to prepare myself to take you, Uncle.”
She moans softly as she rubs her slit against him, moving to rest her forehead against his.
“I knew you’d be big. I needed to make sure my tight little cunt could fit all of you.”
Flatterer.
As his arousal coils tightly in his gut he’s forced to admit her sweet, filthy words are extremely effective. Knowing that he’s been the focus of her single-minded obsession makes him feel powerful, no matter how defenseless his position currently is. With no real control over his body, Daemon can only pray that he doesn’t come before he earns the embrace of her cunt.
Her hips shift effortlessly to position herself over him. The blunt head of his cock dips into her slit and gods he wishes more than ever he could move. He needs to be inside her now.
"Mm. There were so many toys,” she goes on.
He should have known she’d be a fucking talker. Fuck, he wishes he could spit out her panties and thrust his tongue into her mouth.
“So much practice,” she says with another pulse of her hips. “Tried to find ones I imagined looked like you. But they’re nothing like the real thing."
Maybe if he’d commissioned a silicone mould of his cock for her, he wouldn’t be in this predicament.
“I heard from Laena that Harwin Strong had a thick cock," she says lightly, her lips quirking into an evil smile as she pulls back. She looks him right in the eye when she says: "I had to fuck him so many times, just to make sure I was ready for you.”
Another flare of jealousy sharpens the cloudy haze of his drug-addled brain. Daemon wills his useless hands to move so he can break out of these gods-damned bindings, wrap his hands around her throat, and fuck her until she cries. If she wants his cock, she’ll fucking get it—she’ll get it until she’s come so many times and so hard, she’ll beg him to stop, until she’s fucked dumb and drooling. He’ll teach her a lesson for being such a fucking brat.
And I’ll fucking kill Harwin Strong.
“Now, now Uncle,” she coos. “Don’t be jealous. I did it for you, Uncle. For us.”
For us. She’s out of her fucking mind.
She leans forward to press an incongruously tender kiss to his forehead.
“And don’t worry, Uncle. He did have a thick cock, but yours is so much better.”
Using her hand to guide his cock, Rhaenyra finally lowers herself onto him; the heated kiss of her cunt overwhelming all else. A breathy moan escapes her lips before she breaks into a giddy smile. Steadily, she takes him deeper until he's fully seated inside her, buried to the root.
Fuck, she wasn’t lying about her tight little cunt; Daemon wishes he had the power to speak, to make any sound, because it pains to hold back the animal growl that wants to erupt out of him at the silken heat pressing on him from all sides.
Perhaps he was wrong to deprive himself of this for so long.
"Fuck," she gasps, her head dropping back. "You feel so good, Uncle. I knew you would."
Gripping his shoulders for support, she starts to move up and down, slowly at first, but his greedy little niece can’t help herself—soon she’s impaling herself on his cock, raising herself up until she’s nearly emptied of him, then driving herself down. Over and over, again and again, throaty moans shamelessly tearing free from her throat with every plunge. She rides him with all the skill he’d expect from such an accomplished equestrian, and then some.
Her nails dig into the meat of his shoulders as she rolls and bucks her hips, her tits bouncing agonizingly out of reach of his mouth. The meager fabric of her dress is enough to keep her nipples from view, and it’s driving him mad. He knows Rhaenyra got them pierced in a fit of teenage rebellion, and his mouth waters at the thought of sucking on them, running his tongue over the metal bars. Her panties are damp, saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
She releases one shoulder to slide her hand between their sweat-slicked bodies. Her knuckles massage him as she rubs her clit, the pitch of her moans growing strident.
“Ah, you don’t…you don’t know how many times I’ve touched myself, thinking of this moment. Fuck,” she sags, bucking jerkily at her own ministrations. “I’ve—ah—I’ve dreamt of coming all over your cock, Uncle.”
He’s not going to last much longer if she keeps talking like that, mouthy little slut. With how her hot, wet cunt sheathes him so tightly, so completely, with the way he can feel her soaking him with her sweetness, he’s on the verge of exploding. His brain is melting with how good it feels.
He’s a fucking mess.
It was never Rhaenyra who was going to be ruined; how could he ever be satisfied fucking anyone else now?
Gods above, he has plans for her when he gets out of this.
She’s mumbling and muttering, her lips spilling a litany of unintelligible curses as she fucks him with unbridled enthusiasm. The erratic cadence of her movements now, accompanied by her stuttering moans and gasps, tells Daemon she’s nearing her peak.
“I’m so close, Uncle,” she whimpers, her voice strained with neediness, desperation. “I need you to come. Need you to fill me up.”
Fuck, it’s killing him not to be able to rut into her, to take all of her teasing and torture and turn it back on her. But he can still give her what he needs. He can still give his sweet little niece what she craves.
“Please, Uncle,” she begs. “I need it.”
That’s enough for him to let go.
Daemon comes so hard he thinks he’s going to black out again, both from the intensity of it and the frustrating pain that comes from not being able to properly fuck his release into her.
