Filthy Kings (Ch 13)

 

Chapter 13

Pomegranate

Lazar

 

The bathroom was small by the standards of the Global 8000. Which meant Italian marble, brushed gold fixtures, and a mirror that ran the full length of the wall.

Lazar ran the hot water and used the soap. Once he cleaned up, he dried off, grabbed a folded cloth, and held it under the stream until it was soapy, saturated, and steaming.

He looked up and stared at the man in the mirror with the silly smile on a deadly face. His mouth was still buzzing and he could still feel the pressure of his son's lips against his own, the way neither of them had pulled back, the way both of them had chosen to stay exactly where they were.

He had kissed his son, over his queen's pussy, and no one judged.

The Veritrex was still moving through his blood—he could feel it, the chemical warmth of enforced honesty—but he knew with the absolute certainty of a man who had survived so many years by trusting his own gut that the chemicals were not responsible for what had happened in that moment.

He had wanted that kiss with his son before the needle.

He had simply never allowed himself to act on it.

I can't deny this anymore.

The thought arrived without drama.

We must continue to explore this and our queen will help us.

The water scalded his hands.

He let it.

The heat was sharp, clean, and real. Everything else inside him was untethered.

Floating.

Humming through him.

Is it just the Veritrex? No. This is more.

He shut off the water, set his palms flat against the marble basin, and assessed his reflection some more.

Then suddenly. . .he laughed because he did not recognize the man in the mirror. This man looked happy, like something long dead had sat up inside his chest and blinked. He pressed his hand to his sternum and searched for the familiar stone wall he kept there—the one built over so many years from betrayal and heartbreak.

Mortared.

It was still there.

But it had tons of cracks too.

Wide, luminous cracks.

And warm light was pouring through from the other side.

They’re changing me.

He exhaled slowly and turned the water back on.

Steam rose around him.

The mirror fogged at the edges.

He thought about Zara's face when she had said I've wanted you from the first moment you walked into my office.

The fury on her—the magnificent, exquisite fury of a woman furious at her own mouth. He had wanted to gather that fury in both hands and keep it somewhere safe.

Next, he thought about Miloš's hand around his cock.

Fuck. . .

The mirror fogged further.

He had expected shame. That was what a father was supposed to feel. That was the architecture of sick love—desire followed by shame, and shame burning it clean, and life continuing in its correct configuration.

The shame had not come.

What had come instead was something that had no proper word in Serbian, English, or any language he had ever learned.

A word that would require a whole sentence to approximate: the relief of being known by someone who has always known you and finally saying so.

He held the cloth under the steaming stream until it was heavy. He wrung the excess from it, turned off the water, and stood there another moment.

I have never wanted to be somewhere so much.

The aircraft hummed beneath his feet, cutting through the night sky at forty-three thousand feet, carrying all three of them somewhere.

I would burn every other destination just to keep us here among the sky.

He did not examine that thought.

He let it stand.

Then he took the soapy warm cloth with him, opened the bathroom door, and walked back to them.

What?

He stopped in the doorway.

Miloš had undone Zara’s chains.

She was sitting up against the headboard with the dark furs pooled around her waist. Her curly hair was loose and wild around her shoulders.

And his son was sitting beside her, dipping a strawberry into the chocolate bowl and bringing it to her lips.

She chuckled and ate it.

Lazar's jaw tightened. "We did not agree to unlocking her just yet."

Miloš picked up another strawberry, dragged it through the chocolate slowly, and held it out to her. "She said she would behave."

Zara bit into the strawberry without breaking eye contact with Lazar.

He crossed to the bed, sat at the edge of it, and brought the warm cloth to her pussy. Frowning, he cleaned her with care—thorough, unhurried, passionately possessive. "Miloš, do not forget that she is dangerous."

An amused chuckle left her. She spoke in Serbian with perfect Belgrade dialect. "Dangerous? Me? No. I am a sweet, gentle woman."

He smirked. “Đavolice.”

“No, Tata.” Miloš grabbed another strawberry and dipped it in chocolate. “Anđele."

“I’m both.” Zara held Lazar’s gaze and let him clean her. “I love how you two are spoiling me. Is this what you do for every woman’s birthday?”

“No woman on this planet has ever had this experience with us.” Lazar finished cleaning her and set the cloth on the side. “And this is what we will do for you always because you are our queen.”

“I agree.” Miloš reached for the pomegranates and picked the largest one up. It was dark red, heavy, and unblemished.

Then he gripped it in both hands and pulled.

The skin split with a squelching sound. The flesh tore open, revealing glistening seeds packed tight and perfect. Juices ran down Miloš's inked wrists in rivulets.

This sweet smell hit the cabin immediately.

Miloš tipped it over Zara’s mouth.

Chuckling, she leaned her head back.

The sweet stream spilled and hit her lips, chin, and the curve of her throat. She caught most of it with her tongue and swallowed.

Then the seeds began to fall, slow at first, then in a rush, spilling across her lips and into her open mouth, some escaping to trail down her jaw.

Mmmm.

Lazar witnessed Zara swallow the seeds the way Hades must have with Persephone.

