Trapped IV – NSFW

NOTE:🔞 This part is NSFW. Actually, nothing out of the ordinary… For those used to reading fanfics (NSFW/smuttier/steamier…)

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ (4 de 5)

 

A storm of conflicting emotions raged within Rohan’s heart, his eyes fixed on the illusion before him. It was Aerin, or at least a flawless imitation of her. She took a sip of the wine, the glass delicately touching her lips. She looked almost real, every detail captured with uncanny precision, from the delicate curve of her mouth to the sparkle in her eyes.

It’s not her. It can’t be her. He reminded himself, trying to ignore the pang of longing that twisted his chest.

The glamour lacked the genuine warmth of Aerin’s presence, and the subtle scent of flowers that usually accompanied her was replaced by something artificial, almost metallic – the unmistakable tang of magic. But Rohan felt his desire flare up, mingled with anger and self-loathing.

Absinthya filled her glass again, the wine flowing like blood. She took a sip, her eyes never leaving Rohan’s. “Tell me, Rohan, is this what you want?” she teased, a seductive lilt in her voice.

He wanted to deny it, to vehemently reject her question and the forbidden desire it ignited. But the truth, like a stubborn thorn, pierced through his carefully constructed façade.

No. I don’t want you. I want her. The real her. The one who haunts my dreams and fills my thoughts. He admitted to himself, a bitter taste in his mouth.

Rohan swallowed hard, torn between the allure of the illusion and the reality he knew he must face. “It’s not real. Your tricks won’t work on me.” he growled, his voice strained under the weight of conflicting emotions. But even as he spoke, his gaze lingered on her, drawn to the illusion’s uncanny resemblance to the female he so desperately denied wanting.

“Are you sure?” She challenged, a mischievous spark in her eyes.

Rohan, gathering what remained of his resolve, spoke with a conviction he hoped would mask the turmoil. “You’re so desperate that you have to take the shape of another female to lure me into your bed.”

A lie. A pathetic lie. I know you’re not her. I know you’re a witch. A temptress. A trap. But I can’t look away. I can’t stop myself from wanting you. Wanting her. Wanting something I can never have. He thought, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts.

Absinthya laughed, the sound grating on Rohan’s nerves. “I’m only seeking pleasure, Rohan. Why does it matter who I am?” she retorted.

Internally, Rohan wrestled with the truth he so vehemently denied. The glamour, a tangible representation of his forbidden desire, the realization that, despite the facade, he craved a connection he wasn’t ready to admit. The conflicting emotions swirled within him, a tempest threatening to engulf him as the room pulsed with tension.

Absinthya closed the distance between them, each step a deliberate provocation, each sway of her hips a calculated temptation. Rohan couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, his internal battle raging. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“I know you want me,” she whispered, her voice laced with seduction, as she stopped inches from him.

Rohan’s mind screamed in protest. She’s not real, he told himself over and over. But the illusion was too real, too perfect, sparking a fire he couldn’t quench.

“You’re wrong,” he snapped, his voice hoarse. “I despise Aerin. A bastard with Eryone’s bad blood – I would never sink so low.”

Absinthya laughed, a dark, sultry sound. “Keep telling yourself that, Rohan. Maybe you’ll start believing it.”

Internally, Rohan fought the magnetic pull, the allure of the illusion clawing at his resolve. He hesitated, his inner turmoil evident, before tentatively running his fingers through her golden-brown locks,feeling the silky strands beneath his touch . The texture, the warmth, even the replicated freckles — it was a cruel mimicry of reality.

“You can touch me elsewhere,” she teased. With a teasing smile, she pulled down the top of her dress, exposing one of her breasts. Absinthya guides Rohan’s hand, placing it over the soft flesh.

His fingers brush over the delicate skin, tentative and conflicted, caught in the tumultuous dance of wanting and denial. The skin beneath his touch was warm, and he felt the erratic rise and fall of Absinthya’s breath. Rohan’s fingers tentatively circled the aroused nipple. In response, Absinthya’s breath hitched, the subtle gasp escaping her lips.

