That was why she'd come to him. He saw Elia as the first member of his personality cult. The woman was his in everything, mind, body, cunt, womb. She truly believed that him fucking her and creaming inside her cunt made her blessed. That was what weeks of constant rutting, praying, and preaching did to her. He gave Elia hope, and she latched onto it.
"Bless you how? I told you to be direct, Princess. There are too many ways to bless someone." Bronn asked back, toying with her. He wanted to hear it. That filthy thing, that filthy request from her noble lips.
Elia smiled, like it was all normal, and looked at his face. "Septon, please bless my womb with your seed."
Ah… As satisfying to hear as the first time. Too bad she refuses to get more vulgar.
"Very well, I'll bless you one last time before leaving."
"You have my gratitude, Septon. Truly." Elia chirped and began pushing the shoulder of her gown.
"Don't," Bronn said, calm as a prayer. "The door's bare as the Stranger's mercy, Princess. Anyone could walk in. Leave the garb. Strip only the smallclothes."
Besides, Bronn wanted to do her in that noble, expensive gown. Sully it with his cock, a prize for him in itself. A small, personal way of payback for the treatment her brothers gave him.
But Elia didn't move at all.
He looked at her.
She awkwardly replied. "I… am not wearing anything underneath, Septon."
Hah! Why did I even ask?
He smiled and got up, then extended his hand to Elia. "Stand against the wall, Princess."
Elia warmly took his hand and stood up. A head shorter than him, she moved her slender body to the wall beside the door, on the side that would remain hidden if the door were to suddenly open.
Bronn followed her, and once she had her back against the wall, he leaned forward, pushed her shoulders backwards. With his feet, he kicked her legs apart, spread them under the gown. Then, with one hand behind her waist, he pulled her hips forward, making her almost fall back, saved by the wall.
"Princess…" He caressed her beautiful face, the kind that made you feel sorry, the charming sort that reflected emotions, kindness, and there he was, sullying it. "I'll visit after the babe's born."
"Mmm…" She melted against his touch, her dreamy eyes staring at his face. She pursed her lips and almost moaned. "P-Please… do…"
Bronn smiled and leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, an act usually reserved for lovers, but between them, it was a part of the ritual. He stared into her deep, dark eyes and felt pride swell in his chest. The silver-haired babe in her womb may become a grand player in the larger game. But by the time he grows up, he may have half the realm in his grasp. Then, he would decide who sits on the throne, without even uttering a single word or raising a blade.
"Relax the lips."
She obeyed instantly.
Bronn kissed her, and Elia shuddered like she'd been struck by divine lightning. Her mouth opened like it had been waiting for that blessing. Her lips clung to his, reverent, needy, and worshipful.
"Ummmh… Oh… Septon…" she gasped into his mouth, like moaning a prayer. Then she kissed back harder, tongue sliding into his mouth with helpless devotion.
She tasted the food he'd just eaten and moaned like it was the nectar of the gods. She drowned in it, every drop of his spit making her feel warm, full, baptized in something holy. "Mmmmm…"
Bronn listened to her melt. She was a toy now. The woman was too far gone, utterly persuaded. Her cunt, her womb, her very thoughts were his to move. And gods, she tasted rich. Wine, no doubt. Something expensive and sweet still lingered on her tongue. Her noble palate made her mouth taste like luxury.
He let her do the work for once. Just stood there and felt the fervor of it. Her tongue moved like a seeker, rolling over his, trying to find something sacred. Every time she brushed it, she moaned harder, ground her hips forward unconsciously. Both her hands were in his hair now, caressing his scalp, tracing his jawline, stroking his cheeks like she was desperate to commit every texture to memory. She was addicted.
When he finally pulled back, a thick line of spit connected their mouths, trembling like silk before it broke. Bronn just looked at her. Looked at her flushed face, glistening lips, heavy-lidded eyes, and he drank it in like it was the finest prize he'd ever claimed. The power in his hands… it made his cock throb.
"Stay like this," he muttered.
Then he slowly got down to his knees.
