GOT: My Secret Lover is sansa - Chapter 118 Margaery Tyrell [R-18]

Chapter 118: Chapter 118 Margaery Tyrell [R-18]

Alaric didn’t go for her lips. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his mouth right against the sharp edge of her jaw. He dragged his lips slowly across the bone, his breath hot and heavy against her sensitive skin.

Margaery let out a shaky sigh. Her trembling hands moved up to his broad chest, her delicate fingers searching for the heavy iron clasps of his black velvet doublet. While he traced the line of her jaw, she frantically worked the fasteners loose, desperate to feel the warmth of his bare skin against hers.

She pulled the heavy fabric apart. Beneath the rough velvet, Alaric’s chest was solid, hard, and covered in a faint sheen of sweat. Margaery pressed her soft palms flat against his chest, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart. With a small, satisfied sigh, she slid her fingers up, tangling them into the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck.

Alaric stopped kissing her jaw. He looked down at her flushed face, his eyes heavy. He didn’t rush. Leaning over the mattress, he lowered her gently into the center. Then, he placed one heavy knee beside her hip and braced his large hands on the pillows on either side of her head, completely caging her in.

Margaery looked up at him as her bare back sank deep into the soft, white furs. The candlelight flickered in his glowing, unnatural eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the last of her practiced confidence melting away under his intense stare.

Looking down at her flushed cheeks, a slow, dark smirk finally broke through Alaric’s usual flat expression. He lowered his head until his face was mere inches from hers.

He didn’t break eye contact as he shifted his weight. One of his large, oil-slicked hands slid down from her waist, pushing past the bunched-up green silk of her skirts to find the hot, slick heat between her thighs.

Margaery’s breath hitched, her knees parting instinctively.

“You’re already dripping,” Alaric murmured, his voice a blunt, heavy rasp.

A furious, dark blush rushed all the way down Margaery’s neck, but she refused to look away. Instead, she forced her chin up, her highborn pride fighting through the overwhelming nerves.

“I was trained by my grandmother, my lord,” she whispered. Her voice trembled just a fraction, but a faint, defiant smile touched the corners of her lips. “Did you really expect a Tyrell to come to your bed unprepared?”

He didn’t offer empty praise. Instead, he grabbed the bunched fabric at her hips and pulled. In one smooth, rough motion, he dragged the heavy silk down her legs and tossed the expensive gown onto the floor like it was nothing but a rag.

Lying completely bare against the white furs, the candlelight caught the sheen of golden oil on her skin. As a sudden chill swept through the room, her innate shyness flared. She started to cross her legs, her knees knocking together.

Alaric’s hands shot out, catching her ankles with an iron grip. He firmly but gently pulled her legs back apart, pinning her thighs wide against the mattress. His glowing eyes tracked downward, taking in how incredibly ready she was for him.

Margaery’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She watched as his large hands dropped to his waist, unbuckling his heavy leather belt and letting it hit the floorboards with a loud thud. He pushed his dark trousers down, and the dim candlelight caught the sheer, intimidating size of him.

Margaery’s eyes widened slightly. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her gaze flicking immediately to the little crystal bottle on the nightstand.

“I should have bought a larger bottle,” she murmured, a nervous but sharp edge of humor cutting through the heavy air.

Alaric didn’t answer. He crawled over her, his massive shadow swallowing the candlelight as he settled between her spread thighs. The blistering heat radiating off his body was overwhelming. He braced his thick forearms on either side of her head, his chest hovering just an inch above hers as he stared down into her eyes.

“It’s going to be tight,” he stated, his voice a blunt, rough rumble.

Margaery didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the crystal bottle and poured a generous pool of the thick almond oil into her palm. The rich scent of crushed white roses bloomed fiercely between them.

Setting the bottle aside, she reached right between them. Her soft, oil-slicked hand wrapped fully around his thick shaft. She let out a tiny, involuntary gasp at the blistering heat and stone-like hardness of him. With deliberate focus, she gave him three long, slow strokes, making sure to coat his length entirely in the slick oil. She watched his jaw lock instantly, the heavy muscles in his arms going corded and tense under her steady grip.

She looked at the remaining golden oil pooling in the center of her palm, then back up to his glowing, predatory eyes.

“I’m going to need this too,” she breathed, her voice quiet but entirely practical.

Alaric’s glowing eyes tracked her fingers. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand completely swallowing hers. He gently but firmly pressed her oily fingers down against her own opening.

Margaery let out a sharp, jagged breath as she followed his silent command, working the sweet-smelling oil directly into her own slick heat. She kept her eyes glued to Alaric’s face, captivated by the raw, unapologetic hunger burning in his stare.

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