Alaric's hands tangled in the hair of both women, pulling their heads back gently but firmly. He didn't yank or twist, just held them captive as he angled their bodies against the edge of his massive oak desk. Margaret gasped softly, her back arching. Josephine whimpered, a sound thick with anticipation.
'Look at them,' Alaric thought, his eyes hooded. 'Queen and Consort. Reduced to this. Reduced to needing this.'
He leaned closer, his massive form pressing in slightly. His thumbs found the delicate skin just above their stockings, tracing upward, seeking.
"Such good girls," he purred, his voice low and rough. He slid a finger beneath the lace of Margaret's intimate wear, finding her slickness instantly. She shifted against the desk, her breathing uneven.
"And you, my sweet Josephine," he murmured, his other hand mirrored the action, finding an even deeper pool of readiness. "Couldn't wait, could you?"
