Summoned to Another World to Impregnate Elves - Chapter 2

 The Queen's Chamber

The palace rose through the heart of the great tree, its halls carved from living wood that still breathed out the faint scent of sap and rain. Jayson followed the Queen through corridors lined with silver-framed tapestries, past doorways where elven women paused in their work to watch him pass. Their stares were not shy. They followed him the way water follows a slope, hungry and unhurried.

Selene did not look back. Her back was straight, her stride unhurried, and the fall of her silver hair moved like water over the emerald of her robes. She stopped before a door of pale, polished wood and pressed her palm to it. The wood rippled, and the door swung inward.

"Your chambers," she said. "Mine are through that arch, when you are ready."

Jayson stepped inside. The room was larger than his entire apartment had been — a bed of carved branches and thick white furs, a window open to the green dusk of the canopy, a basin of water that steamed gently. A fire crackled in a hearth of black stone. Everything smelled of cedar and clean linen.

He turned to find the Queen still standing in the doorway, watching him with those pale green eyes.

"You can leave now," he said. "I won't run."

"I did not think you would." She did not move. "You should know what is expected of you. Tonight, and in the nights to come."

"I've got a fair idea."

"You think you do." A ghost of something — not quite a smile — crossed her face. "You have seen our desperation. You have not yet understood it. I have not been touched by a man in over a decade. My daughters have never known one. The women of my court have grown old and cold waiting for a warmth they had begun to believe would never come." She took a step into the room, and the firelight caught the line of her throat. "We are not asking you to perform a duty, human. We are asking you to remind us we are alive."

The words hung in the air between them. Jayson felt the weight of them settle in his chest.

"Then I'll do my best," he said.

Selene crossed the room slowly. She moved like a woman who had forgotten how to be close to someone, each step deliberate, as if the distance between them were something she had to consciously surrender. When she reached him, she was near enough that he could smell her — jasmine and cold water, and beneath it something warmer, musk and skin.

"Then begin," she said softly.

Jayson reached up and undid the clasp at her shoulder. The emerald robes slid from her with a whisper of silk, pooling at her feet. She stood before him in the firelight, and the sight of her stopped his breath.

She was tall — taller than him by half a head — and built like a figure from an old painting. Full breasts, pale and heavy, tipped with nipples the color of rosewood. A waist that curved in like a drawn bow, and hips that flared wide and deep, made for carrying. The skin of her was luminous, unmarked, and he could see the faint tremor in her thighs as she stood there, letting him look.

"You are staring," she said.

"You're worth staring at."

A flush crept up her throat — the first crack in that perfect composure. "It has been a long time," she said. "I may be... clumsy."

"Good," Jayson said. "So am I."

He stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. The heat of her skin against his palms was a shock, and she made a small sound — a breath, a catch — as his thumbs traced the jut of her hipbones. He leaned in and kissed her, slow and deliberate, and she made a sound that was almost a sob against his mouth.

Her hands came up, hesitated, then buried themselves in his hair. She pulled him closer, and he felt the length of her press against him — the soft give of her breasts against his chest, the hard line of her thighs against his. She kissed him back with a hunger that had been waiting years for permission.

"Jayson," she breathed against his mouth, and it was the first time she had said his name, and it sounded like a prayer.

He walked her backward to the bed, and she went willingly, her legs folding beneath her as she sank into the furs. She looked up at him, hair spilled across the white pelts, chest rising and falling, and there was something raw in her eyes — not just want, but fear. The fear of a woman who had forgotten what she was allowed to want.

Jayson knelt over her. "Tell me if it's too much," he said.

"Nothing will be too much." Her voice was thick. "I have waited too long to be careful."

He lowered his mouth to her throat, and she arched beneath him, a long, shuddering exhale escaping her. He traced the line of her collarbone with his lips, the hollow of her sternum, the swell of her breast. When he took her nipple into his mouth she gasped and her hips bucked, seeking him.

"Please," she said, and the word was torn from her. "Please, I cannot—"

Jayson moved down her body, kissing the soft plane of her stomach, the jut of her hip, the inside of her thigh. She was trembling now, her fingers twisted in the furs, and when he settled between her legs she made a sound that was half sob and half laugh.

"You are going to ruin me," she said.

"That's the idea."

He lowered his mouth to her, and she cried out — a broken, keening sound that she seemed to have no control over. Her thighs clamped around his head, then loosened, then tightened again as he worked her with his tongue, slow and thorough, until she was wet and slick and shaking.

"Jayson," she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair. "Jayson, I am going to—"

He pulled back just enough to look up at her, and she was a wreck — cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes gone dark with want. "Not yet," he said. "Not until I'm inside you."

She made a sound of pure frustration, and he laughed, low, and climbed up her body. He settled between her thighs, the head of his cock pressing against her slick heat, and she looked up at him with something like wonder.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes." Her voice was steady now, certain. "Yes, I am sure. I have never been more sure of anything."

He pushed inside her, slow, and she gasped and arched, her nails digging into his shoulders. She was tight — impossibly tight after so long — and hot, and she took him inch by inch with a sound that was almost a sob of relief.

"Stay," she breathed. "Please, stay."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He moved inside her, slow and deep, and she wrapped her long legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. She was not passive — she met him, rolled her hips against his, and the firelight painted her body in gold as she moved beneath him. Her breasts swayed with each thrust, and he lowered his head to take one in his mouth, and she cried out his name.

"More," she gasped. "Please, more."

He gave her more. He drove into her harder, and she took it, her head thrown back, her body arching like a drawn bow. He could feel her tightening around him, feel the tremor building in her thighs, and he reached between them and found her clit with his thumb.

She shattered. Her whole body seized, a long, shuddering cry torn from her, and she clenched around him so hard he saw stars. He followed her over the edge, burying himself deep and spilling into her with a groan that was almost a growl.

They lay tangled in the furs, breathing hard, the fire crackling low. Selene's hand rested on his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns in his skin.

"I had forgotten," she said quietly. "What it was to feel wanted."

Jayson turned his head to look at her. "You'll remember again. I'll make sure of it."

She smiled then — a real smile, the first he had seen from her — and it transformed her face. "I believe you will," she said. "But you will need your rest. There is much ahead of you."

She rose from the bed, and the firelight caught the long, elegant line of her back, the flare of her hips. She looked back at him over her shoulder, and there was something new in her eyes — a warmth that had not been there before.

"Sleep, human," she said. "Tomorrow, you meet my daughters."

She disappeared through the arch, and the door slid shut behind her with a soft click. Jayson lay back in the furs, staring at the ceiling of living wood, and let out a long breath.

He had a feeling he was going to need his strength.

Prev            Next