"No, no, Lord Septon," Cersei stammered, her eyes narrowing as Bronn shifted on the bed's edge. "There was no disrespect."
"Oh, the Seven smile upon me," Bronn praised and turned back to the Queen. "Your Grace… I ought not. Those others were no queens, and you are. If I lay hands there, His Grace will see me split from crown to heel for my… uncommon ways of healing. Yet the Mother and the Maiden set me to it, and I've naught else to offer."
"Please, be at ease, Lord Septon." Cersei crawled forward on all fours all of a sudden.
Fuck! What is she doing? Seven… tits!
Bronn had a direct view under her wide-necked gown as she crawled to him. Her heavy swells were so shapely, round, pale, and perfect. No, her entire body was faultless, largely slender in form, yet the hips were wide, meant to birth. A truly sinful lioness.
"I hear you, Lord Septon. You speak for my good, I know it. I know that feeling. Men look at you as if you're rotten, questioning every step, every word. I live that life," Cersei proclaimed out of nowhere and got out of bed. "My son is everything. No one will ever come between us."
What happened to her?
Now, Bronn had seen nobles from up close. There were three types of nobles as far as he understood. Ones who thought they were clever, ones who were actually clever, and the ones who just didn't think. He considered Mace to be the first category, Tywin in the second, and Malora Hightower in the last one.
Which one are you?
That sudden behavior change alarmed him. Cersei, the Queen, was supposed to be shy, hesitant as his hands massaged her breasts. Not this… proud and willing, 'I will do anything for my son' kind of mother.
Cersei then walked, her long legs moving her gown in ways that revealed the shape of her round, birthing hips. She was a tall woman to begin with. Then, she reached the door and locked it.
Oh? Interesting.
"I won't let them come between me and my son," Cersei repeated as she returned to the bed, climbed it, and sat with her back against the headboard. "Lord Septon, you have reignited the extinguished light for me. Mother and Maiden, I, as a woman, know how impossibly annoying it must be to explain. Please, don't be worried. Use your oil, I must receive your care if I am to see my son grow strong and beautiful."
Obsessed mother?
Bronn could see that she wasn't faking it. Her fanatic eyes were proof. She really believed that his actions were for the sake of her son's health. She truly believed in his healing, it seemed. But that still left the question. Which type of noble was she?
Is she… Oh, Seven Cunts! … Gorgeous!
What Bronn saw were the most beautiful tits he'd seen in his entire life. And he had seen a lot of tits in his life. How a woman's body could be that perfect, that unblemished, was a question he asked himself. Not a single mole, just spotless skin, smooth and silky, and of course, those big, round, nectar-filled globes, tits that showed no sign of sag, and the peaks that were like tight buttons. Ready to be suckled to quench thirst, pale pink areolas that were just beautiful.
It was early morning, no direct sunlight in that chamber, and yet her skin glistened. And gods, she showed so much of it. Cersei Lannister, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, pushed her gown off her shoulders, pulled her arms around, and let it bunch around her waist, leaving her entire torso nude.
And she hid nothing.
Fuck! Can't let her see it! He was hard, so fucking hard.
The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms sat bare before him. Not a tavern whore, not some peasant wife, but the crowned lioness herself. Skin pale as cream, tits bared like an offering on an altar.
His eyes devoured her without staring outright. Her elegant neck, so long and pale, tendons shifting faintly with every breath. The sharp line of her collarbones, rising and falling like carved marble above those heavy, perfect swells.
Impressions mattered. Bronn made sure to still appear solemn, even though his cock ached. "Very well, Your Grace."
Since Cersei sat with both her legs stretched straight, her back against the headboard, Bronn decided to go a little bold as well. Instead of reaching from her side, he straddled her straight legs, his knees parted as he shifted closer to her.
Seeing her flustered reaction made him even more excited. It felt like a silent tug of war to see who made the other lose their mind first. But Bronn knew that wasn't the case. Cersei was just too proud and obsessed with her son.
At last, he reached the point where he was straddling her thighs without lowering his weight on them. He stayed upright on his knees, keeping himself higher than the Queen.
Face to face, up so close, he realized that she perhaps had the softest skin he'd seen on a woman. And then there was her face, those emerald eyes looking up at him, trying to seem like an innocent maiden.
A ruse? What's there to earn by seducing me? Healing?
Then, Bronn grabbed the vial of oil, poured some on one palm, rubbed them together, and then reached for Cersei's royal breasts.
However, just before his hands touched her skin, just when he knew she could feel his oozing warmth, especially the oil's. He paused and looked into her sinful eyes. "I shall begin, Your Grace. But first, a prayer."
Cersei nodded, though she couldn't hide that gulp. Sitting bare like that before a man she'd met only yesterday. He wasn't a famed knight, nor a handsome head turner, just a miraculous septon.
"Mother of mercy, bless these hands,
That soothes her flesh as your will commands.
With oil I tend, with care I heal,
Her strength restored through holy seal."
With that, his hands landed.
Seven… hells! Soft like feathers!
