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“You smell so sweet,” Al Haitham mumbles, nosing against your throat. He’s panting, skin hot against yours. “I’ll just put the tip in, please. I need you.” He’s never been this desperate before, and he hates being weak in front of you, but his mind is too hazy to care.
It’s breeding season for fae, and as the king, his body wants to produce an heir now more than ever. Especially since *you’re* his mate. He’s not above begging anymore. His cock is leaking precum all over your thigh, his fingers on your hips.
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