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She’s doing it again, teasing him, and he would swear she’s doing it for the sole purpose of driving him mad.
It’s too bloody hot out, but he can’t control the weather, nor the fact that he’s stuck here at the beach, on holiday for the next two fucking weeks with his older brother and his niece, Rhaenyra. He’d leave, but he doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. The divorce rather sucked his soul into a dark black hole, though he isn’t sorry Rhea is out of his life, finally. On the contrary.
No, he’s only mourning all the time he lost, being married to that bronze bitch when he could’ve been trying to find some true happiness for himself.
Happiness is irrelevant, he supposes. He’s here now, and there’s not much else to do besides sit in the sun and stew in his own lust, no thanks to Rhaenyra.
Viserys lounges beside him on a reclining chaise, reading a novel and utterly oblivious to the world beyond his wide-brimmed hat and a beach umbrella flapping lightly in the breeze. Like Daemon, he’s wearing bathing trunks and a brightly patterned, short-sleeved button-up with some obnoxious floral print all over it. Aemma, Viserys’s wife, died a while back, and Daemon assumes that all of his brother’s fashion choices are now based on the sole whims of Viserys himself, not that Daemon is wearing anything substantially more stylish.
At least his own shirt is a nice, respectable blue, though. He’s elected to leave it unbuttoned so he can catch whatever slight wind comes his way.
Daemon sips his cocktail, which, aside from Rhaenyra’s effervescent, slightly contrived charm, is about the most intoxicating thing around, although, if Vis knew about Daemon’s present craving for a smidgen of cocaine, Daemon is certain that even the alcohol would be quickly banned from the vicinity.
Off in the distance, Daemon can see blue water and sailboats bobbing around. But the bulk of his attention is fixed on the beach, and his niece.
Currently, the girl is prancing around the beach, just out of earshot, though Daemon can still see her from behind the dark-tinted lenses of his sunglasses. She seems to know every time he’s looking her way, and she throws frequent, adoring looks over her shoulder as if to make sure he’s watching.
Oh, he is.
How can he tear his eyes off of that long, white-blond hair and those lean, sun-kissed legs? Her pale skin grew quickly tan in the past few days, probably because she’s spent more time than not trotting about from morning till evening in practically nothing, barely covered. And all he wants to do is run his tongue over every inch of that smooth, sleek flesh and make her scream his name—
No. No, he really shouldn’t allow his thoughts to wander in such a dangerous direction.
She’s only just turned sixteen and Daemon’s thirty-second birthday has already come and gone. He’s twice her age, literally, and her bloody uncle, besides, so not in any way an appropriate person to introduce her to sex.
But, damn, he wants to.
Only last night, he overheard her on the phone, talking to Alicent Hightower about letting Harwin Strong fuck her. He very nearly blurted out that nobody’s having her if he doesn’t get to have her first, until he realized how mad such a declaration would sound, coming from him.
Harwin is younger, closer to Rhaenyra’s age, and fit, outweighing Daemon by at least two stone…and the boy has no idea that Daemon will happily pound his face into a pulp if he dares to lay a finger on Rhaenyra.
Harwin and Laenor Velaryon, another good-looking young man of Rhaenyra’s acquaintance, has been throwing the damned rugby ball around for nearly an hour, and Daemon is frankly exhausted just from watching. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra scampers around their little stretch of beach wearing the tiniest of two-piece bathing suits, clapping her hands together at every fucking thing Harwin does as the boy continues to try to impress her with his stupid ball.
Rhaenyra squeals again and gambols down the beach, carefree as a newborn filly, all legs and boundless energy and the beginnings of some very nice curves showing on her youthful body. The boys are playing keep-away with the ball, now, and their teasing is only causing her to laugh and shriek and draw more attention as she chases them.
Daemon shouldn’t even fucking be here. Viserys only invited him on a last-minute whim after finding out Daemon’s own plans for the week had fallen through. Freshly divorced and bored to tears, Daemon was hoping to proposition a friend for a weekend of sex and perhaps a night at the theater to take the edge off of his increasingly worrisome fondness for cocaine.