Or maybe because a black-out is what he requires to wake up from this fucked-up dream and realize it was all a figment of his imagination.
But when he comes-to, Rhaenyra is still there, slowly grinding through her own climax. Her face is awash with bliss, and it’s almost as if her skin is glowing. She’s incandescent. When she finally stills, she tosses her head back in an exultant laugh.
She's fucking perfect.
Daemon is so taken with this image of her that he almost misses it—his tongue twitching in his mouth.
Wait—
He pushes his tongue around, cracks open his lips, and manages to push Rhaenyra’s panties out. He sucks in a breath of free air, and it’s never tasted so sweet.
Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, watching him with amusement, still seated on his softening cock.
“Rhae…nyra…” he croaks.
It’s like trying to talk with a mouthful of honey. His tongue feels swollen, his jaw rusty and unused.
“Looks like it’s wearing off,” Rhaenyra says with a smirk. “Perfect timing, hm?”
Indeed.
Right now Daemon doesn’t know whether to throttle Mysaria, or to thank her.
Rhaenyra slides off of him and Daemon releases a hiss of breath at the shiver of sensitivity that runs through him. Experimentally he tries to ball his hands into fists. For the first time all night, his fingers actually flex at his mind’s command.
“Untie me,” he commands hoarsely.
“So bossy, Uncle. I thought fucking you would calm you down.”
Daemon grunts. “Now.”
She bats her eyelashes coquettishly, and twirls a strand of hair between her fingers.
“If I untie you, you’re not going to run away from me, are you?”
She gives him her best sad, pleading look. He shakes his head. He has a few other things in mind.
“You pinky promise?”
She holds up her pinky finger. Daemon rolls his eyes. When she was a kid, she made him pinky promise over everything. But he made sure never to break them then, no matter how silly or trivial the promise, and he wasn’t about to start now. He wiggles his own finger in response. Rhaenyra grins, and reaches to link their fingers together.
Her eyes remain fixed on his as she moves around the bed, undoing his bindings. Once his feet are free, he bends his knees, and groans at the soreness. He senses her reluctance as she unlatches his wrist cuffs, but he isn’t going to run. His shoulders throb as each his arm drops, and he rolls his neck against the ache. He flexes his hands, shakes out his wrists.
Rhaenyra watches him curiously as he adjusts to his newfound freedom, settling back to a kneeling position between his legs. She seems content to let him explore the limits of his mobility as he flexes and stretches the life back into his body. Only once he’s reasonably sure he can manage what he plans to do next does he come to rest, and focus his attention on Rhaenyra.
They hold each other’s gaze for a long, quiet moment before Daemon pounces.
It surprises him that he has the strength to achieve it, but revenge is a powerful motivator, after all. She struggles briefly before he pins Rhaenyra on her back, letting his full weight press her into the mattress. Her legs fall open around him, and Daemon suspects she’s not all that interested in putting up a real fight.
He maneuvers a hand between them, and thrusts his fingers into her pussy, wet and messy with his come and her own arousal. She arches into it, her impish face softening to hazy lust.
Greedy girl.
But he’s not ready to please her just yet. There’s a debt to be paid. Daemon pulls his hand away and brings his dripping fingers to her lips. Her tongue darts out, licking the mess from his fingertips. That gets his cock’s attention, already rousing him for another round like he still has the refractory period of a horny teenager.
“You’ve been a very naughty girl,” he growls.
“Yes,” she admits freely.
Daemon supposes it was too much to expect she’d actually deny it. He sighs, dipping his fingers into her mouth. She sucks them in ravenously.
“What’s an uncle to do with a niece like you, hm?” he says, rubbing his fingers over her tongue. “Such a defiant little thing. I’ll have to punish you, I think.”
Rhaenyra nods eagerly as she continues sucking on his fingers.
“Yes,” Daemon goes on. “I think it’s your turn to be strapped to this bed. Only you’ll find I have far more patience than you, Princess. I’ll keep you here all night. All morning. All day tomorrow. I’ll have you begging for mercy.”
Idle threats, he realizes, because it only spurs her on to pull his fingers deeper into her throat. But something’s broken free inside him, and he can’t stop the obscene promises that now spill so easily from his lips.
“You’ve had my cock now, in this filthy mouth. In your needy cunt. Maybe I’ll fuck you in your tight little ass next. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You want Uncle to claim all your holes like the depraved slut you are, don’t you?”
Her strangled moan as her eyes slit shut and her hips thrust up to meet him gives him his answer.
He’s painfully hard already, working himself into a frenzy over all the things he wants to do to her. With a guttural sound, Daemon wrenches his fingers from his mouth and replaces them with his tongue, kissing her roughly, tasting the heady tang of their mingled essences, groaning into her just the first hint of his intent.
When they break apart, Rhaenyra is flushed and breathless, looking at him with wide, bright eyes.
“See, Uncle?” she says giddily. “I knew all you needed was a little push.”