Pherenike - Chapter 91

Deucalion grabbed her right hip and spread her flushed s*x wider. Through the linen cloth that had slipped all the way down her back, she could almost see the obscene sight of his thick manhood driving into her wet heat, grinding against her.

His dark eyes, shadowed like moss beneath the trees, watched that sight intently.

“Hng, Cal… ah…!”

Pherenike had nothing to brace herself against, no way to resist the merciless force of her husband. She was still half bent over, suspended in midair, being driven into from behind, unable to grasp or press against anything.

The only thing her hands could hold was Deucalion’s arm stretched across her belly. Silent climax overtook her. Her toes stiffened, barely resting against his shin.

Deucalion, knowing this, didn’t wait for her at all. His relentless force continued, pounding into her overly sensitive depths even as she climaxed.

Pherenike’s body trembled from overwhelming pleasure, her eyes wet with tears. The earth seemed to pull her downward, her back arching and head falling forward. Her b*****s swung wantonly toward the ground. Everything was a mess.

Yet even so, he always reached her deepest insides before she could truly take all of him—his strength overpowering her weight.

His length dragged out slowly, stretching her, before slamming back inside with savage force. The wet hem of her garment lashed against her thighs like a whip.

“Cal, ugh, I feel like I’m going to die, okay? Please…”

“What should I do? I like you alive.”

Deucalion teased in a husky voice between ragged breaths. When Pherenike struck his arm in frustration, he just laughed.

“Hit me more.”

“No…”

“Hmm? Come on, hit me again.”

Unable to contain her frustration, Pherenike finally punched her husband’s arm hard. “It hurts,” he chuckled, hoisting his wife higher.

Her whole body squirmed, as if she were impaled on him. Her breathing grew tight.

His right hand, which had been spreading her, slid to where his left had been. The left now shamelessly pressed against her lower belly, pushing firmly with every thrust.

There, beneath the hand pressing into her stomach, was where he entered her. Each thrust crushing her insides with merciless pressure.

A moan, almost a scream, escaped her. He leaned over her back, draping his body atop hers, and asked softly,

“Don’t like it?”

Pherenike shook her head shallowly.

Desire had already consumed her. The nape of her neck, usually pale and gleaming, was now flushed and red. Deucalion bit the back of her neck like a beast. He grabbed her b*****s, making her arch up to meet him, so their bodies were finally pressed together.

“Why do you run away, if you don’t hate it?”

He twisted her n*****s, sharp as a bee’s sting. In that instant, another wave of ecstasy crashed through her. Weakly, Pherenike rested her head against his chest, clutching his mischievous hand.

Her body still rocked with his relentless thrusts. She tried to drop his hand, but it wouldn’t leave, so she ended up stroking her own b****t. Finally, she managed to grab his forefinger and muttered breathlessly,

“You’re hurt, you idiot…”

“Yeah.”

His response was as casual as ever. Her expression twisted with both anger and amusement. No matter what, she was weak to him.

“I worry about you.”

Pherenike murmured, nuzzling her burning cheek against his body. He, too, was weak to that. Unlike his relentless movements, he suddenly dipped his head and kissed her temple gently.

“Are you afraid I’ll leave you?”

“That’s not it. Your wound… You’re hurt…”

“Ah.”

“Healing first.”

“No.”

His lips left hers with a light laugh. Pherenike changed tactics.

“Then let me stand on my own feet.”

“What are you going to do if I put you down?”

“Nothing. I won’t do anything.”

“Nike.”

“Mmh, ngh…”

“Do you love me?”

Sometimes, the most obvious questions are the most ridiculous. Pherenike turned to look up at her husband.

“Yes. So… I want to see your face.”

She gazed at him with eyes so loving it almost felt like a curse.

“I want to look at your face while we do this…”

Because I love you. That soft confession scraped at his heart. Unresolved passion surged in him like a wave, and the spear he’d stuck into the ground quivered as if resonating with his orthea.

It was just as Pherenike broke into a laugh that her vision suddenly filled with stone—her feet touched the bottom of a spring.

Deucalion reached out, as if checking the surface of the smooth stone, then released his hold on her waist. As soon as Pherenike’s hand touched the rock in front of her, Deucalion pressed her flat against it.

“Deucalion!”

Her body, prone on the stone, was pinned under him. The slick, flawless rock mashed her b*****s ruthlessly.

The King’s brother took the queen between his body and the stone and thrusted deep. The force of each thrust, pulling out to the tip and then slamming in hard again, was merciless.