Preview
Added 2019-03-22 17:00:00 +0000 UTC
Peter awoke suddenly, having a reflexive panic. In his dreams, he’d been with Aneka and Ayo again, the ecstatic tension of Ramonda in the next room, about to discover them—but no, he reminded himself of what had happened last night. Aneka and Ayo had melted into the shadows with all the skill he should’ve expected from the Dora Milaje, and he was left alone with Ramonda to sleep… pretty much normally. Now he was awake, the smell of pancakes and bacon and eggs fresh in the air, and Peter felt his stomach rumbling. Wakandan cooking was good, but it just didn’t agree with him the same way a Brooklyn pizza would, much less a home-cooked breakfast…
Getting up, he threw on a robe—when you were a king, people were big on robes—and walked into the kitchen of the royal apartment. To his surprise, Shuri was there, wearing the usual out-of-place garb, a concert tee stretched almost translucent over her pert breasts, and jeans that were going ragged at the knees, not to mention the thighs.
Peter considered the usual moves: asking her what she was doing there, thanking her for cooking for him, all of that… but a small voice inside him whispered otherwise. Hadn’t he just had a threesome with two supposed lesbians? Hadn’t he fucked Monica Lynne inside out? Didn’t Okoye lick her lips every time she looked at him, her eyes pointedly rolling over his groin?
Hadn’t he outright plowed Shuri to multiple orgasms, all while she talked international geopolitics over the phone?
Clearly, he was hot shit. Maybe it was time to start acting like it.
As the man said—it’s good to be the king.
