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GOT : Chapter 185
🕑 Added 2025-02-09 09:00:03 +0000 UTC"I expect you to have signed my brother's document before the end of the day, Lord Mace," the silver-haired man simply said. "As for the rest, you are still confined to your rooms, though I expect Princess Margaery can see her husband if she likes, but under strict guard."
Margaery breathed a huge sigh of relief, sinking back into her chair.
...
As soon as the whole party was gone, leaving only the Reachmen, her grandmother addressed her: "You foolish girl! This was your plan? To fake a marriage with the Prince of Dorne?"
"He promised that as long as he were not wed, I could be his wife should I wanted to," Margaery simply replied.
"And you believed him?" Her grandmother shook her head. "Bah, it does not matter. The boy did agree to it, and falsified some documents gods only know how…"
"How could you give yourself away to this…this Dornishman, Marge!" her father admonished her.
"It did not go beyond a kiss. I swear this. Prince Quentyn did not do anything untowards me at all…" Margaery looked at him, her eyes pleading.
"It would have been better if he did." Her grandmother sighed. "The Queen is not happy that you have escaped her wrath, and she will find any excuse to annul this union."
Margaery froze. Her grandmother was right. The Queen was prideful and seemed to have taken this as an insult. But to do anything, she would have to go to Prince Quentyn.
She decided to get ready.
With the help of her cousins, she put on a green-blue dress, took her most beautiful jewellery and braided her hair. Once this was done, she asked the guards to escort her to Prince Quentyn's rooms, where she was let in without any difficulty.
It was the same rooms he'd spent his King's Landing days in, just refurbished somewhat.
She was surprised not to find Prince Quentyn on his bed or relaxed in a chair somewhere. It is only when she ventured into the room further that she found him, laying in a bath, humming a song.
"As you deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal. Let the Hero born of women, crush the serpent with his heel…"
His face turned to her, immediately settling into a frown.
"Who let you in?" he asked.
"Well, I am your wife, am I not?" Margaery shot back.
Quentyn sighed and took a towel, pulling the curtain slightly to hide his naked form, before coming out with the towel covering everything under the belt.
"Indeed, at least, for as long as I say so." Quentyn nodded, moving to a chair.
She looked around the room, trying to see if the Snake was listening somewhere.
"If you are looking for Nymeria, she is with Arianne, she won't be back for a while. She knows about us, if you wish to know everything."
"I…was told there were conditions," Margaery stammered.
"Indeed. As Princess-Consort, you would know what your duties would entail?" he asked.
Margaery nodded.
"Well, then, you would also know that as my wife, you would also take my name. This means that from this day, you are no longer a Tyrell, but a Martell, and as such, I require loyalty from you to this effect. Am I clear?" Quentyn leaned forwards.
"You wish that I push the interest of House Martell before mine own House?" she asked.
"Indeed." Quentyn nodded, leaning back into his chair, adjusting one of the orange cushions as he did so. "In addition, you will be my wife, but I cannot offer you any love. You will bear me at least an heir and a spare, and then any children you wish to have. I will not deny you any paramours, it would be untowards of me, but I will not allow them while you bear my children, is that understood?"
Margaery nodded again.
"Good. The last point is that you will have to deal with mine and Nymeria's relationship. If you stand in our way, I will not need to hurt you, Nymeria will do that quite well. I will not shy away from my duties as a husband, but you will have to live with the fact that you are to be second to someone else for your entire life. Is that also understood?"
"It is clear." Margaery nodded. "Is that all?"
"It should be all, indeed." Quentyn sighed. "Do you have any questions?"
"Not a question, but I wish to impose a certain condition." Margaery looked him in the eyes.
"What would that be?" Quentyn asked, confused.
"The Queen clearly wishes to find any way of annulling this marriage, and she will find an excuse. The only way she can find is to somehow prove the marriage was not consummated, which she could obtain. You and I have never laid together." Margaery stepped forwards, confident. "You know that the only way for our marriage to be secure is for you to put a babe in me, and you need to do it soon."
Margaery then pulled the straps from her dress, revealing her entire body to him.
"I wish for you to do it now. If we are wed, then bed me."
...
*LEMON WARNING
...
Quentyn stood up, looked her up and down, with a confused look.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Margaery nodded.
"Very well." Quentyn approached her, slowly touching her arms, before his gaze met hers.
"If you wish for me to stop, tell me. If I am hurting you, tell me. Do you understand?" Quentyn asked.
"Yes." Margaery nodded once again.
Quentyn thus kissed her on the lips, claiming hers as he dropped his towel to the ground. His tongue tasted of sugar and honey. It was so sweet, she had a hard time letting go.
By now, Quentyn had pushed her onto the bed, on which she laid naked.
She expected him to immediately claim her, but, instead, Quentyn grinned and kissed her neck, before slowly roaming down her body.
He attacked her breasts, slowly twisting his tongue around her nipples, causing her to arch her back in surprise. She moaned deeply while her prince continued to nibble and bite at her breasts.
Though, he finally let go, and roamed down her belly, placing kisses up to her folds.
There, Quentyn knelt on the side of the bed, and began licking at it, his tongue entering her.
Margaery let out a moan as she felt pleasure take the best of her. She roughly grabbed the sheets, eyes turned towards the ceiling. Quentyn was sending her to a heaven she did not know up until now. His tongue kept circling around her, hitting all the right spots. She felt her head go dizzy, overwhelmed by the urge to cry out obscenities.
