When you're kidnapped by your estranged and very toxic religious family and promised to be Wed to a corrupt sanctist Noble obsessed with purity, what's the best way to cancel the wedding and finally cut your toxic lineage behind? your ever reliable friend and beloved Strohl has an idea to get that disownment and annulment speed run going .(Alter sex. Mating press in a church, caught by priest and fiance)
There were so many eyes on you.
The horrified ones of the priest, wondering the hellish depths of scandal this would plummet the church into.
The angered ones of your fiancé, furious that his property was being vandalized yet much too hesitant to even try and put a stop to matters.
The passive ones of God himself, silently spectating from above.
But the only pair of eyes that mattered most to you, who captivated, held, and possessed your attention were the impassioned grey ones currently gazing directly into yours.
You were most familiar and most comforted by those eyes, how they would flash defiantly in face of any foe regardless of strength or status, how they would soften as he reminisced about Halia and his parents.
So rebellious yet so tender--the qualities that defined Leon Strohl da Haliaetus for you.
As his hand delicately cupped your cheek while bringing his lips to yours for the sweetest of kisses, by contrast his hips continued to pummel against yours, the obscene and sticky wet noises of sweat-slicked skin meeting skin defiling the hallowed halls of St. Fermis Church.
Though from Strohl's point of view, what reason was there to maintain respect for an institution that encouraged, protected, and even rewarded selfishly nefarious scum such as your fiancé, who viewed your maidenhood as a prize to be collected?
The mere idea infuriated him the moment that your engagement was announced.
His teeth grit together as he suddenly felt compelled to drive his cock into you even harder, his balls smacking against your ass in heavy slaps as he was compelled to flood your core yet again with his release, the ground of the altar already desecrated with a growing pool of his seed.
He could hear the stumble of the priest as he was suddenly shoved away by your fiancé, who stormed off while raving about how he would see both you and Strohl ruined for your disrespect. Though, by the stammer of his voice, he wondered if he happened to catch a glimpse of the daunting aura of his Archetype.
Not that it mattered to him anyhow.
Not while what he cherished most in the entirety of this world was finally in his arms.
Hearing the soft and sweet mewl of his name from below, Strohl groaned as he wrapped his arms around your body, hugging you close with the intention of never letting you go. With his lips seeking out your neck, he breathlessly affirmed,
"As I swear and as I promise: not to any man, not to any god, you are mine and I am yours."
Your upcoming nuptials should make you giddy with excitement, but the knowledge that you'll be bound to a man you have no interest in sours your mood. It's customary to have a lavish celebration the night before with all of the great noble houses in attendance; while your husband to be covets your fortune and status, you're drinking your sorrows away. Count Louis, charming and dashing as he is, is so kind as to whisk you away from judging eyes when you threaten to make a scene, though his reasons for intervening may not be very altruistic... [Creampie/breeding]
"An exchange is meant to benefit both parties, isn't that so, my dear?"
Perhaps it was the muddled warmth of wine in your veins, the gentle purr of a term that was usually stripped of any endearment by your callous fiancé, the brilliant luster of the pair of aquamarine irises staring right into yours, or simply all--regardless, you were captivated.
This was the most powerful man in the world after all.
Though, status and strength was worthless to you at this point. You would happily leave that to the nobles mindlessly partying the night away in celebration of their vapid regality.
Rather, what mattered most to you was the fact that Count Louis--the Count Louis--was threading his fingers with yours, an action executed with such grace, such tenderness.
This was as he was vigorously fucking you within the privacy of one of the luxurious powder rooms just a few doors away from the main banquet hall, your body caged against one of the plush sofa seats while his broad physique loomed over you like that of a shadow.
As lush as you were with drink, you had a mind to try to be quiet, but this only drove the Count to elicit even more moans from your lips, his long fingers--bared from their usual gloved confines--drawing tight quick circles over your clit in tandem to the punishing cadency of his thick cock barreling into your core.
He liked the sound of your voice and he dared anyone to try and open the door.
Offering your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb running over your ring finger, he continued, voice still set at a dulcetly low timber, "I am more than happy to take your hand in marriage before that fool can even think. But with that said--"
He immediately closed the gap between your face and his, lips mere millimeters apart.
The tempo of his thrusts quickened while his cock throbbed with imminent release.
There was a glint that flashed in his aquamarine eyes, matched by the grin on his lips that then proposed,
"I do expect for my wife to bear all the heirs I desire. You will do this for me, yes?"
So starved for sweet genuine affection, for more of the pleasure that he was spoiling you rotten with, you didn't hesitate to demonstrate your answer by cupping his cheeks and kissing him.
His tongue slithered past the wicked smile on his lips to delve right into your mouth, savoring the pure and earnest yearning you so graciously offered, all while he happily slammed your drooling core full with his hot sticky seed.
