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This was the way it was always supposed to be.
Illario shudders, the muscles in his biceps straining as he held himself up. A low groan vibrates in his throat, eyes squeezing shut.
With him on top, and you under him.
It had taken quite a bit of time for you to come around, but Illario had been a patient man. In the beginning, everyone had been so distraught. Understandably so, his cousin, Lucanis, was a marvel of his own—so full of himself to even realize what was planned right under his own nose. Illario took pride in the painstaking details in making sure everything went according to plan.
Of course, he had hated to see his grandmother upset at the loss of his dearest cousin, but even she managed to get over his death with time. The old woman never let herself be seen as weak for too long. She went back to squawking orders once the mourning period had passed. Soon enough, the Crows appeared to have moved on, simply keeping Lucanis in their memories.
People loved Lucanis; more than they loved Illario. He didn’t care about everyone else. You, though. You were a challenge—a welcomed one, at that. Your affections for Lucanis were obvious. Illario doubted any in Thedas would deny it. If there was anything he could count on his cousin for, it was your appearance not too far behind.
It was irritating, to say the least, how Lucanis managed to get everything that Illario wanted. You. The Talons. The Estate. He doubted his cousin even realized your affinity towards him until Catarina proposed the union between the two houses. It shamed Illario to think he had spent the same evening in one of the lowly taverns on the other side of the docks, drinking his sorrows away.
But had he not been scorned that day, he would have never concocted the scheme to remove Lucanis from the picture.
You would love him, Illario told himself. With time, you would see who the better prize was. And you had, as you crawled into his bed willingly. Satisfaction simmered low in his belly.
The night was quiet outside the stone walls. Hours had long passed since the last servant had retired for the evening. Your knock had been near silent against the door, as if you might change your mind. But you didn’t, not as you pressed your back against the surface, staring him down. Illario murmured your name, a brief moment of concern flashing over his eyes until he realized what you were wearing (or lack of). Your cloak had puddled on the floor, revealing your sheer shift. The night air must’ve been cold as your nipples pebbled through the thin fabric.
He would fix that.
He could practically hear the thrum of your heart as you crossed the room, looking at him through your long lashes. There was no denying you as you touched his face so gently in the moonlight.
Illario had won.
Your kiss had been tentative, which he had found adorable. Your touch, even more so. Urging you on, Illario had placed his own atop yours, granting you the permission to explore his body. Dragging it downward, he made certain you felt every muscle in his abdomen. Try as he might to keep his breathing even, it shallowed out. His belly fluttered in excitement, the muscles in his groin already tightening.
However, he had stopped, sensing your hesitation when he brought you down to where the edge of his underwear sat and the evidence of his desire grew.
You pulled back from the kiss, eyes glancing downward. His own gaze half-linden, a small pout on his lips, frozen from where you had left him. “Tesoro,” he rumbled, “You may take me as far as you wish to go.” He leaned in, grazing his nose against your cheek. “I am nothing, if not a patient man. You need not feel any pressure from me.” Tilting his head slightly, Illario brushed his lips against your skin, teasing a chaste kiss.
Your scent was light, tantalizing. All the smells in the markets were bold and flavorful—whatever this scent was, you had gotten elsewhere. He wished he could bury himself at your neck, but he restrained himself.
Oh, he felt your shiver though.
His cock twitched under the fabric.
With a careful touch, Illario guided your face back towards his. His eyes softened, glancing at your plush lips. He needed them again. He was not a desperate man, but you had made him question himself more than once.
Like when you had adorned yourself in grief and black lace and stood far back in the grand cathedral behind the packed pews and marble columns—he wanted you there, begging for grace while he kissed the tears from your cheeks. The salt would linger on his tongue; your gasps echoing off the walls as he entered you. Maker, he had struggled.
Illario knew better than to move too quickly with the wounds so fresh. He gave you space, time, comforting words when you needed them. Coaxing you out of your nest was slow, but you responded well to friendly promises and gentle touches. He particularly enjoyed the night where you sat together on a rooftop somewhere with a bottle of your favorite red wine.
You had let him hold your hand that night. He would have taken you there under the stars had you not dozed off on the blanket. No, he wanted you awake and fully aware of him.
His suffering was rewarded and how sweet it tasted.
Your nail digs into his back, pulling him back into the moment. He is happy to bear them as they will serve as reminders that this was real.
Dragging his length out of you, Illario savors the sounds of your whine as he eases himself back in with that same, excruciatingly slow pace. Gazing down, Illario admires you. Your mouth had fallen slack, just as it had when he pressed inside. The visage of you burned into his memories; hair splayed out beneath you, cheeks flush with anticipation, the subtle tremble in your lip. Fuck, you had squeezed him, welcomed him with your velvety embrace. His own lips had parted, a tiny gasp escaping.
There was a heaven and it was inside of you.
His upper lip twitches, flashing a canine, when you roll your hips up. Sheathing himself to the hilt, he grinds his hips against yours, spreading your wetness over him. “Look at what you do to me,” Illario whispers, low and rough, “I can have no other.” Truly, he has been spoiled by you. His hand palms the fleshy curve of your hip, digging his fingers into your skin, lifting you slightly. "You take me so well, tesoro mio.” He sighs, though it almost sounds like a growl. He picks up his pace one thrust at a time. “Your body was made for me.” Your walls pulse weakly around him.
What a divine creature you were. He bucks his hips against you, a grunt escaping his lips.
Your back arches up, pressing those sweet, perfect breasts against him. Maker, he could watch those tits bounce every day if you would let him. For now, he savors the way your body wraps around him, fluttering with every thrust he gives you. You were warm, so warm and wet for him. It sends him reeling. Every sound more delicious and debauched than the last.
Skin slaps together haphazardly and Illario knows his control is wearing thin. He grits his teeth, pausing only for a moment to shift his position. A bead of sweat slides down his temple. He hooks your knees over his elbows, pressing you further unto your back, and drives back into you.
Gods above, it gives him even deeper access to you. Your cries are heavenly sounds, spurring him on just a bit longer, as you press your head back into the pillow. His eyes drop to the exposed plane of your chest—ripe for the taking. Tracing his tongue along the edge of his teeth, he breathes hard. How beautiful it would look decorated with his marks.
All in due time.
You pant his name, a whiny sound full of desperation. He would have you sing it from the rooftops! Let all of Treviso know who you belonged to! “Say it again,” he commands, a snarl tugging at his upper lip in concentration, “Say my name!”
Something snaps within him and his hips stutter, releasing his pent up emotion deep inside of you. Ropes upon ropes of him coating your innermost self. He cannot help the wolfish grin that spreads across his face.
He shall have all of you.
Your cunt squeezes him as you let out a howling sound, milking him of every drop, while your hands grip the sheets underneath. He continues to pump inside of you, dragging out that sweet release he has gifted you. It is beautiful watching you writhe under him, the way you squirm out of sheer pleasure and delirium—knowing he has claimed you in a way Lucanis never would.
All at once, you collapse under him, chest heaving and eyes blinking languidly as you come from your high. A sound of amusement clicks off his tongue as he slows himself, his heart racing within. A moment of tenderness passed through him as he allows you to return to a comfortable position, though he does not remove himself. No, he remains in your warmth--it almost feels safe. He does not think on it long as he lays himself upon you, shifting to his side just enough so he does not crush you.
Murmuring words of praise, he nudges your jaw up with his nose so that he can trail tiny kisses along your neck. His hands wander over the slopes of you, mapping you in his mind's eye. Sweet thing, you don't realize how precious you are.
Body and soul, you are his. Now, until the end of your days.