She rides upon him like a goddess, a true Khaleesi. Drogo's wrists are bound to the top of their wooden bed with soft silk instead of strong rope. The bindings are nothing but decoration; it is her stone castle that keeps him trapped.
They rode the wooden horses across the endless sea; they destroyed all who came before them; he gave his Daenerys the metal seat she so desired. Now they are alone, as he has chased away the vermin that try to flatter them, and as he has conquered this land she conquers him.
Her hair flows like the brightest sun down her back, with tendrils spilling down her front between her pert breasts. He wants to rear up and take hold of her; he wants to ride her and claim her, but she is untamed. She will not be taken like a dog.
He groans as she sinks upon him, rolling her hips with such perfection that he knows there must be magic involved. Nothing natural could feel this good. Nothing normal could make his eyes roll back and his toes curl.
If this is magic, it is the blackest sort - and he does not care to fight against it.
She murmurs to him in her own tongue, spilling words he cannot understand. The rhythm of her foreign speech flows over him like molten gold, sparkling and shining in the firelight of the stone room.
"Drogo," she murmurs. "My sun and stars."
Those words he knows. She shifts into the tongue that they share, speaking Dothraki as she promises him so much more than they already have - they will not only have the Red Keep, but the entire kingdom. Together, they will conquer all. Their child will be the stallion who mounts the world. Drogo strains against his bonds until Daenerys relents and leans down to kiss him, her pace slow and easy. They have all the time in the world. Together they are powerful and unstoppable. Who would dare to interrupt them?