- Never try to disturb Napoleon’s slumber unless you’re prepared for the consequences
“God, Napoleon, please wake up and have breakfa-” You’re in the middle of pleading your case, your other endless chores at the back of your mind when a hand is reaching out from beneath the dark thick cocoon of warm blankets to seize your wrist in a vice-like grip.
You’re screeching even as you’re dragged into his waiting arms, flipped over until you’re lying underneath him. Your hands are reaching to slap themselves against your mouth but he’s faster, reaching to pinion your arms underneath his, before laying a flurry of deep wet kisses across your mouth.
When he finally lets you up for breath, gasping and quivering in his embrace, you’re turning your fiercest glare his way. “Hey! You weren’t asleep at all.”
A beautiful grin, dangerous enough to have your heart somersaulting at the sight, spreads across his face.
“I am awake now, yes and will be taking breakfast in bed, tesoro.” He whispers playfully, even as he’s ducking his head to take your mouth in a searing kiss, hands reaching to pull your shirt up and above your head, discarding it somewhere amongst his messy sheets, to work on messing you up instead.
- Sex with Napoleon is happy, hot and mischievous.
You’re moving to plant kisses across his shoulders, his neck, even as he shakes in your embrace. “Snrk… tickles.”
You’re offended. Here you are, trying to act sexy and this dummy is laughing because it feels ticklish?
You’re moving to thrust your hips onto his cock, successfully earning yourself a shuddering moan.
“Mm… you are without mercy.” He’s lifting himself off the bed to stare into your eyes, cupping your cheeks in between warm hands, his gaze even softer. “Won’t you forgive me for my rudeness?” A peck to the cheek. Your nose. Your lips.
One test propel of his hips has you gasping as he smiles at you victoriously. “Come, nunuche, let us dance.”
He’s flipping you over in bed amidst shrieks but a swerve of his hips has him buried to the hilt within your warmth, silencing your token protests, dissolving them into sensual mewls instead.
- Napoleon’s desire to sink his fangs into your soft pliant flesh is increased ten-fold when things start getting hot and heavy.
“Mm…your scent is driving me to madness” Sharp fangs, deadly, waiting to pierce, are tracing the taut pull of your neck against his mouth, hot plumes of breath branding against your quivering flesh as he moves to sink himself within you, wrenching a well-earned moan from your lips.
His fingers stroke the wetness in between your legs, coaxing it onto his fingers as you writhe and grind against his clothed arousal. Your legs are spasming around his hips as you come with a cry from just that one bite.
Napoleon moves to pull himself off of you, tongue slipping out to lick at the red that still streaks his lips and the sight somehow is so incredibly hot, you’re mesmerised, parched as you stare back at him.
“We’re not done yet, come to me. Let me coax your pleasure now.”
- The Conqueror’s favourite position: his lady astride him as she rides his cock to her pleasure.
His fingers sink unforgivingly into the swell of your hips, teeth in a crushing grit as he moves to guide your ride above him. You’re a glorious vision: ass pressing into his palms, his cock entering and leaving the tight wet haven of your body however you please it to, your combined arousal dripping down and mixing at the fine dusting of hair at his pubic region. Your breasts, raw from his earlier ravenous bites, a mirror of his own body, scoured with passionate red.
His hands spasmodic in their grip, he’s groaning out his release into you, hot white spurts, until you fall to collapse against his chest.
- Fencing practice has more than once
“Napoleon, En Garde!” You’re thrusting the foil his way, determined to disarm him this time.
But Napoleon is quicker, ducking out of the way, foil whipping towards you instead, with preternatural agility and you’re shutting your eyes on reflex, moving to block, before your weapon is plucked out of your hand, strong fingers curling around your forearm instead, pulling you to the ground underneath, until you’re staring up the dull end of Napoleon’s foil, an amused smile on his face, just on the verge of breaking into a laugh. “That is not how you deflect, nunuche.”
You scowl at him, good-humouredly, before he’s squatting down by your side to shove his index between your furrowed brow.
You’re swatting his hand away, pulling yourself up, using his shirt as leverage to plant a kiss on his lips, in revenge.
You feel his grip go slack before you’re reaching for his foil, cunning as a fox, smacking it right out of his flaccid grip.
“Hah. Take that!”
“Snrk… that is not how you… haha… disarm your opponent, nunuche.” He’s shaking his head at you, mirth in his jade eyes.
“And neither do we throw our fencing partners to the ground, ‘Monsieur Napoleone’,” you retort huffily, earning full blown laughter in response.
The sound of his chortling is so infectious, you’re joining him soon after, until tears are rolling down your cheeks at his antics. He’s such a dummy.
You open your mouth to tell him so before you feel the warmth of his tongue, sliding past your lips, making you let out a startled moan. You’re gripping his arms, his shoulders as your kisses turn heated, his hands petting you suggestively over clothes, before he’s withdrawing away on hot breaths.
“Truly, I am no match for you, chouchoute.” He murmurs before he’s sweeping you up into his arms to finish what you two started.
In his chambers.