"Hmm~" Cersei heaved a deep, moaning breath.
Soft. Beyond soft. Her skin was silk, smoother than any noblewoman he had ever pawed. The faintest give of fat under firm flesh, full to the brim with nectar meant for her son. His thumbs slid beneath the swell of each breast, lifting them up, weighing them silently, savoring their heaviness in his hands. The Queen's tits, his to hold. He'd won more than gold ever bought him.
"Hnnn…" A faint sound broke from her throat. She shut her eyes as if she hadn't made it. Her legs shifted slightly, toes flexing under her gown's hem.
Bronn didn't look away. He stared at her face as he kneaded her softly, watching her lashes flutter, her lips part, her proud jawline tightening as she tried to mask her body's betrayal. Each time their eyes almost met, she flicked hers aside, refusing to be caught.
He took more oil, slicking it over her curves. His palms glided around the outer swell, circling slowly. He smeared the rich liquid across her cleavage, down between her swells, coating every inch in a glossy sheen. Then he spread his fingers wide, cupping both globes at once, his palms covering her nipples, his claws sinking in.
"Mmmh—!" Her moan this time was sharper, stifled by her bitten lip.
The pressure coaxed a bead of nectar to ooze, warm and pearly against his hand. He squeezed again, firmer, until a droplet slicked out, painting his palm.
Seven take me, I'll burst!
"Grant her body a fruitful flow,
That milk abundant her child may know.
Through touch and prayer let vigor rise,
A gift of life beneath Your skies."
He still maintained the whole act, even though he felt insanely aroused in the woman's presence. It was a sin not to just take her right then and there. But again, he loved having a head on his shoulder.
Bronn grew bolder, his hands no longer content with the simple worship of her perfect bosom. The oil slickened his palms as they roamed higher, kneading the smooth curve of her shoulder, thumb sliding across her collarbone before gliding down again. He traced the slope of her ribs, down to her flat belly, the faintest pressure just below her navel. His fingers lingered there, daring, grazing the forbidden line above her womb.
Not too far, never too far. Just enough to make her breath stutter.
Still, most of his attention stayed upon those perfect breasts. He kneaded them firmly now, not gently, but squeezing, clawing, milking. Warm nectar welled out in beads, running down the swell of her breasts, smearing over his hands.
The chamber was filled with a musky sweetness, heavy and intoxicating.
"It must feel warm," Bronn said casually, as if it meant nothing to him. His voice was priestly calm, but…
Seven hells, I could lap you clean like a starving dog.
The Queen trembled. Her legs pressed together, thighs rubbing faintly beneath her gown. Her hands no longer lay at her sides. They hovered at her loins, pressed where thigh met thigh, as if guarding or soothing some secret ache.
Bronn's rough hands climbed once more, sliding over the slope of her shoulder, curling around her slender pale throat. His palm lingered there, a heavy weight over the column of her neck.
A Queen's life, resting under my hand. One squeeze, and it's over. One squeeze… Instead, he released her, drifting back down to the softness of her bosom, claiming them again as his due.
This time, his fingers closed over her nipples. He rolled them, pinched them, tugged gently, then harder, until her body jolted with every twist. The oil made them slick, drenched, pearly with her own milk.
"Uhh.." Cersei gasped, the sound spilling out before she could swallow it. She felt so unbearably warm, as if the oil were fire and yet cool as water, burning and soothing, sending shivers through her skin. Its fragrance curled in her nose, thick and sweet, lulling her into a haze.
She stared at him. That plain, rough-hewn face. A sellsword's face, not a gentle healer's. And yet… gods help her, it looked beautiful to her now. His coarse fingers sank into her flesh and made her body sing.
Was he healer, holy man, miracle-worker? Or just a cunning rogue toying with her like every other man? She didn't know. She only knew she hadn't been touched in months, hadn't been filled, hadn't been wanted. The ache inside her broke its chains.
A low moan slipped from her throat as her hands betrayed her, sliding between her thighs, clutching at her own cunt through silk.
When his pinches grew sharper, when her milk spilled and his palms worked her harder, her body surged to the brink. She clenched her teeth, quivering on the edge of release, ready to shatter…
And then his hands were gone.
Just gone, moving away.
Bronn rose off her as if nothing had happened, his face turned aside, solemn, pious. He looked away, giving her space to cover herself, to gather her gown back over her glistening breasts.
Cersei's eyes flew wide, a flash of raw want streaking across her face. A reluctance she couldn't name, couldn't speak. Some part of her didn't want him to stop.
"Spreading oil this way is a little troublesome, Your Grace. I shall return again to heal the babe tonight. Breast nourishment will be done in the morning. I suggest I do it while sitting behind you next time, Your Grace," Bronn advised her, gathering his items. "The Seven grant us their favor. Best I be on my way, the hunt for the last ingredient continues."
Cersei wanted to stop the man before he left. Ask him to finish what he started. But that was wrong.
To ask a septon just doing his duty… thought she wondered if he really was doing his duty.
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