Temptation & Thrones

Saera Targaryen was a mess of platinum blonde hair and glazed violet eyes, her mind swimming in a chemical haze. The combination of tequila shots and a handful of pills had stripped away her inhibitions, leaving her body hypersensitive and her thoughts fragmented. She was draped over the bed, her ample boobs swinging heavily with every jarring movement, her nipples hard and peaking through the thin fabric of her gown.

Behind her, Roy Connington was relentless. He had her pinned in a deep doggy style, his powerful hands gripping her plump ass, digging his fingers into the soft, pale flesh as he hammered himself into her. Roy’s cock was thick, stretching her pussy wide with every deep, guttural thrust. The sound of their bodies colliding—the wet, slapping noise of his pelvis hitting her backside—echoed through the room.

Saera let out a ragged moan, her head lolling back. The physical sensation was overwhelming, the thick head of his cock knocking on her cervix over and over, but the true electricity wasn't coming from the friction. As she felt Roy’s cock filling her to the brim, all she could think about was Braxton Beesbury.

The thought of her boyfriend, although he was not innocent, nor was he unsuspecting, sent a surge of illicit heat flooding through her veins. She imagined Braxton’s face if he could see her now—stripped bare, her ass shaking under the weight of their bestfriend's lust, her pussy clamping tight around a cock that wasn't his. The taboo of the betrayal was like a drug, amplifying the effects of the pills and the alcohol.

"You're such a filthy little slut, Saera.," Roy growled in her ear, his voice a low rasp, "Shit, I love fucking your pussy." He shifted his grip, pulling her hips back harder to drive himself even deeper.

Saera let out a sharp, piercing scream as a massive orgasm ripped through her. It wasn't just the physical stimulation; it was the sheer nastiness of the act. The knowledge that she was betraying Braxton, that she was being used and filled by Roy while her boyfriend was probably drunk and passed out somewhere, pushed her over the edge. Her pussy walls spasmed violently, milking Roy’s thick shaft as she buckled under the intensity.

She didn't stop. As soon as the first wave subsided, the thrill of the cheating surged back. She pushed her plump ass back against him, begging for more, craving the feeling of being corrupted.

"Harder!" she gasped, her voice thick with lust and intoxication. "Fuck me harder, Roy! Mess me up!"

Roy obliged, his pace becoming frantic and violent. He pounded into her with everything he had, his cock sliding in and out of her soaking wet pussy with a wet, squelching sound. Saera’s ample breasts bounced wildly, her violet eyes rolling back in her head as she spiraled into another climax. She was addicted to the filth, the betrayal, and the raw, uncensored pleasure of being a cheating slut. Every thrust was a middle finger to Braxton, and every drop of cum Roy was preparing to dump inside her was a trophy of her own decadence.

And Roy did just that. As he blew his load in her pussy, it triggered another massive climax, and Saera blacked out.

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Saera Targaryen woke up to sunlight doing absolutely nothing for her headache.

For a second she genuinely didn't know whose ceiling this was. Track lighting. Exposed brick. A framed print above the bed that looked like it had been bought in bulk for a boutique hotel. Then it clicked. Roy's place. Right. They fucked... again. It had been an on and off hookup after hookups. She had dated both Roy and Jonah at one point who were Braxton's best friends. So had Alys and Perrianne. It was a complicated group with an even complicated history.

Speaking of Roy, he was still out cold beside her, one arm thrown over his face like he was hiding from the sun on principle, snoring just enough to be annoying. She lay there a minute, running the math on how much tequila had been involved and deciding she didn't need the exact number to know it had been a good night.

Not because of Roy, particularly. He was sweet. He tried. He knew how to fuck. But if she was being honest with herself, and she often tried to be, the fun hadn't really had much to do with him at all. It was the fact that it wasn't Braxton. That was the part that did something for her. Some small, ugly, satisfied little thing curled up in her chest that she wasn't in the mood to interrogate this early.

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand. Someone had plugged it in at some point. Yay! drunk Saera looking out for hungover Saera.

Fourteen texts and twelve missed calls. Wonderful.

I guess he too had a good night. She wasn't jealous. She knew he was hooking up with other girls behind her back too. It was hard not to. He thought he was keeping it a secret though, but she knew. And she was not cheating on him to get back to him either. If she was being honest, she did not want to be exclusive, ever. She wanted poly, or open relationship, but it chafed Braxton's pride. Whatever.

Saera read the last one twice and felt something warm cut clean through the headache.

Seven bless Alys. Such a good bitch. I'll need to reward her for good behaviour.

She let her skull sink back into the pillow for one more indulgent second before she made herself sit up. Roy didn't stir. She found her clothes scattered in the order clothes always end up scattered, bra hooked on the arm of a floor lamp, one sandal under the bed, the other one just gone, philosophically speaking. She gave up looking for it and went to shower instead.

The water was too hot, blistering even, but hot things never bothered her, so she left it that way, standing under it until her brain came back online enough to remember she was going to be twenty-six in few days, the seventh of nine Targaryen children, currently scrubbing off the smell of tequila, weed, and musk of sex in Roy Connington's bathroom. It wasn't a thought that bothered her. It was just true, the way her eyes were true Targaryen violet, the kind of detail that made strangers stare a beat too long before they even got to her name. And if it wasn't the eyes that did it, it was the rest of her, the body she'd worked hard, curves in the places people noticed and muscle underneath that most of them never got close enough to find. Once they had her name, they never needed the rest explained to them.

She dried off, dressed in last night's clothes because that was simply the price of doing business, and took one last look at Roy on her way out. Still face down. Still gone to the world. She almost felt bad waking him up to say goodbye, so she didn't bother.

The elevator ride down from his floor gave her just enough time to text Alys back.

Saera smiled at her phone the whole walk to the car.

Alys was already sprawled across Saera's sectional when she let herself into the penthouse, scrolling her phone with the specific, aggressive boredom of someone who'd been up for hours with nothing to do about it. Lunch plans forgotten already, apparently, in favor of showing up early and making herself at home, which was very on brand.

She looked up when the door clicked shut. One eyebrow rose. She didn't say a word, which somehow said everything.

"Roy's," Saera said, dropping her bag by the door.

"You are such a slut." Alys grinned when she said it, delighted, no bite in it at all.

Saera crossed the room, took Alys's face in both hands, and kissed her properly.

Not a peck. Slow, deliberate, tongue and all, enough that Alys made a small startled noise into her mouth before she gave in and kissed back.

When Saera finally pulled away, Alys blinked up at her, a little dazed. "Okay. What was that for?"

"For having my back." Saera was already moving past her toward the kitchen, toward coffee, toward the rest of her day, and she smacked Alys's ass on the way by. Hard enough to land. Not hard enough to actually hurt.

"Yip!" Alys yelped, swatting at the air Saera had already vacated. "That is so uncalled for. I lied to your boyfriend for you and this is the thanks I get."

"You got a kiss and you're getting lunch," Saera called from the kitchen, already pulling mugs down from the cabinet. "What more do you want, a medal?"

"And you love it when I put my hands on you." Saera added.

"A medal would be nice, actually." Alys followed her in, hopping up to sit on the counter like she'd done a thousand times before, because she had. "Braxton called me three times. Three. I had to sound concerned for like twenty minutes straight, Saera, it was exhausting, I should be in an acting union."

"You've always wanted to be in an acting union."

"I have a range," Alys said, entirely serious, and Saera laughed hard enough that her head reminded her, sharply, that this had been a mistake.