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Well, at least she’s straightforward.
“I know I could have them for a time. Pop up in a few days, weeks, or months, and pretend it was just memory loss that kept me away. But I would always have to leave eventually. How long would I have? A couple of years, max? Better to rip the band-aid off and let them mourn now than hurt them with distance later.” I study her. She says this, but her heart wishes it is different. She’s right. If we keep her family in her life, we can get married and invite them. We can move away. They would still be in touch, but the distance we’d have to maintain would hurt them slowly until they died.
This way, they can mourn now. Then they can move forward and find happiness again.
Hopefully…
Wren doesn’t care if it hurts her more to do it this way. She’d rather her parents’ grief be as smooth as possible. Her selfless compassion truly astounds me sometimes.
“Done,” a tone of pride fills Wren’s voice as she turns her sketchbook towards me. I take a sharp breath as I revel in her creation.
It’s me, but not in the way I expected.
There is no armor, no sword, no battle.
Just me, in ordinary clothes, leaning against a building. Just a typical day. A shadow of bruising, wrappings around my knuckles. Proof that I had been no more special than any of my knighted brothers. My birth and nobility mean nothing. Only my dedication and work give me the status I earn.
“You truly have a gift,” I stare at it in wonder. I’d thought she’d romanticize the time and title and make me out to be more than I was. Instead, she depicts me as an average man, taking a break after scrimmaging with the other knights in training. Flashes of laughing through broken noses, drinking ale, and singing songs to honor the heroes that came before us. It’s like I am home again. “Thank you,” I whisper as she hands it to me. I can’t stop looking at it. I want to frame it and keep it forever. “It’s just missing one thing.”
Frowning, she hurriedly moves to stand behind me, peering over my shoulder, looking for what’s missing. Brows knit together as she scans the piece, finding nothing. I reach for her hand and kiss the inside of her wrist. “Your signature, love.” I enjoy few things in this world more than the sight of her rolling eyes at me. One is how she whimpers my name, and the other is the place between her thighs. Scrawling her name in the bottom right corner, she completes her work. “There, now it’s perfect. I’d like to frame this in our room.”
“Really?” Surprise colors her voice.
“Absolutely,youmade it for me. I want to keep it in a place of honor.” I carefully close her book and guide her to sit on my lap.
Stroking her hair away from her neck I nuzzle closely. I love the way she smells after drawing or painting. Like fresh paper, and the way it mixes with her honeysuckle scent is divine. I kiss her neck softly, closing my eyes and allowing myself to get drunk on her nearness. I scrape my teeth across her skin, and her fingers desperately clutch at my hair as she gasps.
How she reacts to my touch sends a wave of arousal through me. As I twitch in my pants, I know she is experiencing something similar. My hand slips up her thigh, getting closer to its goal. It is hard to tell if she’s bending to my presence through the fabric of her pants. Grazing my hands against the apex of her thighs outside of her leggings, I gently suckle on the skin of her neck, intermittently running my teeth across her flesh. Rewarded with the softest of moans, I sent my hand searching.
Slipping under the waistband, I stroke against her core. Her panties are wet already. I quietly laugh against her skin, happy I have the same effect on her as she does on me. We aren’t exactly concealed here in the living room, and while that does have a tempting sort of danger to it, only Wren’s more feral side seems to enjoy having sex in public. My Wren likes a little more privacy.
Can I entice her into a mixture of both?
I don’t have to reveal her body at all. I slide my fingers under the soft cotton covering her mound. My knuckles brush against her hot folds, and she quietly moans into my ear. Maybe I won’t fully take her, but I can certainly, covertly, give her pleasure. “Oz,” she whispers, questioning, no doubt because of the nearness of other coven members. No one is so close that they can hear if she remains ever so quiet.
If anyone looks over, it would just seem like we are kissing and cuddling. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Shhh,” I breathe, circling her clit with a finger, trying to coax it out. “Just stay quiet. That’s a good girl.” One of her hands remains tangled in my hair, and the other clutches my thigh for support. Leaning forward, my lips find hers, and my middle finger teases her entrance. Softly, quietly like I told her, she moans into my mouth as I sink the digit into her.
She was so hot inside, her body yearning for my touch. I move my finger slowly, stroking her walls for that one particular place. My thumb presses into her clit. She releases my lips and whispers, “Yes, oh please.” I love it when she asks me for it. I sink a second finger into her, still torturing her most sensitive bud. She wants to sway and buck her hips and instead is trembling with the exertion to remain still.
My free hand slips up her shirt, caressing the underside of her breast as my thick fingers pump in and out of her. I clasp her nipple tightly, rolling it as she mewls under my touch. A third finger enters, and her body begins to tense beneath me. “Oh!” she cries, a little louder than she should.
“Shhh,” I remind her. “You must be very quiet if you want me to let you come. Do you understand me?”
She nods, eyes closed as I continue to take what I want from her. She enjoys surrendering to me, letting me fully control the situation. Commanding her is divine. Her moans are no more than gasps and sighs as she regains control of her voice, but her legs are trembling.
“You look so beautiful, squirming under my touch,” I whisper to her, increasing the speed of my thrusting fingers, paying attention to the small rough area inside her. My thumb moves against her clit, stroking it, getting faster to match the pace of my hand. “Who does this belong to,” I breathe in her ear.
“You.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. She has given in to me completely, letting me control her body and loving every second.
“That’s right, me. Have you been good?” She nods against my chest. “Should I let this little cunt of mine come?” I pull back off the pressure, keeping her shy of the release she wants. She whimpers.
“Beg me for it,” I demand, undulating my fingers inside her.
She gives in.
“Oh, Oz. Oh God, please, will you let me?Please.” The sound of her begging is almost enough for me to pull her pants down and take her there in the living room. I resist because this is for her right now.
“Look at me when I let you come, my love.” Her beautiful gray eyes open and look up, locking on mine. Kneading her breast, I reach forward and pinch her nipple again, simultaneously pressing down firmly on her clit, massaging it back and forth. Faster and faster, I pump my fingers inside of her and then feel her walls tighten and pulse around them, and her body begins to tremble with each stroke. Her wetness practically gushes over my hand as she orgasms, and her lips open in a silent cry.