But Mysaria had already made other arrangements, and when Rhaenyra caught wind of her father’s invitation, she’d quite prettily chimed in that a holiday in the sun was precisely what her dear uncle needed to lift his spirits.
“It simply won’t be any fun without you, Uncle Daemon,” Rhaenyra had sulked with a touch too much melodrama to make him think she would be truly dejected for being deprived of his company. “And my summer will be entirely too packed with activities after we get back! If you don’t come with us, I’ll hardly see you at all.”
He closes his eyes, drifting off for a few minutes.
“Would you like some help with your sunscreen, Uncle Daemon? I’d hate for you to get burned.”
Squinting against the bright light, he opens his eyes into narrow slits. Rhaenyra is standing two feet away, still only wearing the bikini that looks as if it could come off with the lightest tug—
He’s almost sure she’s trying to wind him up with her silly question. Everyone knows that Targaryens, despite their pale hair and skin, never get sunburned.
“I put some on before I came out here,” he replies gruffly, trying and failing to hide the annoyance from his voice. “As you should have done.”
The look in her eyes is positively diabolical, and Daemon wonders where in the seven hells the girl learned so much about flirting.
“Oh, I did! But think I might need some more now that you mention it.” She holds out a tube of sun cream and bites her lip, pleading, “You wouldn’t mind helping me would you?”
Mind? Mind rubbing his hands all over that tight young body mere yards away from her father—his own fucking brother—while trying his damnedest not to achieve the erection of the century? Of course, he fucking minds.
“Ask your father,” he snaps.
But Viserys has his nose in a book, and he waves his hand with a vague, “Help her, won’t you? Don’t want to get my hands all goopy with that stuff…not good for the pages…” Viserys drifts off, already back to reading and far too absorbed to pay them any further mind.
“Fine.” Daemon stretches out his hand and Rhaenyra slaps the tube of sun cream into his palm. Her eyes are sparkling, and he’d wager his flat back in London and every stick of furniture inside that she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Viserys can never see any bad behavior on her part. He’s been blind to it since the day she was born, but Daemon knows better, much better.
“You look very handsome with your hair trimmed short, Uncle Daemon,” she says all false innocence. “I like it.” She’s careful to bend at the waist over the lounge chair beside him and spends far too long a time arranging her pillows and swaying her half-naked rear under his nose.
“Thank you, pet,” he purrs, calculating.
He’ll never know what naughty devil possesses him to casually slide off his shirt, but he does, and she chews on her thumbnail and gives him an appreciative perusal that makes him want to preen. Unfortunately, his disrobing in a spate of tit-for-tat utterly backfires when Rhaenyra follows suit, shucking off her bathing top and murmuring, “So it isn’t in your way.”
Daemon nearly swallows his tongue. Ah, yes. Those curves are definitely filling out. Quite nicely.
Once she’s settled, he squirts a blob of cream onto his palm, rubbing his hands together to warm it before carefully setting his hands on her back.
“Mmmhhhmmm…” she groans.
The sound makes his cock twitch, and he swallows a lump of desire that almost chokes him.
“Mmmhhmmm, that’s lovely.”
Fuck again.
Despite his increasing and soon-to-be-problematic ardor, he dutifully rubs the lotion across her back and shoulders, down her lean arms, and back up to her neck. He warms more cream between his palms before working his way down to her slim lower back, eyeing the faint dimples over each of her buttocks with more interest than should be strictly allowed.
“Don’t forget my legs!” she chirps.
He’s sweating by the time he’s done, even though he ran out of cream five minutes ago. Rhaenyra is boneless under his hands, warm from the sun, and silky smooth as only a very pampered, very soft girl can be.
Making as dignified a retreat as he can, Daemon returns to his lounge and pulls his shirt back on. They’re secluded but by no means alone. A few other families are around, some walking along the shore, others sunbathing in front of their own beach cabins. The Strongs, the Velaryons, and the Hightowers all come here frequently on holiday.
Alicent is even now trying to attract the lifeguard’s attention, evidently unconcerned by the prospect of someone drowning should she prevent Sir Criston from noticing if anyone needs aid. Daemon has a sudden urge to jump up and run over there and demand that the girl tells him everything, this instant, about Rhaenyra and Harwin.