His rough hands ran up both sides of her legs, slowly pushing her gown up. First, he dragged his palms over her ankles, then over her shins, his fingers calloused from nothing holy. Her breath quickened with each inch he traveled.
"Hold the gown up, Princess."
"Hm…" Elia hummed, barely able to form words. She gathered the hem with both hands, lifting the loose golden fabric past her waist and bunching it under her arms.
The movement revealed everything. Her naked slender legs, her loins, the flushed lips of her soaked cunt. She kept her eyes lowered and stared at him with breathless reverence, watching as her septon laid hands on her like she was his altar.
He kissed her knees first, soft, almost mockingly gentle. Then her thighs. Her soft dusky skin pebbled with goosebumps as he blessed his way up.
Fuck! Bronn nearly said it aloud.
She was hairless now, unlike before. Smooth as polished silk. And her cunt was drenched. That delicate light brown slit glistened, the folds swollen and slick, tight and needy for him. Bronn had made her wet just by existing.
He breathed her in. That sweet, messy scent of her devotion hit him like a drug. Then he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue up the length of her pussy, intentionally slow and deep.
Oh! The taste… freshly bathed in… something expensive.
Bronn grunted low in his throat. Her cunt was soaked in something that wasn't just her juices. He could taste the expensive oils from her bath, mixed with whatever sweet-scented spice was popular among Dornish royalty. Something floral… something rich. She'd cleaned herself just for him, no doubt, soaked her royal cunt like it was a chalice to be offered. It tasted like Dorne.
He started gently. Long, teasing licks up her slit, feeling her twitch and jolt under his tongue. She gripped the back of his head like it was instinct. No pushing, just holding. Steady. Like anchoring herself to him as her mind started to unravel.
"Ooooooh… Oh… Septon…"
Bronn didn't respond. He didn't need to. There was no point in muttering the fake blessings anymore. His mouth was the sacrament. His tongue was the ritual.
He dove in harder. His lips sealed around her clit, sucking hard. His tongue pressed deep inside her, wet, thick, and unrelenting. He fucked her with his mouth, tongue plunging into that tight slit, curling inside her like a finger.
She gasped and moaned, thighs trembling on either side of his face. Her hips bucked forward helplessly, grinding against his mouth. But Bronn just held her in place. Both hands gripping her hips, wide palms cupping her asscheeks, kneading the soft flesh roughly like he was molding her body inch by inch.
Her taste coated his mouth, her nectar smeared over his chin, wet and messy, but absolutely divine.
Gods, I'll miss this cunt and this… gorgeous woman.
Elia Martell, a royal. Dusky, deep brown eyes with lashes like a painting, lips made to whisper poetry or suck cock, depending on who asked. Slender, high-born, draped in silks even now, even in hiding. And here she was, legs spread for a bastard with dirt under his nails. No other noble would let him this close, let alone worship him like she did. He couldn't see himself doing any other woman of this high status anytime soon. But at this moment, she was his.
"Ummmh…" She moaned again, louder this time, hands fisting the fabric of her gown bunched at her waist.
Her hips jerked forward again. She was close, right on the edge of shattering. Her back arched. Her cunt fluttered around his tongue like it was begging for release.
And Bronn stopped. Just like that.
He pulled away, licking his lips, wiping his wet chin on the back of his hand with a grin.
"Lie down on the hay, Princess," he said, rough and amused.
Elia blinked, frowning, panting, and clearly unsatisfied. But she obeyed. Gods, she obeyed.
She rushed to the pile of hay at the center of the room, lying down flat like a virgin offering. Her arms stretched above her head, and her legs fell open like she was waiting for heaven to descend between them. To her, maybe that was Bronn now. A blessed being, a holy one.
A god disguised as a man.
Bronn stood over her and tugged down his breeches. His cock sprang free, rock hard, thick, flushed dark with need, veins pulsing along the shaft.
But instead of kneeling between her legs, he shifted around her and knelt near her head. He let his cock hover over her mouth.
"Coat it, Princess," he commanded.
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