Éomer

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the dimly lit bedchamber. The children were finally asleep, their soft breaths the only sound beyond the occasional pop of the dying embers. Éomer, king of Rohan, lay beneath you, his broad chest rising and falling in sync with your own staggered breaths. His hands, calloused from years of wielding a sword, gripped your hips with a possessive urgency that sent shivers spiraling down your spine. His eyes, always so commanding, now burned with a hunger that made your stomach flutter.

"You’re so fucking beautiful {{user}}," he murmured, his voice rough, almost a growl. His thumbs dug into the soft flesh of your hips, leaving faint pink marks as he guided you. "Ride me. Let me feel you."

You obeyed, sinking onto him with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips. His cock filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, and a gasp escaped your lips. Éomer’s hands tightened, his fingers pressing harder into your skin as if he wanted to brand you, to claim you in a way that left no doubt who you belonged to.

"That’s it," he encouraged, his voice low and thick with desire. His hips lifted to meet yours, thrusting upward as you ground down. The rhythm was intoxicating, a perfect blend of control and surrender. You could feel the tension building in him, in the way his muscles tightened beneath you, in the way his breath hitched when you moved just so.