Rhaenyra flips onto her back, but she keeps her swimsuit top off.
“You want to do the front?” she asks in such low tones he isn’t sure he heard her correctly.
He really ought to call her bluff, he thinks spitefully. God, what a ruckus that would make.
But Daemon simply ignores her from behind his sunglasses.
After five minutes of endless fidgeting, however, he can’t take it anymore. “Why don’t you go and play by the sea, Rhaenyra? You’re far too restless and it’s distracting.”
“Distracting from what?” she wants to know. He isn’t reading, nor is he taking a nap. But when she catches the warning in his glare, she huffs, “Oh, all right, I’m going.”
Still topless and careful to add an extra shimmy to her walk, she paces a few yards away, bending over while she pretends to examine a seashell.
“Aren’t—aren’t you going to say anything, Vis?”
“About what?”
“Have her cover up, for cripes sake,” Daemon hisses to his brother, sunglasses lowered down his nose while he stares.
Viserys hardly glances up before he buries his nose in his book again.
“Don’t be so priggish, Daemon. There’s no one around. Besides, she’s still a child. Let her be young and enjoy the sunshine. Lord knows we don’t see enough of it these days.”
Offended more than he should be, Daemon huffs and leans back into his lounge chair, closing his eyes and severely wishing he had something stronger than brandy to drown his woes. But the instant his eyes close, they’re open again.
“Daddy?” Rhaenyra coos, pitching her voice into a babyish whine that makes him want to kiss her senseless. “Did I do something wrong?” She trots over to Viserys with a bounce that makes her perky tits jiggle.
“Of course not, sweetheart. Now hush, Daddy’s reading.”
Daemon is glaring at her from the side of his eye, practically daring her to keep going with her charade. “I don’t understand what happened to your perfectly good bathing suit top,” he gripes. “Where is it?”
Rhaenyra shrugs and looks around as if she has no idea where the little scrap of cloth has run off to. “I lost it. Besides, I think the string is broken.” She pushes out her bottom lip and tugs it with her teeth.
“Debatable,” Daemon snarls under his breath.
When no additional questions come out of him, however, or any more attention for that matter, she abruptly declares, “I’m going inside.”
Supremely indifferent, Daemon grunts, “To mend your bathing suit, I hope?”
But when she mutters, “Mysaria was right,” his eyes catch hers. A moment of tension sizzles between them. She must detect the brief, sudden, violent flash of temper he can’t hide, and she turns and bolts for the house.
Politely, Daemon excuses himself, too, making up some lie about needing to wash the sun cream off of his hands. Viserys’s absent reply is already forgotten by the time Daemon is through the back door, calling out, “Rhaenyra? What the hell did you mean by that?”
“What? That Mysaria was right?”
“What was she right about?”
“You can’t even get it up.”
“What?” he blusters, aghast.
“I heard her talking about it before we came on holiday. When she came over for dinner and you were in the bathroom.”
“You did not!”
“All right, she never said it out loud. I saw it on her phone. She was texting.”
“You were spying on Mysaria?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s just lovely!” He isn’t sure what annoys him more, Rhaenyra’s nosiness or Mysaria’s humiliating—albeit truthful—description of their latest sexual encounter.
Of course, Mysaria doesn’t owe him any loyalty whatsoever. Their arrangement has always been purely physical and not romantic in the slightest—at her insistence and his happy agreement. And sure, Daemon had a bit of trouble finishing the last time they fucked, but he’d been high out of his mind and recently divorced, and…
“It’s none of your business, anyhow,” he snaps. “How does your father not keep better track of you?”
“He’s too busy looking at Alicent, isn’t he?”
Daemon nearly gives himself whiplash as he whirls around to peer out the window. Viserys lounges with his book, right where Daemon left him, but far off in the distance, Daemon can see the slender form of Alicent Hightower, still throwing sheep eyes up at Criston Cole.
He sighs. Viserys never bothers to hide his appreciation for pretty young women, although he frequently laments that Aemma is the only one he’ll ever truly love.
