**Chapter 7: Velvet Vice, Dawn's Deluge**
He felt her depths clench in rhythmic demand, milking every drop with a velvet insistence that sent shockwaves through his core. Arthas could hold back no longer—the second union stretched near twenty minutes, a marathon of bliss for a virgin's untested endurance. Seizing the fleeting lull in his cresting tide, he surged forward with renewed vigor, battering her plush folds relentlessly, the slick nexus churning her nectar to frothy symphony. The wet *schlick-schlick* of their union filled the chamber like a profane canticle, her walls fluttering in reply, clenching and sucking with a hunger that bordered on the divine—each contraction a silent plea for more, drawing him deeper into the furnace of her embrace.
"Ah... Auntie... give me a child!"
The plea escaped as a guttural roar, raw and ragged from the storm raging in his veins. Twenty minutes' torment erupted in volcanic fury, the glans ablaze with accumulated fire; hot essence surged from churning depths, jetting in staccato pulses that painted her innermost sanctum with the fervor of first conquest. Neurons fired in ecstatic overload, each contraction of her walls amplifying the rapture—her folds opening and closing like a lover's gasp, prolonging the delirium, turning release into a symphony of shared surrender. Priscilla stifled a moan, her thighs—plush pillars of power—locking 'round his hips in silent claim, waist arching to lift her into the deluge, claiming his seed as her due with a greed that mirrored his own. Happiness bloomed unbidden in her chest; pregnancy's shadow, ejaculation's flood—irrelevant in the moment. Eyes sealed, she surrendered to sensation: the exquisite ache of fullness, the forbidden thrill of kin's embrace, the warmth spreading like liquid gold through her core.
His release lingered a full minute, a torrent ebbing to trickles that left him trembling, slumped atop her in a tangle of limbs and labored breaths. Tonight's dual crescendos—system's spark igniting his power, flesh's feast devouring his restraint—drained him utterly; eyelids drooped like sails furled after gale, unresisting to the pull of slumber. No withdrawal; he remained sheathed within her warmth, arms enfolding her lush form like a conqueror's mantle, the steady thrum of her heartbeat lulling him into dream's harbor. Sleep claimed him swift, snores rumbling soft against her throat—a boy's exhaustion after manhood's first forge.
Long minutes passed in the velvet hush before Priscilla's lashes parted in the chamber's gloom, the candle's guttering light casting flickering shadows across her face. She turned, studying his profile—handsome even in repose, boyish features softened by the peace of exhaustion, lips parted in innocent snore. Affection warred with bewilderment in her storm-gray eyes: hers for teasing, elder's shield over the young, a doting aunt's cherish that had always bordered on the maternal. Tonight's haze? Nephew's intrusion, bold and unbidden, crossing lines etched by blood and custom. Fortune smiled—he slumbered unaware, sparing the mortification of confrontation, the awkward unraveling of their cherished dynamic. Her hand drifted low, tracing the subtle swell of her belly, the warmth pooling there a tangible echo of his claim. "Insatiable brat... flooding me so, without a whisper of mercy."
The words purred coquettish, a wife's playful chide to errant lord—tone laced with the rum's lingering warmth, affectionate edge honed by the night's revelations. She blinked, a chuckle escaping soft and self-mocking, the sound muffled against the pillows. Gazing at his peaceful face, thoughts tangled like ropes in a sudden squall: adoption's echo in her childless hearth, a void no daughter could fully fill, now stirred by this unexpected bloom. Gaining her feet with quiet grace, she slipped to the bath, rinsing sweat's sheen and his lingering gift from her folds—water's whisper absolving the night's sin, steam veiling the flush creeping her cheeks as memories replayed in vivid flashes: the initial tease, the breach, the flood. Cleansed, towel-clad, she rejoined him—yawn parting lips, wine's languor pulling her under like an ebbing tide. Slumber came gentle, bodies entwined in unwitting truce, the chamber's air still heavy with their mingled scents.
Dawn pierced the drapes like a herald's horn, rousing Arthas from depths undisturbed. Gaze falling to the siren in his arms, he drank in the sight: Priscilla eclipsed the court's beauties, a voluptuous echo of his mother, Lianne Menethil's elegance in fuller, more inviting bloom. Lianne towered at 1.75 meters, slender as a rapier in silk; Priscilla, at 1.65, embodied abundance—curves generous yet honed by years of striding storm-lashed decks, no excess to mar the allure, only promise in every swell. Now, she nestled warm against him, breath feathering his chest in soft cadence, the subtle rise and fall a lullaby for his lingering haze. Faint crow's feet framed her eyes—marks of wisdom's quiet laughter, not wear's defeat—while his palm ventured low, tracing the plush give of her belly, the subtle dip of navel stirring fresh fire in his veins, a reminder of the night's indelible mark.
