And this time he will place a baby in her too

Jon had already taken the Queen and the Kingslayer in the Broken Tower's haze, spilled into a remade septa atop her own altar—why deny her this, his seed claiming her womb, planting life where none should grow?

Surging deeper, ever more deeply, Jon hips slamming against the Queen's in a final, grinding thrust, the soft but firm velvetlike walls of her sex clenching his shaft like a silken fist around him, dragging Jon over the brink with relentless, pulsing heat.

At this moment Jon reached his climax, it exploded through him, white-hot and savage, spilling into her depths in thick, relentless waves, a guttural growl rumbling from Jon's chest to vibrate against her sweat-slick throat, The Queen's body trembling beneath him as he filled her completely.

Cersei's spine bowed off the silken sheets, her full breasts heaving with the arch, a pleased moan escaping her parted lips like wine from an overturned goblet, her nails raking fiery trails down his back.

"Yes," she breathed, the word melting into a languid sigh, her thighs quivering as she savoured the warmth of Jon’s sperm flooding her womb. "Yes," she echoed, softer now, her hips tilting to draw him deeper, relishing the intimate claim.

"This will make you pregnant with my child," Jon rasped, the power igniting like a wildfire in his veins, surging forward to reshape fate with a far too eager ****.

Cersei's moan deepened into a throaty cry, her fingers clawing into his shoulders as fresh tremors rippled through her core, her walls fluttering wildly anew around his spent length, milking every last drop with greedy spasms.

"I can feel it," she gasped, her lashes fluttering shut in ecstasy, hips lifting in **** undulation to chase the lingering throbs. "I can feel your seed taking root—deep, blooming... gods, it's happening."

Jon eased back with a shuddering breath, his body slick and spent, slipping free from Cersei's clutching warmth in a slow, **** glide that left her gasping softly, her thighs trembling as the connection broke.

The fire's glow painted her flushed skin in golden hues, her perky breasts rising and falling in ragged rhythm, full lips parted on a satisfied sigh.

Exhaustion crashed over him like a wave from the Sunset Sea, limbs heavy, eyelids dragging low, the night's indulgences pulling at him with insistent weight—the broken tower's frenzy, the sept's blasphemy, the feast's undercurrents, all piling into a bone-deep weariness that made even lifting his head feel like hauling stone.

"I am refreshed and rearing to go for another round," he murmured, the power igniting in his veins like a spark to dry tinder, surging through muscle and blood in a revitalizing rush that chased the fatigue away, leaving him alert, energized, his pulse quickening with fresh hunger.

He turned then, propping on one elbow amid the tangled silks, his gaze sweeping the chamber where the other five women waited—Jaime leaning against the bedpost, her white cloak discarded, green eyes burning with anticipation; Tyra lounging on a cushioned bench, platinum waves tousled, her mismatched stare fixed on him with bold invitation; Jocelyn kneeling at the bed's edge, gown rumpled, her full lips curved in eager expectation; Sandra standing silent in the shadows, storm-grey eyes burning with quiet intensity; and Della in the background, holding firm at attention near the door, her modest face flushed crimson, desire carving deep lines of hunger across her features as her chest rose and fell in quick, restrained breaths—each one watching him like flames drawn to kindling, their bodies taut and ready, breaths syncing in the heated air.