A Life in Westeros
Chapter 11 - Part 2
They moved together toward the wide, cushioned couch near the window, hands never stopping. Gowns were loosened with impatient tugs—laces pulled free, fabric pushed aside or dragged down shoulders. Genna's mouth found one of Cersei's exposed breasts, sucking hard on the darkened nipple until Cersei arched her back with a sharp gasp. The sensation was intense, almost too much, her nipples far more sensitive now because of the pregnancy.
Cersei's own hand slid down between Genna's thighs, pushing past layers of velvet and smallclothes until her fingers stroked through slick, heated folds. Genna was soaked already, hips twitching forward eagerly.
"Tell me," Genna breathed, licking slow circles around the stiff peak of Cersei's nipple, voice muffled against soft skin. "Does he still fuck you like he owns you? Like you're his to use whenever he wants?"
"Every single time," Cersei answered, pushing two fingers deep inside her aunt, curling them just right. She felt Genna clench around her, hot and wet. "And I let him. Because he does own me. And you know it."
Genna moaned loudly, hips rocking against Cersei's hand as they tangled together on the couch. Their bodies pressed close, breasts brushing, mouths meeting again in another hungry kiss while fingers worked steadily—stroking, curling, rubbing. The solar filled with the wet sounds of fingers moving through slickness and their shared, ragged breathing.
They rocked together on the wide couch, bodies pressed close, mouths hungry and hands restless. The solar felt smaller, warmer, the air thick with the scent of their arousal and the faint trace of spilled Arbor red. Genna's fingers stayed busy between Cersei's thighs, stroking and curling with practiced skill while Cersei worked her own hand deeper inside her aunt, matching the rhythm. Their gowns hung loose and disheveled, silk and velvet bunched around waists and hips.
Between heated kisses they traded filthy whispers about the man who had taken them both.
"He fucks like he's owed it," Genna breathed against Cersei's neck, two fingers pumping steadily. "Deep and rough, never asking if you can take more."
Cersei gasped, hips twitching. "He doesn't ask. He just takes. Fills me until I feel him for days afterward. Even now, with his child growing inside me, he will use me like I belong to him."
Genna moaned softly, thighs tightening. "I miss the way he grabs my hips and drives in so hard the bed shakes. The way his cock stretches everything open and leaves me sore and leaking."
Cersei bit her lip, curling her fingers harder. "He bred me while Robert was snoring in the next room. Came so deep I could feel it for hours. And I loved every second of it."
The words pushed Genna over the edge. Her thighs clamped tight around Cersei's hand, body shuddering as she came with a choked moan pressed against Cersei's neck. Her inner walls pulsed and fluttered, slick heat flooding Cersei's fingers. Genna's hips jerked once, twice, riding out the waves until she sagged, breathing hard.
Cersei followed moments later. The feeling of Genna coming on her hand, combined with the filthy memories, sent her spiraling. She bit down on Genna's shoulder to muffle her own cry, body tensing and shaking as pleasure rolled through her in sharp, pulsing waves. Her cunt clenched around nothing, thighs slick and trembling.
Afterward they lay tangled on the couch, breathing hard, gowns half undone and sticking to damp skin. Cersei's head rested against Genna's shoulder, one leg thrown casually over her aunt's thigh. The room smelled of sex and sweat and sweet wine.
In the North, the air smelled of salt and pine, sharp and clean even as the barge cut through the cold waters toward White Harbor. Barbrey Dustin stood on the deck near the railing, one hand resting protectively on the obvious swell of her belly. Five months along now, and it showed clearly—round, firm, impossible to hide beneath her thick grey wool gown trimmed in black. The gown was practical for travel, warm against the sea wind, but cut to accentuate the changes in her body rather than conceal them. Her breasts had grown noticeably heavier, pressing full and round against the fabric, the dark nipples occasionally visible as stiff peaks when the wind pressed the wool close. Her hips felt wider, her ass fuller and softer, the kind of curves that shifted with every step she took. She carried the pregnancy with blunt, unapologetic pride—chin high, shoulders back, dark eyes scanning the approaching docks and the bustling harbor beyond.
Adian stood beside her, solid and quiet, one arm loosely wrapped around her waist. His hand rested just above the swell of her belly, warm through the wool.
"The Manderlys will be watching that belly like hawks," he said, voice low enough to carry only to her. "They'll see an alliance. They'll see profit. And they'll see a threat to Stark control."
"Let them watch," Barbrey replied, her tone sharp and confident. "It tells them exactly who I belong to now. And exactly who they'll be dealing with from here on. No more hiding behind Winterfell or the Dreadfort. This child makes it real."
She turned her head and kissed him once—quick, hard, possessive. Her lips lingered just long enough to taste the salt air on his mouth. "Before I start smiling and bargaining with fat Lord Wyman and the rest of them, I want one last night where I don't have to be diplomatic. Where I can just be yours."
Adian's hand slid down from her waist to squeeze her ass through the thick wool, fingers digging into the fuller, softer flesh. "Then let's not waste it."
That night in their private chambers above the harbor, the fire burned low in the hearth, casting warm orange light across the stone walls and heavy wooden beams. The windows were tightly shuttered against the cold sea wind that howled outside, keeping the room warm and intimate. The faint smell of pine smoke mixed with the salt air that still clung to their clothes.
