Bride of the Emperor (The Prophecy of Sisters Book 4) by Hayley Faiman (urban books to read .TXT) 📕

morning light. It would ruin this, and the prophecy would be left unfulfilled, and I’m not quite sure what that would mean for our world. I need to find out exactly what this prophecy means and what will come of it.

Lifting my hand, I run my fingers through her light-yellow hair. It is a color that I have not seen before by freeborn Savonaian citizens. Our people have dark brown hair, this color I have only seen in my travels and on a few servis or famulus that have been taken from those travels.

She sighs, sliding her hand up to my neck, her fingers curling around my throat.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

Though I do not understand all of her words, the one, name, it sounds familiar. It sounds like nomen.

“Tiberius,” I say, clearing my throat.

“Drucilla,” she breathes, pushing up.

I cannot see her, but I can feel her hair brush my chest as she looks down at my shadowed form.

“Tiberius,” she exhales.

It is the sweetest sound I have heard other than the noises she makes when she climaxes. I do not know why my body, inside and out, is so drawn to her. I do not understand why I am so affected by her, other than the simple fact that the gods have made it so.

I hear her voice, her words come out quickly but I do not understand them. I wish that I did. I would like to be able to communicate with her, even if it is only in these moments as we lie next to one another.

Wordlessly, she climbs on top of me again. She is insatiable, my future empress. I cannot deny that I enjoy this about her. She does not touch the mentula between my legs, instead I feel her bend and her lips touch the center of my chest.

She kisses, licks, and nibbles down my body. Her tongue traces my nipples, the muscles of my stomach, and then lower. When she reaches my mentula, she kisses the tip. Reaching down, I wrap my fingers in her hair and tug her head upward.

“Nihil,” I growl.

I hear her intake of breath, then she speaks again, but yet again, I do not understand her. Shifting from beneath her, I rise to my knees before I slip from the bed and walk around her.

She is not my famulus. She does not put me in her mouth. She is going to be my empress. She is above this, I do not know how she does not realize this. Why she would think she should stoop so low as to take the place of a servi and do this.

Climbing onto the bed behind her, I stroke myself a few times, keeping her hair in my hand as I slowly sink inside of her from behind. This will be my final effort in impregnating her tonight. I will try again tomorrow night, and the night after that, and again, the night after that until she is carrying my infans.

She tips her hips, giving herself to me as I bury my mentula deep inside of her. I hear her let out a hiss, then pull her head back farther, her neck and back arching as she continues to offer herself to me.

Using my other hand, I wrap my fingers around her shoulder to keep her still and immobile. I do not take her gently. I do not take her sweetly or softly. I take her with vigor. All of the muscles in my body tense as I slam into her over and over without so much as a moment’s pause.

She cannot speak, but I hear her moans, her gasps, and her whimpers with each pump into her body. She takes me, welcoming me, and I wonder how the gods could have created someone so sublime as to be able to take every part of me.

I think that maybe she could see my face and not be disgusted by me, but immediately shake the thoughts away. It is not an option yet, her seeing me will not be an option until she is tied to me by marriage and with a child deep inside of her, at the minimum. But in reality, not until that child is born and is a boy—an heir.

It does not take long for me to arrive at my climax, though I do try to hold back, wishing for us to arrive together. The most pleasure comes when you find your release together and I wish for that with my Drucilla.

Drucilla.

A name that is beautiful not only in thought, but also on the tongue. It is a good match for her since she is the most beautiful yellow-haired woman I have ever laid eyes on before. I do not have the true color of her eyes memorized, but I decide that I must know so that I can imagine them when I am buried deep inside of her tomorrow after the sun has set.

I hear her breathing pick up, then feel her fingers brush against my mentula as she touches her landica, giving herself what she needs so that we may let go together. I let out a growl, my hips slamming against her harder than before, knowing that she will ache tomorrow, she will remember me between her legs with each step that she takes.

“Yes,” she cries.

I do not know what this means, but she chants it as though it is a good thing, so I continue until I feel her cunnus squeeze around me, it clamps down, and she whimpers as her entire body freezes.

I bury myself deeply, then allow my seed to release inside of her, knowing that this is the best position for creating life. I stay rooted, hoping the longer I am inside of her, it will increase the chances of the seed planting.

“Tiberius,” she breathes as I release her hair and guide her belly down to the bed.

Touching my lips to the back of her shoulder, I trail my mouth down the side of