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Pride

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They were in that quiet place where there was only sweat cooling on their limbs and the haze of yellow sunlight that suggested a day gone by without them. Regina shifted between Maleficent’s thighs, but Maleficent caught her by the hair, holding her there.

“Were you a good girl, Regina?”

“I…” Regina paused, considering the question.

The answer didn’t really matter, but she didn’t realize that—not yet, at least. And Maleficent delighted in her indecision. Nothing was new for Maleficent anymore, but she had long outgrown finding that disappointing. She still took delight in beginnings, and there was so much Regina was beginning to learn.

But was Regina a good girl? Oh, she certainly tried. Maleficent loved the way her brow was furrowing as she pondered the question still. It furrowed in exactly the same way when she set about eating Maleficent’s pussy. Each lap of her tongue, each nibble was so earnest, so delightful. Regina needn’t try half so hard, but she was still part girl growing into something darker. Maleficent always found herself coaxing that girl out each time they met.

“Well?”

“Yes.” Regina set her mouth, her pretty scar standing out and hard against her lips. “Yes, I was.”

Maleficent pulled her up into a kiss. She tasted herself on Regina’s lips—there was nothing quite so intoxicating as one’s own scent on the lips of a lover. “Yes,” Maleficent murmured when she broke the kiss. She rolled on top of Regina, pinning her arms above her head. “Yes, you were. But…” Her grin was wicked. “I should punish you for being so immodest about it.”

“I wasn’t!” Regina protested as Maleficent wrapped a magic bond around her wrists.

“Oh, but you were.” Maleficent kissed down her neck, taking her time to reach one of Regina’s nipples. And just as Regina pressed it into her mouth, Maleficent bit down, making Regina cry out.

She leaned back to stare for a moment, taking all of Regina in—her nakedness, her youth, her capacity to take in so much more magic. With a casual movement of her hand, Regina begin to rise. Soon, she was hanging, supported by invisible ropes. The colors of the sunset washed over her skin, making it seems as if she were radiating heat.

Maleficent climbed off of the bed and walked to the fireplace. The flames blazed behind her, casting their glow as the light began to fade. She admired Regina in silence, and from time to time, she reached with her magic to tweak her nipples or stroke her clit. She sat lazily in one of the chairs by the fire and admired her work.

The beautiful thing, the thing that aroused Maleficent the most was not the way Regina gasped or her the gooseflesh that rose with each touch. It was the way she tried to contain her moans—the renewed determination each time she failed. And even in failure, she was regal.

When Maleficent had brought her close to orgasm for the final time, she lowered Regina into her lap, dissolving her bonds. And with her own fingers, she finished, pressing into Regina as well as stroking her clit. Regina’s body shook against her, but she swallowed her moan in a deep sigh. And as the fire warmed Regina’s skin, Maleficent touched herself with her own magic, delighting in the way Regina lazed against her.