The Long Night’s Claim

Melisandre’s tongue swirls greedily around your shaft, licking every trace of your combined release with reverent hunger. Her crimson eyes never leave yours as she takes you deeper, relaxing her throat until her nose presses against your pelvis. The heat of her mouth contrasts sharply with the lingering winter chill radiating from your skin, creating a maddening sensation that has you hardening again almost instantly.

You grip her fiery hair with both hands and begin to fuck her face with slow, deliberate thrusts. Each push makes her gag softly, tears of pleasure glistening at the corners of her glowing eyes, yet she only sucks harder, hollowing her cheeks and humming around your cock like it’s the holiest relic in her faith.

“Good girl,” you growl, the praise rough on your tongue. “Worship it properly.”

She moans at the words, the vibration traveling straight to your balls. You hold her there a moment longer, buried to the hilt in her throat, before pulling out with a wet pop. Strings of saliva connect her swollen lips to your glistening cock.

You drag her up by the hair and kiss her fiercely, tasting yourself on her tongue. Then you spin her around and bend her over the heavy oak table near the window. The night sky beyond is black and starless, but inside the chamber the air crackles with magic and raw lust.

You kick her legs wider and slam back into her dripping cunt in one brutal stroke. The new position lets you hit even deeper. Melisandre’s hands scrabble for purchase on the table as you rail her, the heavy wooden legs scraping across the stone floor with every thrust.

“Again,” she begs, voice hoarse. “Fill me until I overflow. Let your seed drown the fires of R’hllor himself.”

You laugh darkly and spank her ass until it glows cherry-red, matching her hair. Then you reach forward, wrap one arm around her throat in a loose chokehold, and pull her back against your chest. The new angle has her cunt clenching desperately around you as you grind deep and slow, stirring your previous loads into a creamy mess that runs down both your thighs.

Your free hand finds her clit again, rubbing it mercilessly while you bite down on her shoulder. The dual **** sends her spiraling into another shattering orgasm. Her walls flutter and squeeze so tightly you see stars, and her magic erupts outward - flames in the hearth roar upward in a column of blue fire while frost races across the ceiling above you.

You don’t stop. You chase your own peak with savage need, pounding into her until the pressure becomes unbearable. With a guttural roar you bury yourself to the hilt and unleash again, flooding her already full womb with fresh, hot jets of cum. Her belly distends noticeably under your palm as you pump her full.

Still joined, you lift her off the table and carry her to the bed, never pulling out. You sit on the edge with her impaled on your lap, back to your chest, and bounce her on your cock with powerful upward thrusts. Her head falls back onto your shoulder, mouth open in a constant stream of broken moans and half-formed prophecies.

The hours blur.

You take her against the cold stone wall, her legs locked around your waist while you drive upward. You have her ride you reverse until her thighs shake uncontrollably. You pin her wrists above her head and fuck her slow and deep while staring into those otherworldly eyes, daring her god to watch. At one point you even press her face down into the furs and take her ass, slow and claiming, while your fingers work her cunt until she’s squirting messily across the sheets and screaming your name like a prayer.

By the time the first gray light of dawn creeps through the arrow-slit windows, Melisandre is a ruined, glowing wreck - covered in your marks, your seed leaking from every hole, body trembling with aftershocks. Yet she still reaches for you with a lazy, utterly satisfied smile.

You collapse beside her, pulling her sweat-slick body against yours. Your hand rests possessively on her swollen, cum-filled belly.

“The Lord of Light may have sent you for a king’s seed,” you murmur against her hair, voice rough with exhaustion and lingering desire, “but tonight, the wolf took the witch.”

Melisandre’s soft laugh vibrates against your chest. “And the witch,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your scarred skin, “would gladly be taken again… and again… my King.”

Outside, the wind howls around Castle Black. Inside, the fire still burns low and hungry.

The Long Night is far from over.