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With a scream—a fucking loud one too—I shatter against his face.

Now that he got exactly what he wanted, Memnon ismerciless, teasing that sensitive point above my core, wringing out every last bit of my orgasm.

The last echoes of it have only just abated when he lowers my hips to his own. I don’t know when he loosened his own trousers, but now I feel the press of his cock against my opening.

“Did you think we were done, little witch?” Memnon says, amused. “We’re only beginning.”

He drives his cock forward then, seating himself in a single surging thrust. I gasp at the sudden intrusion, the pressure and fullness somehow erotic when it should simply be uncomfortable.

My body barely has time to adjust to him before he pulls out and slams back in, hard enough to make the wood groan.

He begins to fuck me in earnest then, his hips pumping in and out in a dizzying rhythm, the table creaking and shaking as it bears the load, that slick sound of sweat and fluids filling the tent beneath our louder gasps and groans.

My breasts bounce with each thrust, and the friction of our bodies meeting at that single point has me consumed. I’m about to sit up when Memnon’s hand wraps around my throat, pinning me in place.

He shakes his head as he continues to thrust. “You’re going to lie there and continue to obey me.”

I raise my eyebrows.Am I?

Yes. And when you come, and you will come again, you are going to be louder than you were during your last orgasm.

If it didn’t feel so good and if I hadn’t made that cursed promise, I might argue with him. As it is, I get a perverse thrill at Memnon’s commands.

Memnon’s magic comes out again, teasing my nipples before moving down to that sensitive knot of flesh. I feel the soft brush of power against it, and even that light touch is nearly too much after Memnon’s earlier attentions.

“Memnon.” There’s a pleading note to my voice.

He adjusts the hand on my neck. There’s a wicked gleam in his feverish eyes.

I did not become a king because I was merciful, he says down our bond, and I cannot help but recall his recent, terrifying cruelty toward the Dacians.So take it.

And with that, his power moves over every sensitive point I’m aware I have. It’s an unnatural amount of sensation, and I’m helpless to fight against it.

I moan, giving myself up to the numerous touches.

Memnon squeezes my neck lightly.

Say my name again, he orders.

I can do better than his name.

“My king,” I whisper. “My king, my king, my king…”

Memnon slows, looking at me like I’ve used my own magic on him. When he composes himself once more, he rebuilds his pace.

He squeezes my neck again, this time a little harder, then bites his lower lip when he feels me tighten around him.

That’s not my name, he says, but the accusation has no fire behind it, not when I can feel his pleasure at my words.

The next time he drives into me, I lock eyes with him. “Memnon,” I breathe.

Louder. He punctuates the command by deepening his strokes.

My orgasm builds rapidly, so rapidly?—

“Memnon!” I cry out his namerevoltinglyloud as I come.

That seems to do it for the warlord. His hand reflexively tightens on my throat, heightening my release as he pounds into me harder, deeper. Then he’s coming, an echo of his climax passing across our bond.