Diving beneath the covers with boyish mischief tempered by newfound manhood, Arthas claimed her core with reverent mouth—floral musk faint, cleansed by her midnight ritual, a faint trace of lavender clinging like a lover's perfume. Twice he'd spilled within last eve, slumber stealing his aftercare in the haze of exhaustion. Had she stirred, tended herself in the night's quiet hours? Awareness prickled like fel-needle: Did she know his "assault," the bold claim made in shadow's veil? Scalp tingled at the peril—scolding inevitable, confinement probable, military dreams dashed on propriety's unyielding rocks, his path to command severed by a single aunt's rebuke.
Yet composure reclaimed him in a breath's span, logic cutting through the fog like Light's blade. No dawn reckoning, no accusatory glare over breakfast's board—she slumbered serene, no hint of recrimination in her relaxed form. Tacit consent, then, veiled by elder's grace and the night's wine-fueled haze? Opportunity gleamed like gold in a trader's hold: to press, to possess, unrebuked in the morning's mercy. Excitement reignited, a spark fanned to blaze; below, his length swelled, rested and rampant, battle-ready with the vigor of youth's endless dawn.
As lips parted her majora, tracing tender lips with teasing tongue—lapping the faint salt of her essence, savoring the floral aftertaste—Priscilla's eyes cracked open in the chamber's golden hush, cheeks blooming rose like dawn over the isles. Confrontation loomed, awkward as storm-tossed sails in calm harbor. Revelation now? Future fractured in embarrassment's wake. Childless heart ached for him—Jaina Proudmoore's betrothal her orchestration, woven with Katherine Proudmoore over trade tomes and tidal charts in Daelin Proudmoore's shadowed halls. Admiral Daelin Proudmoore's consort, her ally in ledgers and longing, the match a bridge of gold and galleons between realms. To shatter that for a night's folly? Unthinkable—yet the touch ignited echoes of the eve, her body betraying mind with a shiver of unwelcome welcome.
Arthas mounted once more, parting her thighs with insistent knees—feet bracing sheets for leverage, hands framing her hips like a captain steadying his prize. One palm guided his crown along her slick seam, seeking the welcoming hollow with newfound assurance. Hip-snap: entry swift and searing, parting her guardians to plunder depths anew—broad head rasping velvet walls, stretching her to unprecedented yield, the fullness a lightning-storm arcing through nerves aflame, every inch a conquest renewed.
"Ah! Divine..."
Arthas exhaled rapture, her heat a forge remaking him from the inside out—warmth enveloping, wriggling folds cradling with fervent life, a velvet glove that squeezed and released in rhythmic welcome. He commenced in earnest—raw, rhythmic, heedless of dawn's judgment, the primal urge of one discovering fire's true burn. Aroused, man cared naught but vessel; gaze locked below: thick shaft splaying raven curls, her charm devouring him inch by inch, the sight—exaggerated swallow of his girth amid the dense forest—spurring frenzy, tempo quickening to piston blur that shook the bedframe anew.
Priscilla's breaths fractured, ragged gasps betraying her vigil—thighs tensed instinctive, angling for deeper communion with a subtlety born of merchant's cunning. Urging his haste, her own crest coiling tight amid the "violation," morning's light bathing the scene in unforgiving gold. Profiteer of ports, she who wrung gold from gales and squeezed every copper from debtors, now unraveled—exposed, secrets bared to kin's gaze, the vulnerability a thrill as potent as any deal sealed in shadowed taverns.
"Oh... Auntie... you're exquisite... ah... I'll claim you... daily... fuck you senseless... Auntie... my wife... ah... seed you with heirs!"
Arthas babbled vows amid the frenzy—impossibilities voiced as nectar, sweetening the siege with honeyed lies that rang true in the heat. Flattery for the goddess of galleons: her favor greased ambitions' wheels, coin begat command, her embrace? Dual bounty—lover lush, limb of trade. Thrice blessed, this dawn's delight, a dynasty forged in fire and flesh.
Priscilla's core spasmed in reply, walls fluttering wild—milking, demanding tribute with a hunger that matched his own, the storm building to cataclysm's roar. Her peak crested unvoiced, a silent gale—thighs locked, nails raking sheets as ecstasy claimed her, the shared deluge a baptism in forbidden waters. Arthas followed, essence flooding in grateful surge—mingling, marking, a dynasty of desire forged in the storm's heart, the world fading to the thunder of their union.