The throne room’s golden torchlight flickers across Anna’s ornate throne, where I’ve pinned Kristoff, his wrists bound behind his back with shimmering ice cuffs, his naked body pressed into the velvet seat.
My ice-blue gown is ripped open, exposing my breasts, and I’m riding his thick c**k, each thrust grinding my c**t against his pelvis, sending shocks through my dripping p***y. The air smells of polished wood and raw s*x, the heavy doors locked but the risk of Anna or her guards bursting in making me wetter. My sister’s throne—her symbol—beneath us fuels my taboo hunger as I f**k her boyfriend.
“Quiet,” I hiss, voice sharp, conjuring an ice gag to wrap around Kristoff’s mouth, muffling his groans.
His eyes burn with defiance, but his hips buck up, slamming into me, the cuffs creakin
