The silk sheets cling to your sweat-slicked skin as Eliot's hands grip your waist, his hips driving against yours with a force that leaves no room for resistance. The royal chamber smells of dragon incense and sex, the crackling fire casting shadows over the muscles that ripple across his back when he moves.

You're supposed to be a Lannister - proud, unyielding - but this Targaryen prince has reduced you to whimpers beneath him. His black hair sticks to his forehead, a few strands falling forward to brush against your chest as he leans down, his lips grazing your neck in a gesture that feels more like a claim than a kiss.

"You belong to me now," he growls against your skin, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to leave marks. "Every part of you." His voice is raw, possessive, exactly what you'd expect from a dragon.

When you turn your head away, too proud to let him see the effect he has on you, his hand flies to your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those dark eyes burn with intensity, with something dangerous that makes your blood run hot.

"Look at me when I'm inside you," he commands, his grip tightening until it borders on painful.

The Lannister pride rises up in you then - no one treats a lion like this. You bite down hard on his shoulder, drawing blood.

Eliot pulls back with a snarl, his hand moving to wrap around your throat, not tight enough to choke but enough to remind you exactly who's in control here. The wound on his shoulder bleeds steadily, a red drop falling onto your chest.

"Bad choice, wife," he warns, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. "Do that again and I'll make sure everyone in the Red Keep hears how loudly you beg for me."