Instead, her hands went to Quentyn's dark hair, keeping it in place, right where she wanted him, lapping at her cunt. His movements became faster, his tongue went deeper, and Margaery's moans grew louder.
Suddenly, in one shriek, Margaery felt a wave of pleasure take her. Her whole body shook as she felt a spasm, and then finally rested, her heart beating faster than she could ever imagine.
After a brief moment, she looked at Quentyn, who had risen from between her legs and was licking his fingers and running his tongue around his lips.
"Well, it seems you Tyrells do taste like rosewater."
Quentyn got onto the bed and positioned himself over Margaery.
Her hands roamed his chest, feeling his muscles and his scars, eventually settling for looking him in the eyes, not wanting to witness him taking her.
"I'll put it in." Quentyn told her.
Margaery closed her eyes and nodded.
She felt a touch between her folds, then something seeking entry.
By reflex, she latched onto Quentyn's back, her nails digging into him, tears starting to flow.
"Should I stop?" he asked.
"No, please, continue." Margaery almost pleaded.
Quentyn's member continued to sheath itself into her. She could feel it making its way to her core, which in turn enticed cries of pain.
"Does it hurt?" he asked again.
"Yes, but don't stop…don't…" Margaery was pleading now.
His member inched ever forward into her, stretching her walls, before finally, it stopped, and she felt Quentyn's skin gently brisk her own. Then, slowly, Quentyn pulled back, starting to move inside of her.
Her walls clenched around the member, drawing a breath from the Dornish Prince, who kissed her languidly whilst he retreated out of her. The second pace was much smoother, as the pain left its way to pleasure, her folds begging him to stay in.
Margaery cried out in pleasure.
"Yes!" she threw her head back, "Don't…don't stop, just like this."
Quentyn kissed her neck, roaming her body, taking a nipple in between his fingers or biting her elbows. With every short thrust, she felt her walls continue to clench, wanting to release something building up deep inside.
Margaery was a mess now. Her brown hair was completely tossed aside, her watery eyes were almost rolled to the back of her head, losing herself in a world of pleasure she had never experienced. Quentyn's cock was stretching her, claiming her, driving her mad.
The pleasure and pain of each of the prince's gradually faster thrusts made Margaery cry out things she would have never dreamt of saying just a few days before, but now had lost control over her body. She needed more, craved more. Her energetic moans coaxed Quentyn into going faster, her nails drew bloody circles in his back, but she did not care.
She came with a massive shudder, her body shaking even more than the first time.
"S … Sorry about …the … nails …" she panted.
"It's fine, I like when it hurts." Quentyn replied.
Margaery fell back, her body limp, her vision hazy, while Quentyn retreated out.
"Did you…spill?" she asked, chest heaving.
"No." Quentyn replied. "Sorry, I can't spill unless I'm rougher with you, and it wouldn't be too enjoyable for you."
"N…no…be rougher." Margaery looked up at him. "I'll handle it."
"Are you sure?" Quentyn asked. "You might pass out, considering how exhausted you are, Marge. We're done."
"No!" Marge gasped. "Just…do it. I can take it. Please."
Quentyn stared at her for a moment, but sighed, relenting.
"If at any point, you want to stop, either tell me or push the orange cushion to the right." Quentyn pointed to the cushion she had been resting on. "Turn around, on all fours."
Margaery obliged and presented her arse to him.
This time, Quentyn was not slow. She felt him penetrate her in an instant, and she cried out in both pleasure and pain.
Quentyn's hands reached for her hair, pulling it as he roughly pumped into her, causing her to go almost blind, her vision already hazy after her second orgasm. She could feel Quentyn's skin impacting her arsecheeks, his member seeking the deepest part of her cunt, whilst she moaned uncontrollably, trying to soften the words with cushions, as if they could hide the pure filth she was saying.
Then, to her shock, Quentyn inserted a finger into her arse, causing her to recoil in shock. He leaned in and whispered into her ear whilst completely sheathed in her.
"Your maidenhead may not have been mine, but I promise that I will have this one."
Margaery groaned, her body almost limp with the hard fucking she had been subjected to, but she urged him on. He needed to be rough to be able to reach his peak, and if it meant he had to use her, she would allow it.
His thrusts were erratic, fast and without any mercy. For Margaery, it was too much, she was moaning between the pillows, having surrendered herself to the heavens a long time ago.
She cried out one last time as she peaked for the third time, her walls clenching around Quentyn's rigid member, saliva drooling onto the bed. But Quentyn did not stop, instead fucking her right through her orgasm. She wanted to breathe, but no words left her mouth, the feeling was too good, like a sweet wine, she was drunk on him.
Finally, though, after a few more thrusts, she could feel something spewing inside of her. A thick, creamy liquid which warmed her insides, shooting into her core. Then, she felt emptiness inside of her as Quentyn definitively retreated from her, leaving her breathless on the bed, chest heaving.
"Fuck … that … was … amazing …" Margaery tried to breathe slowly, catching her breath, drifting into unconsciousness, bliss or sleep, gods only knew.
The last thing she heard before closing her eyes was a female voice.
"Well, I told you she was too tender for our bed. Now, I hope you left some energy for me, love."