“He’s only a man,” Daemon grumbles in defense of his brother’s roving eye, only to turn back around and find that Rhaenyra seems to have taken his pause as an excuse to flee his presence altogether.
The beach house is boringly bland in its décor, but Daemon has no interest in the house as he storms through the living room, past the kitchen. He sees Rhaenyra ducking down the hall, clearly intending to get to her bedroom before Daemon has a chance to get his hands on her.
In a few hasty strides, he catches up with her and snags her arm, spinning her to face him before she can get into her room and lock the door. He runs his gaze up and down her and his ire rouses itself all over again. She’s practically fucking naked.
“Harwin Strong couldn’t keep his bloody eyes off of you,” Daemon accuses.
“I don’t care!” she retorts, breathless.
“Admit it, then. You’ve been winding me up on purpose.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
Her eyes are clear and full of scorn, and he decides a bit of discipline wouldn’t be out of order. Giving her a bit of a shove, he steps close, forcing her back up against the wall.
“Playing these games, Rhaenyra…it’s not very clever of you. I’m not a man to be taken lightly nor am I a man who is afraid to call a bluff.”
“Why don’t you prove what a man you are?” she retorts, unafraid and so outlandishly bold that a faint blush crawls up his cheeks.
“Is that what you want?” He crowds closer, tipping her chin up so he can look into her eyes. There’s nothing but defiance there, and curiosity, and no small bit of heat. “You want to play with fire?”
Her fingertips trail up his chest, inside his open shirt, tickling on their way over his pecs and the ridge of his collarbone. He knows what he looks like, and he knows damned well that women like the look of him very much. It seems his darling niece is no different, and this makes him smirk with a touch of not-so-long-lost conceit.
Like her, he allows his touch to drift, though he roams down, not up. Down he goes, stroking over the soft curve of her breast, the slight bumps of her ribcage, the narrow dip of her waist. He’s hardly touched her—hasn’t even kissed that pouting, sulking, sassy mouth yet—and already he can fill a thrilling rush of blood to his cock.
He pushes closer until he can feel the heat of her and smell the coconut-sunshine-salty scent of her skin. She leans in just as he does and when his mouth finds hers, soft and strangely familiar to him, she grunts. But she stretches closer and his hand drifts lower as he gently plies her with a kiss.
Her sharp little teeth nip his bottom lip, and suddenly he wants to ravish her. His fingers move to her bathing suit bottom, and he slips under the fabric, breath hitching when he feels the tickle of baby-soft pubic hair. He pushes deeper.
“You’re sopping wet, you little harlot,” he grunts into her mouth. “Is that all for me, or is it for that mouth-breathing imbecile, Harwin Strong?”
Finally, it seems he’s rendered her speechless, but she manages to stutter against his lips, “I want you to have me first, Uncle Daemon.”
His head is spinning, and he throws a hasty glance over his shoulder. God, Viserys could have come inside at any time, and he’s so distracted he wouldn’t have noticed a fucking grenade going off in the next room.
Room. Get her into a bedroom, at least, for fuck’s sake.
His room is down the hall, but hers is conveniently near, and he shoves her inside, following hastily. He has a brief impression of teenaged girl clutter, clothes and makeup, and an unmade bed, but he’s careful to lock the door before he shucks out of his shirt again.
“Put some music on, why don’t you?” he whispers. They’re going to make some noise, and it would be best if Vis can’t hear anything if he happens to walk down the hall.
Rhaenyra rummages through her pillows and finds her phone. She pokes at it, and the little speaker on her desk starts blaring some modern pop music that sounds the same as every other song that’s come out in the past three years.
She looks startled that he actually means to go through with this, but she isn’t backing away or saying no, so he figures she wants whatever he’s going to give her. Her eyes drop to the front of his swimming trunks, and he decides he’s going to give her every fucking inch he has. He can feel his cock getting harder and fuller with every passing second.
“Still don’t think I can get it up?” he bites out. If his shorts were on the skimpy side before, now they’re practically obscene.
“I…uh…”
Her cheeks flush a charming shade of pink, and he crooks his finger.
