Josephine

There kneeling in front of the throne was Josephine.

“Lace, my dear. Just the woman I wanted to see.”

The Inquisitor’s voice was a low, amused rumble, barely strained despite Josephine’s skilled efforts. Lace stopped at the base of the throne. Her eyes looking up and down the naked Josephine gagging on the Inquisitor's large nine inch cock.

“Inquisitor,” she said, her own voice husky. She gave a casual, two-fingered salute. “Looks like you’re… busy.”

He chuckled, his fingers tangling gently in Josephine’s perfectly styled, dark hair. The ambassador’s movements were unhurried, practiced, her head bobbing with a rhythmic grace that was almost demure if not for the wet, slick sounds accompanying each pass of her lips along his considerable length. She took her duty seriously.

“Debriefing never ends,” he said, his gaze never leaving Lace’s. “But this one’s almost concluded. Come up here.”

Lace climbed the steps, the stone cool through the soles of her boots. She loved this. The utter, shameless normalcy of it. The Orlesian diplomat was still grunting into the former Grand Duchess’s throat, his political rivalries forgotten in favor of a more primal conquest. The dwarven merchant had flipped over his human partner. Now with him laying on a table and the dwarf squeezing the human's small balls. Both of them still haggling over lyrium prices between gasps.

This was Skyhold’s true heart. Not faith, not diplomacy. Lust.

She stopped beside the throne. From this angle, she had a perfect view. Josephine’s eyes were closed, her long lashes fanning her cheeks. A soft, contented hum vibrated in her throat with each deep press. Her slender hands rested on the Inquisitor’s muscular thighs, her polished nails digging in just slightly as he gave a slow, deliberate thrust upward, filling her mouth completely.

He groaned, the sound rich and satisfied. “Josephine has a gift for… thorough reports.”

Lace felt a familiar heat coil low in her belly. “I can see that.”

“She’s been at it for a good twenty minutes,” he continued, “Never complains. Always sees the job through to the very last… detail.”

As if on cue, his grip on her hair tightened, not roughly. He guided Josephine’s pace, speeding her up, his hips lifting off the throne to meet her. The wet, rhythmic noises grew louder, more urgent. Josephine’s hum became a muffled moan, a sign of her own building pleasure in her task.

Lace watched, transfixed. She saw the flutter of Josephine’s throat as she swallowed. The smell of him, musky and male, mixed with Josephine’s delicate perfume, was intoxicating.

“She’s close to finishing her summary,” the Inquisitor gritted out, his composure finally beginning to fray. “Aren’t you, Josie?”

Josephine’s only response was to redouble her efforts, her head moving faster. Her tongue working with frantic, expert precision. Her free hand slipped between her own legs, hidden beneath the layers of her elegant skirt, and Lace saw the fabric begin to tremble with the frantic motion of her fingers.

The Inquisitor’s breath hitched. “That’s it. Take it all. Every last word.”

His back arched, a low, guttural curse tearing from his lips. Josephine made a soft, **** sound and went perfectly still, her body shuddering as her own hidden climax hit her. Lace could see the pulse pounding in the Inquisitor’s throat.

Josephine stayed there, accepting everything he gave her, her swallows audible. Finally, she pulled back slowly, meticulously, her lips parting with a soft, wet pop. She took a delicate handkerchief from a hidden pocket and dabbed at the corners of her mouth, then at him, cleaning him with a tenderness that was shockingly intimate. Her eyes finally opened, meeting Lace’s. They were dark, glazed with satisfaction, and held no hint of shame. Only a quiet pride.

“The report is concluded, Your Worship,” Josephine said, her voice only slightly hoarse. She gathered her skirts and rose gracefully on slightly unsteady legs.

“Outstanding work, Ambassador,” the Inquisitor said, his own voice thick. He gave her rear an affectionate, approving smack as she turned to descend the dais, a faint, pleased smile on her lips. "Now Scout Harding, what is it you want?"

"I am bored and I need something more exciting," said Lace Harding.

The Inquisitor smiled a broad smile. "I have some things in mind."