🔅Thomas brodie-sangster one-shots🔅

🖤 The Chronicles of Royalty 🖤

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Y/N- Your Name
Y/N/N- Your Nick Name
Y/H/C- Your Hair Color
Y/E/C- Your Eye Color
Y/B/F- Your Best Friend

A/N- Happy reading! Make sure to leave comments and vote!

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The East tower. A fanciful structure the kind architecture that you would want to get lost in. The kind with a canted end and Gothic buttresses and corner turrets. She was located in the far north-east corner right below the darkened stained glass mural. A siren at that.

Below it she was bathing in a claw foot tub, the water so hot, you could cook a vegetable in it. The steam created a hallow around her.

The room sat in a state of elegant disarray. Worn leather armchairs, ancient oil lamps, a letter sorting table sat in her personal study the only letter on its surface was her latest kill order.

Medieval corbels sat upon the walls, and gargoyles say upon them.

The only sound present is the crackling of an army of candles, and the soft sound of her humming. She held a book in her right hand, while the other just floated on the water. Her hair was tied loosely in a bun. Little strands of hair framed her jaw.

The hairs on her arms stood up at attention from the burning of eyes on her back. She slowly and calmly distributed the bubbles in the water to cover the whole of her body.

"Watching me as I bathe now, are we?" Her firm yet glamorous accebt bounced off of the cold stone walls. The steam from the bath created such a halo around her she resembled and angel that was up to the most mysterious and dangerous acts.

An antique golden-framed table held her dagger, a bar of soup on a China stand, matches and a letter.

He had yet to respond so she did if for him, "Did you come to finish what you had started? Or simple to ask me what it is I'm reading?" The question hung in the air once again. "I see, your playing a game with me, fine. I'll play."

Her hand had disappeared under the soapy surface of the water, a gesture that did not go un-noticed by the intruder.

"Are you familiar with The Ecstacy of St. Teresa? By Bernini. He carved unto stone a woman both at the height of pleasure and life. Her last breath, quite literally la petite mort. Or what about The Sleepers, by Gustave Courbet? Do you have a recollection of said painting?" Her voice was calm and collected, she often paused between sentences tourchering him with the silk song that excited her jaws.

"Yet another man portraying what ecstacy must look like when two women lay together, how agile and perfect they look, framed perfectly for the onlooker, as if they were at the mercy of the perspective of a man." He stepped closer to woman he so desired. The bubbles had begun to sink back into the steaming liquid she sat in, giving him and ever-so slight picture of her breasts. "Klimt studied female masterbation for years before painting Danaë and even then he portrayed her locked away figure at the height of orgasm, being entered by zeus." He hand had found its way toward her stomach. His eye line met the water, the bubbles layed just at a point that made him want more.

"You assume I needed you for my own pleasure at the ball, how nieve of you." She groaned as her pointer finger fingers found her clit. The bath water that could only be described as silky, Coated her delicate skin, leaving behind a shine. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her doe like skin. To feel his fingertips against her curvy features. But he stayed silent and hidden in the shadows, allowing her to talk to him. "Or us that what you came for?" She put emphasis on the third word, reiterating her previous sentence.