When she’s standing in front of him, he kisses her again. This time he kisses her the way he kisses anyone he plans on ravaging, hard, and hungry, taking and not giving a shit if he’s being a bit rough. By the time he’s finished, Rhaenyra is sobbing against his mouth, and he takes her hand and drags it down the front of him, forcing her to cup around his throbbing erection.
“Get on your knees,” he demands. Startled, she blinks, but she sinks onto her knees willingly enough. And when she reaches for him, cautiously sliding his swim trunks down his thighs, he can’t help but hiss through his teeth.
Every vein on his cock is engorged, and he takes himself in hand, pumping slowly, deliberately to drag the foreskin down and expose himself, brushing the blunt tip over her mouth. At first, she doesn’t seem to understand what she’s supposed to do, but when he nudges his hips forward a bit, she opens her lips, and he presses in.
“Fuck,” he grunts when her tongue strokes over him, cautious but delightfully wet. Still holding himself with one hand, he uses the other to snag a handful of her hair, holding her in place. “Look at me, Rhaenyra.”
Her eyes flash up to his and he presses deeper into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth. Those lips, so pouty and disrespectful before, have to stretch wide to get all the way around him, and this makes him smile. “What were you saying about me not getting it up?” he purrs, thrusting inside with more force once it becomes apparent that the girl doesn’t have a fucking gag reflex.
She can’t answer of course, but the nasty, whiny, slurpy sounds she’s making are more than satisfactory. Briefly, Daemon wonders if they ought to turn up the music a bit in case her father stops outside the door.
“After I’m finished fucking every one of your holes, Rhaenyra, you can go on out and fuck whomever you please,” he rambles. “And then when you’re finished conducting yourself like the little gutter whore we both know you are, you’ll have a basis for comparison, you see?”
She groans and her tongue flicks over him so enticingly that his eyes flutter closed. He pumps harder, deeper, lost in the moment, and forgets for a second or two that she’s not likely going to be able to do this for much longer. But, fuck, he can feel the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and he pulls out before he unloads in her mouth and not that sweet, soft pussy he had his fingers in minutes ago.
Catching her under the arms, he drags her back up to stand in front of him, kissing her voraciously all the while.
Between them, his cock is wet with her saliva, heavy and full. The sudden lack of pressure is making him dizzy.
Rhaenyra is trembling and whimpering, and he shoves her back onto her messy bed, tugging her swimsuit bottoms down her slender legs with far too much ease and crawling on top of her before she has a chance to protest this insanity. His fingers are back in her cunt again, and he takes a minute to admire how her pink, glistening flesh parts for him.
“Very pretty,” he tells her, curving his fingers up to press against her g-spot while he thumbs her clitoris. He plays with her like this, getting her wetter than she was, carefully stretching her flesh until she tenses and strains against him, silently begging for more.
He licks his way down to her chest and sucks a pert nipple into his mouth, tonguing the tight bud until she’s arching and rubbing against him like a cat in heat. They’re both shaking and breathing hard. While he’d love nothing more than to finally plow his way inside, he does have the presence of mind to mutter, “Last chance to tell me off before I violate you, princess.”
In answer, she clutches his shoulders and digs her nails in. “Daemon,” she breathes, writhing against him in an unmistakable invitation. He presses closer, both of them damp and sticky with sweat. Her breasts jiggle against him and he takes his cock in hand once more.
“Spread your legs for me, then,” he rasps out, rubbing himself against her slick, silky flesh. Their eyes catch and meet and hold, locked together as they find a rhythm, the rhythm. His mouth drops open on her name when he finally nudges in.
She’s tight and hot as a little furnace inside, and his cock is full to nearly bursting. A sluggish wet trickle comes out of him as he drags himself out and rubs the moisture over her, repeating the process until she’s wet enough for him to plunge between those pretty thighs, all the way to the hilt.
“Fucking bloody hell,” he moans, fingers gripping hers as he does it again.
God, the look on her face, it’s priceless, a brief shock of pain at his intrusion, then a startled, breathless “oh!” of surprise as he begins to move, stroking her insides with his full, erect length. Rapture fills him quickly, and he pivots, arching her hips up with his so he can plummet a bit deeper.