Wasn’t Zara his sweet goddess in a field of flowers?

Wasn’t he also a king of the dead who looked up from his kingdom one afternoon and saw her in the light and decided that she would be his?

Hades had not asked Persephone to come. He had simply opened the earth and taken her down.

And Persephone, furious, stolen, and magnificent in her captivity, had eventually reached for the pomegranate—that dark, jeweled, bleeding fruit—and eaten.

Six seeds.

Some said she hadn't known. That she was tricked, that she was naive, that she didn't understand the law of that world, to eat in the kingdom of the dead is to belong to it.

Lazar had never believed that version.

He had always believed Persephone knew exactly what she was doing when she lifted those seeds to her mouth.

That she had looked at the king who had torn the world open to have her, who had waged a quiet war against Olympus itself for the right to keep her, and she had made her choice in the only language available to a woman whose choices had been taken.

She ate.

And she could not fully leave.

Not because the seeds trapped her.

Because she had decided.

He looked at Zara now—pomegranate juice dark on her lips, seeds caught in the corners of her mouth, throat moving as she swallowed—and warmth throbbed in his heart.

She’s decided to be ours.

Lazar's cock went painfully hard so fast.

Miloš noticed. His eyes moved from her mouth to his father's cock with an expression that was not subtle and was not trying to be.

Careful, son.

Miloš brought the pomegranate to his own lips and ate, slowly, watching his father's cock.

Lazar’s cock jerked, yearning to be in his son’s mouth like that fruit.

Lazar considered how his son was no intruder in this goddess story either. Miloš was what Hades had never had, but needed—an heir to the dark kingdom.

A prince who had grown up in the underworld and could help love Persephone.

“You both are so sexy.” Zara turned to Lazar. Now with both wrists free, she wrapped her arms around his huge chest and kissed him.

Lazar blinked.

She is mine. She will never go back to the world.

He groaned into the kiss and tasted pomegranate on her tongue.

I will burn every bridge, call every favor, go to every war before I give her back.

In fact. . .Lazar was already at war.

Before Zara had woken up, the intelligence had come.

Beresha had already had medical for the bullets in his leg and was back on his feet in no time.

What a tough bastard.

Granted, Lazar had made sure to not kill Beresha, being that Zara seemed to care deeply for the man.

Beresha’s men were currently fighting Lazar’s men in Budapest and in Belgrade both, holding ground while Lazar kept this plane in the air.

He had given the pilot one order, “Do not land.”

They would remain at altitude until Zara understood that she belonged to them.

He kissed her deeper.

She made a sound against his mouth that he felt in his spine.

I need more.

He took her down to the bed and rolled over onto his back.

Her body shifted over his, her thighs found either side of his hips, straddling him. And the heat of her pussy settling against his cock made him grip hard enough to bruise.

Moaning, she slowly rolled her hips, twisting her wet pussy along the length of him, and he groaned against her throat and let her do it.

Moaning, she sat up.

Her breasts bobbed from the movement.

“Yes.” Miloš leaned in from the side. His long hair fell forward as he brought his mouth to her breast and lapped at her nipple.

She arched her back. “Oh.”

“You like that?” Miloš closed his lips around the nipple and sucked.

She trembled. “I want you both inside of me.”

Lazar bit his lip.

"God, your cock feels so good against my pussy." She rolled her hips again, dragging herself along his full length and wetting the piercing at the head. "I want it inside me. I want to feel those serpents fucking me open."

Lazar groaned.

"Keep going." She turned her head and found Miloš with her eyes. "Don't stop. Suck harder, baby."

Like a good boy, he obeyed. His mouth tightened around her nipple and pulled.

She gasped and rolled her hips again involuntarily, grinding her clit against the thick base of Lazar's cock. "Fuck!"

She dug her nails into Lazar's chest. "Do you know how long I've thought about this? How many times I sat across from you in a room full of dangerous men and thought about riding your cock in front of all of them?"

“You should have said something.”

“I used to leave our meetings, go directly to my hotel, and touch myself thinking about your hands." She ground her pussy down harder. "These hands."

“Show me, Đavolice.”

She lifted one of his off her waist and pressed it flat against her throat. "I wanted them here."

His fingers curved around her throat and squeezed gently.

"Yes." The word left her on a broken exhale. "Like that. Exactly like that."

“Aww.” Miloš stopped licking her nipples. “Our queen likes it rough. Maybe she is a Đavolice.”

Chuckling, Miloš reached for the chocolate bowl, brought the bowl to her breasts, and tipped it over.

A dark, warm stream of chocolate poured over her breasts, followed the curves of her, and pooled in the valley between her and Lazar.

She gasped at the heat.

Miloš watched it and licked his lips.

“Good idea, son.” Lazar sat up, brought his mouth to her breast, and lapped at the chocolate.

Miloš went to the other side, lapping at that nipple.

“Oh my God!” She held both their heads against her. "Fuck me. Both of you. . .now."

Lazar pulled back, looked at her, and then turned to his son. “We must always serve our queen.”

Miloš grinned. “Of course father.”