“Look at me, Fay. Look at me while I fill you with my cum.” I pulled my head from his shoulder and held his mud-brown eyes with my own, a few wayward curls falling from my bun as I bounced on his dick, my breasts moving in the same rhythm. Ben’s eyes focused on my face, never once breaking eye contact as he thrust hard once more and held me down, groaning his release.
His sweaty forehead fell into my own, our breaths coming in quick pants. I slowly moved my hands from his shoulders to his upper back and neck, caressing the skin against his spine. Ben closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation as he traced lazy kisses across my mouth and cheeks.
We stayed that way until he softened fully inside me and I felt his release begin to trickle out and down my inner thighs. He pushed me off gently and I cupped a hand beneath me to make sure that nothing fell on the floor. We quickly cleaned our bodies before collapsing naked in bed together. Our sweaty legs tangling as we basked in the afterglow.
“I think I might be in love with you, Fay,” Ben whispered against my neck, his fingers lightly tracing the dozens of runes that adorned my body. I sighed, relaxing further into him as his touches began to linger and halt completely, his breathing evening out.
“I think I might love you, too, Ben,” I whispered, not sure if he heard me or was asleep. He never answered, but his hand squeezed my side once before we both fell asleep like that, tangled together.
Ben woke and left before me this morning like he usually did during planting season, so we never got to have the conversation we probably needed to have about what we said last night.
On my part, I meant what I said. I didn’t say those words often, or really ever, so admitting those feelings to Ben was both a complete truth and entirely terrifying.
I shook myself from my thoughts, quickly piling my curly hair on top of my head before pushing my way outside. It was going to be hot later today, but I needed to get a head start on my little garden if I was going to grow any herbs this year. I sighed and picked up the hoe that was leaning against the house.
Best to get on with it, then.
I hackedat the hard earth that surrounded my home with a hoe that I borrowed from the farmer on the opposite side of town. The wooden handle was well-worn and smooth, which was the only positive thing about this whole ordeal. I drew my arms back, the hoe passing my shoulder, and slammed it back down into the earth with as much force as my body could muster.
All of that and only a small chunk of dirt moved.
I groaned and leaned against the hoe, which was now well and truly stuck in the dry earth. I could feel the droplets of sweat beading on my brow and cascading down my back until they rested at the top of the waistband of my rough-sewn trousers. The seasons were shifting, and the air was slowly warming, though it felt stifling hot today. I supposed that was the curse for living in Isrun—as a small border territory between the North and the South, we had a fairly temperate climate all year, but late spring and early summer were definitely warm. I shifted, trying to separate my shirt from the sweat on my back, but to no avail. The muscles in my arms shook, and I could already feel a crick in my back that would certainly be on fire later today.
Fuck getting older.
I was only thirty-four, but there were days that I felt as ancient as Peti, the town’s resident cranky old woman. Peti had to be pushing eighty at this point. She’d been around forever, some even said she predated our little town, and knew quite a bit about quite a bit. She lived on the outskirts of town and shooed all the children out of her garden, while demanding to know why they weren’t in school. Peti was harmless—ornery, but harmless.
I wouldn’t mind growing up to be Peti.
I smiled to myself, a stray lock of my unruly, curly brown hair sticking uncomfortably to my forehead. I brushed it off with the back of my hand, undoubtedly leaving a streak of dirt behind. I stretched my back a bit before picking the hoe up and leaning it against the side of my house. I’d return it to the farmer later tomorrow, but maybe I’d find Ben first, have him build me a nice garden so I could grow all the herbs and flowers I needed to heal.
The thought of Ben made me smile as I recalled our visit last night, both of us tangled and sweaty for reasons that were much more enjoyable thandigging in the packed earth. He was my first friend years ago, and we grew up together in more ways than one.
I moved here years ago when I was just a girl, barely a teenager, with nothing but the clothes on my back and no memories other than my name. The town took me in—clothed me, fed me, housed me—but expected everyone to contribute in whatever capacity they could, magically or otherwise. Unluckily for me, I could never occupy a trade or job that required the use of magic as mine never manifested, never Awakened. I was a dud for all intents and purposes, and no one knew why, no amount of coaxing or trauma could force my magic to Awaken, and I had to function in society as if I were a magic-less child. I tried a dozen different things in my desire to contribute positively in any way—tanning, teaching, farming, even crystal mining in the relatively bare caves outside the town limits—before I found a niche in healing. The last Healer, Peti’s daughter, Sharol, taught me everything she could from her knowledge of healing and runes, and I’d been expanding on that base ever since.
The runes spoke to me, and I listened.
I brushed lingering dust and dirt from my hands and pants before entering my home. It was more of a room than a home, but it was cozy and all mine, which was important to me. Growing up with no memories, no magic, and no family in a small, backwater town meant that I was sequestered to a home for orphaned children, which really wasn’t all that bad, it just meant that resources and space were incredibly sparse. Everything was shared and there was more than one fight that broke out between girls and boys over a bar of soap or an extra blanket in the winter.
A smile played on my lips as I entered my home—I built it myself, with the help of a few others, and it was sturdy, if small. The house was made of wooden planks stacked on top of each other with mud and straw paste used to fuse the boards together and keep the wind and weather out. The floor was just hard-packed earth with a few soft rugs thrown over it. I liked being able to feel the earth beneath my feet, even if it was inside. It’s why I never wore shoes.
To my left was a crackling fireplace, the black iron pot bubbling contentedly. No matter the weather or the season, I kept a fire lit. There was something so welcoming about a fire. In front of the fire was my singular chair and a small table where I did everything from eating my meals and darningmy pants to reading or drawing by the firelight. My bed was shoved against the wall on the right side of the room and matched the rather austere nature of the cottage.
I inhaled deeply and the smell of lavender and eucalyptus mixed with the earthy undertones of my home coated the inside of my nose. I was making a new batch of a calming oil to sell in town and, by the bubbles in the pot and smell permeating the air, it was just about done and ready to be bottled. I grabbed my chair and pushed it up against the wall, climbing atop to reach the shelves that took up every inch of upper wall space in my home, the lower portion was filled with cabinets and storage. Many of my shelves contained a variety of healing ingredients, especially those that needed to germinate or cure for a while before use—all carefully labeled, of course.
But my favorite part of my home were the books that lined nearly every available shelf. They were even stacked on my floor, under my bed, and on top of my blankets. I had an insatiable thirst for knowledge and learning—it was probably a defense mechanism rooted deep in the fact that I lost all my memories and knowledge up until I was thirteen, but I figured there were worse things to horde and consume.
I could be like Old Jack and spend all my time—literally—at the tavern, in a bottle or mug of Jenna’s finest ale.
Balancing on my tiptoes on top of my chair, I stretched and reached for a box of empty bottles.
I really need to start keeping these in the cabinets!Just a . . . little . . . farther.I stretched my fingers as far as they would go.There!
I was able to grasp the edge of the box and pull the vials toward me, but not before I lost my balance and fell with anoomph.
“MEOW!” My cat, or one of my cats, spoke their concern loudly from their perch on my mantel. My house was like a halfway house for wayward cats—all animals, really, but cats seemed to prefer it the most. Maybe because of all the mice that found a home in the corners of my room. While many cats chose to come for a bit and then leave again, this particular grey floof had chosen to stay for a few winters now. I even named him, since he chose to stick around.
“I know, Cotton, I know. I need to move those vials down lower! We had this same discussion when I fell two days ago. I just keep forgetting to do it!” I said.