A low groan crawls up the back of his throat. She’s fucking perfect, encasing every inch of him like a hot, wet, velvet glove, yielding as he plunges forward, squeezing as he drags back out.
Her face is flushed and she’s staring at him as if he, Daemon, personally hung the moon in the sky, just for her.
“Every time,” he grunts as he fucks her, “every time you fuck someone else, you’ll think of this, right here. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else since you’ve taken it upon yourself to do the same for me.”
“Nnnhhh,” she whines.
“Shut up,” he tells her, yanking on her hair and putting a bit more force into his thrusting. She squeaks and plants her feet on the bed so she can arch her hips into his, and the sheer audacity of her eagerness drives him fucking wild.
He releases his grip on her hair and moves his fingers to her cunt, feeling the glorious slide of his dick pummeling between her legs. He finds her swollen clitoris and rubs her there and fucks her harder. Rhaenyra nearly arches off the bed as if she’s been possessed by a demon.
“Oh, fuck, yes, you’re such a good little slut for me. You just love Uncle’s cock in your cunt, don’t you?” he croons, half-mad with pleasure.
“…yes…”
“I think once I’ve finished ruining your cunt, Rhaenyra,” he informs her, “I’m going to fuck your little arse until you beg me for mercy, stretch you all out so you know for certain…nobody else can fill you up…quite…like…me…”
Her eyes roll shut, and she smiles as he fucks her, and when he bends to suck a few marks into those tempting, bouncing breasts, he can feel his balls growing tight and full and ready.
If it was anyone else, he’d let go already and give in to the sweet, building pressure at the base of his spine, but he really wants to leave an impression, and Rhaenyra is close to finishing, by the dazed look on her face.
“Stay with me, pet,” he orders.
“Daemon…”
“You’re close, aren’t you? Fuck, I want to feel you when it happens…” He slows a fraction, rolling his hips into hers so she can feel every inch of him rutting into her. “Like this? Is this going to make you come, you dirty little girl?”
“Yes,” she grinds out, guttural and fierce. “Like that. Oh, god, just like that. Don’t stop—”
Something snaps inside him, and once he really starts putting his back into it, there’s not a chance in hell he’s stopping.
He can see it when it happens, that stunned expression that quickly transforms into undiluted bliss. Wild, rolling waves of pleasure seem to undulate under his skin and coalesce deep in his pelvis as he rides her through her orgasm. Fuck, he can feel the spasms of her cunt as she soaks him and clutches at him and he couldn’t stop now, not if the world was on fire—
She’s gone limp and boneless, and he lifts her legs up, pounding inside until he’s sure to leave bruises. He’s beyond caring about anything as he spurts endless stream after stream of cum between her thighs, shaken and unable to withhold a few hoarse cries as he does his best to give her every last, filthy drop of him. He braces his arms so he doesn’t crush her, but it takes a while to come down from the shuddering, shivering ecstasy.
He takes in the look on her face, wiser than it was before, and perhaps a bit more worshipful than she should be.
“Is this what you were hoping to achieve?” he finally murmurs, kissing her sweet face and hugging her to him as he rolls to the side.
“I just wanted you to have a nice holiday, Uncle Daemon,” she whispers, petting his hair and giving him a genuine smile, for once. “You seemed awfully depressed the past few days.”
“Hmmm.”
“Did you really mean it?” she giggles. “When you said I ought to go out and…act like a whore?”
“I meant no insult to it, princess,” he tells her honestly. “We Targaryens do what we want. Fuck who we want…” He drifts off and squeezes her hip. “You’re as much of a Targaryen as I am. You ought to fuck whomever you please. But then come back and tell me how I stack up against the other boys, won’t you?”
She snorts with laughter and snuggles closer, laying her head on his chest. Bemused, he watches as she drifts off.
It strikes him that he hasn’t wished for cocaine or even thought about it for the past hour or so, although he fears his newfound obsession with his niece’s cunt is going to get him into even more trouble than the drugs if anyone ever finds out how addicted he is.