Adian pulled Barbrey against him the moment the heavy oak door clicked shut. The sound of the bolt sliding home was still echoing when his mouth found hers in a deep, hungry kiss. One hand cupped the back of her neck, fingers threading into her dark hair, while the other roamed possessively over the firm swell of her pregnant belly before sliding upward to her heavier breasts.
He squeezed them firmly right away, feeling their new weight and fullness fill his palms. They were noticeably larger now—rounder, heavier, the pale skin stretched tighter over the swollen flesh. His thumbs brushed over the darker, more sensitive nipples, circling the stiff peaks until Barbrey hissed sharply against his mouth, her body jerking.
"These got even bigger," he muttered, voice low and rough as he squeezed again, lifting and kneading the soft, heavy mounds. He could feel how full they were, the subtle firmness beneath the yielding flesh. "Gods, they're so heavy now. Feel good when I touch them like this?"
"Fuck yes," Barbrey breathed, arching her back to push her tits harder into his hands. "They're sore and so fucking full all the time. Every time you grab them it shoots straight between my legs. Harder—don't be gentle."
Adian didn't need to be told twice. He backed her toward the bed while his hands worked, squeezing and mauling her breasts with rough affection. His fingers dug in, watching the soft flesh bulge between them, then released only to knead again, thumbs flicking and pinching the dark nipples. A thin bead of pearly milk appeared at the tip of one nipple. He groaned at the sight and rubbed his thumb over it, spreading the warm droplet across the stiff peak.
"Look at that," he said, voice thick. "Already leaking for me."
He backed her right up against the edge of the bed and stripped her gown off in rough, impatient pulls. The thick grey wool came away, revealing her naked body in the firelight. Adian took a long moment just to look—her round, firm belly with the dark line running down from her navel, the thick thatch of dark hair between her thighs already glistening with arousal, and especially her heavy tits, now fully exposed and swaying slightly with her breathing. The nipples were darker, stiffer, a single drop of milk still clinging to one.
"On the bed," he said, voice rough. "On your side."
Barbrey lay on her left side, the position more comfortable with the bump. Adian slid in behind her, his chest pressed to her back. He lifted her top leg high, draping it over his hip, opening her up.
{R-18 Scene Adian x Barbrey Dustin 2253 Full Word Count aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n}
They finally collapsed together onto the bed, sweaty and breathing hard. Adian pulled her close, one arm wrapped around her, his hand resting warmly on her swollen belly.
"Five months," Barbrey murmured, voice hoarse and satisfied. "And you still fuck me like you're trying to put another one in me right now."
Adian kissed the back of her neck, lips lingering against her damp skin. "Because I am. Now get some rest. Tomorrow you smile at the Manderlys and make them rich. Tonight you're just mine."
Cersei woke the next morning to the faint grey light filtering through the heavy curtains of the royal bedchamber. Genna was still curled beside her in the wide bed, their bodies tangled under the rumpled furs and silk sheets. Their gowns lay crumpled on the floor like battlefield casualties—crimson velvet and gold silk twisted together in a careless heap. The air in the room hung heavy with the unmistakable scent of sex, leftover Arbor red, and the faint floral oil Genna always favored. It clung to their skin, sweet and musky, mixing with the salty tang of sweat and spent arousal.
Cersei's breasts ached pleasantly where her aunt had sucked and bitten them the night before—tender and slightly swollen, the nipples still darkened and sensitive from rough attention. Between her legs she remained slick and tender, a warm, sticky reminder of how eagerly they had used each other while whispering about the man who owned them both.
Genna stirred first, stretching languidly like a satisfied cat, her full body arching under the sheets. She blinked awake, green eyes finding Cersei's with lazy amusement. "Morning, Your Grace," she murmured, voice still husky from sleep and last night's moans. "You fuck almost as greedily as he does. Almost."
Cersei smirked, one brow lifting. "Almost?"
Genna laughed softly, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through the space between them. She rolled closer, the warmth of her body pressing against Cersei's side. One hand slid down without hesitation, cupping the weight of Cersei's breast again, thumb brushing slowly over the sensitive nipple. The touch sent a fresh spark through her, making the tender peak tighten instantly.
"He's rougher," Genna continued, voice dropping as she circled the nipple with her thumb. "Bigger. Leaves you feeling properly used, sore in all the right places for days. But you… you know exactly how to make a woman beg. The way your fingers curl, the way you bite just hard enough. It's almost cruel how good you are at it."
They kissed once more—slower this time, lazy and lingering, tongues sliding together without the frantic urgency of the night before. It was unhurried, exploratory, tasting the remnants of wine and each other. Genna's fingers dipped lower, slipping between Cersei's thighs to stroke gently through the messy slickness they had left behind. Her touch was light but deliberate, fingertips gliding over swollen folds, occasionally brushing her clit in soft circles. Cersei sighed into the kiss, hips twitching involuntarily, chasing the gentle friction.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing a little heavier, Cersei asked quietly, "You're really going north?"
"Yes." Genna's fingers continued their lazy stroking, not rushing, just keeping the warmth alive. "I'll leave in three days. I want to see Barbrey's belly with my own eyes—how round it's gotten, how it looks when she moves. And I want to feel him again. Have him bend me over and remind me exactly why we both keep coming back."
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