The warmth of the illusion was almost convincing, and he allowed himself to be drawn into the sensuality of the moment. The conflicted storm in his mind seemed to quiet as Absinthya’s breath halted with every tender circle his fingers made around her hardened nipple.

Absinthya’s lips found the sensitive skin of Rohan’s neck, her kisses calculated and deliberate. The struggle within him began to wane; if he had to succumb to Absinthya, at least the illusion made it more bearable. In that fleeting moment, he could pretend it was Aerin’s touch, Aerin’s kiss. The illusion played its part well, casting a veil over the reality of the situation.

Suddenly, Absinthya pushed him against the wall, her lips trailing down his neck, kissing his Adam’s apple. Rohan’s breath caught in his throat, a low growl escaping his lips as he tilted his head back, giving her better access.

As her lips continued their tantalizing journey, Rohan’s hands instinctively gripped her waist, pulling her closer. His eyes fluttered closed, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped his lips as her touch sent shivers of desire coursing through his entire body.

Rohan gently cradled Absinthya’s face, their eyes locked in an intense, conflicted gaze. He understood it was all a mirage, a mere illusion, yet as his finger traced the contours of her full, parted lips, an internal battle raged within him. He refused to admit, even to himself, the desire he harbored for her— the mixed-blood bastard, the spoiled, and insufferable girl… Nevertheless, in a moment of vulnerability, he let his guard down, and his attraction to her became unmistakable as the illusion of Aerin. Absinthya noticed. The name lingered in his thoughts, escaping in a whispered murmur.

“Aerin…” he murmured, the words nearly lost in the charged air.

Absinthya responded with a sly smile, feigning innocence while understanding the silent struggle playing out in Rohan’s conflicted heart.

He kissed her passionately, his lips molding to hers in a fervent embrace. The kiss was filled with conflicting emotions—desire, frustration, and a hint of surrender. It was as if the world around them faded, leaving them lost in the moment.

While their kiss deepened, Rohan’s hands driven by a raw, primal need, traced the curve of Absinthya’s back, fingers deftly working on the intricate fabric that clung to her form.

The sound of tearing fabric filled the air as Rohan almost forcefully exposed the other swell of her breast, yet the heated exchange of their lips remained unbroken. Absinthya responded the same way, skillfully undoing the buckle of his belt; the metallic clatter as it hit the floor echoed the unrestrained urgency between them.

Rohan , lost in the swirl of desire and tangled emotions, gripped the sides of Absinthya’s dress, tearing it down with a controlled ferocity. The fabric surrendered to his hands, pooling around her feet like a discarded promise. He pushed her against the wall, the cold surface a striking contrast to the fiery passion that consumed them.

In a synchronized rhythm, Absinthya continued her assault on Rohan’s clothing, yanking his tunic over his head and casting it aside. Their bodies pressed against each other, the raw intensity building with every heartbeat.

Absinthya’s hands trailed down Rohan’s sculpted torso, the play of shadows accentuating the defined muscles beneath his sun-kissed skin. A shiver ran down his spine as her fingers danced over the intricate tattoo, black swirls and thorns etched into his chest and left arm. The vivid ink seemed to come alive in the dim light. Their lips met again, a fierce and unrelenting kiss that conveyed the raw intensity between them. Their bodies molded together, the raw intensity between them escalating with each shared heartbeat.

Amidst the fervent exchange, Rohan couldn’t help but murmur the name that lingered in the depths of his conflicted heart.  “Aerin…”  His voice, barely audible, betrayed the tumult of emotions within him.

Absinthya, the illusion playing its part to perfection, confirmed with a sly smile, “Yes… Aerin.” The acknowledgment only stoked the flames between them.

The queen’s hand descended, a slow trail down Rohan’s abdomen until it reached the bulge beneath his trousers. A mischievous smile played on her lips as she felt his arousal, her fingers dancing teasingly over the fabric.

“Seems like you’re enjoying yourself now,” she purred, the seductive tone hanging in the air, a wicked glint in her eyes.

A low moan escaped Rohan’s lips, a sound that echoed the pleasure coursing through him.

Their movements were an intoxicating dance, navigating through the elegant but expensive furnishings of the room. The clinking of fine crystal and the occasional thud against intricately carved wood marked their reckless journey to the bed.

On the bed, the intricate dance continued. Absinthya, clad only in her panties, and Rohan, still adorned in his trousers, lost themselves in the fervor of the moment. He hovered above her, their lips meeting in a series of ardent kisses. His hands explored the curves of her body, leaving a trail of heated touches. The fabric of his trousers strained against his arousal as he moved his hips against hers, each friction drawing forth a symphony of sighs and moans that echoed in the dimly lit chamber.

In a flicker of magic, the last pieces of clothing vanished, leaving them completely exposed to the other’s desires. Absinthya, now in control, pushed Rohan, positioning herself above him. She guided his throbbing member inside her, a mutual moan escaping their lips as pleasure surged through their entwined bodies. Their movements became a passionate rhythm, a dance of bliss.

Their  bodies moved in a harmonious dance of pleasure. Absinthya’s hands roamed over Rohan’s sculpted form, fingers tracing the lines of his chest and shoulders. His moans, a melody of ecstasy, spurred her on, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

“Rohan,” she breathed, her voice a sultry whisper, “you’re mine now.”

Rohan’s hands mirrored the hunger in his eyes as he explored Absinthya’s body. Fingers trailed down the curve of her hips, finding the softness of her breasts. He pulled her closer, deepening their connection with each rhythmic thrust. Pleasure etched across his face, a raw mixture of desire and inner turmoil.

As heated whispers of pleasure filled the room, Absinthya teased, “Savoring every moment, aren’t you?” The satisfaction in her voice was undeniable.

Rohan’s response was a deep, primal groan. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensations, increasing the pace, pulling her with a newfound firmness.

The rhythmic dance between them intensified, his hands gripping her with increased fervor. Absinthya responded with a gasp, and as his eyes fluttered open, he was met with a sight that momentarily stilled the tumultuous storm within.

In the flickering candlelight, the illusion of Aerin underwent a subtle but undeniable transformation. Rohan’s pleasure-hazed gaze caught the changing: the golden brown hair now turning almost white, the mesmerizing blue eyes deepening to a crimson hue. The queen’s features emerged, a haunting reflection in the midst of their passionate union. Caught between desire and the cruel reality, Rohan’s breath hitched.

As the illusion of Aerin faded away completely, a wave of shame crashed over him, a powerful current that mingled with rage. How had he allowed himself to be reduced to this? To serve this monstrous queen? He, the High Lord of the Moon Court, should not be subjected to such degradation. Anger surged within him, a furious fire that threatened to consume everything. In that moment, when the last vestiges of Aerin’s image vanished, Rohan pushed Absinthya away abruptly.

In a swift motion, he repositioned himself behind her, penetrating her vigorously from behind with a rhythm that matched the storm inside him. Each powerful thrust was accompanied by a low growl, a manifestation of the tumultuous emotions he battled. He sought solace in the primal act, plunging deeper, each thrust a defiance against the chains that bound him.

Rohan refused to see the face of his enemy, the cruel queen who held him prisoner. The act became a means of rebellion, a way to reclaim a fragment of control in the midst of submission.

Absinthya urged him on with a breathless, “Yes, like that!” A sinister satisfaction danced in her eyes.

The room echoed with the sounds of the rhythmic collision of their bodies.

Ambisinthya’s pleasure cries echoed in the dimly lit room as Rohan continued with his powerful movements. The pace quickened, their shared passion reaching an intense climax. Then, with a final, forceful thrust, Absinthya cried out, reaching the pinnacle of ecstasy. Rohan, too, succumbed to the overwhelming sensations, a loud groan escaping him as he thrust one last time before collapsing beside her, his body slick with sweat, thoroughly spent. The room fell into an exhausted silence, the aftermath of their entangled desires lingering in the air.