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“Sweetheart,” Rupert murmurs against my clit. “What are you thinking about? Tell me it’s not the fucking King, or I may have to go kill him at once, and damn the consequences.”
“Oh… um, I was thinking about you, of course.”
He rises higher between my legs. “You were not. Your mind was far away—I could tell.”
“I love that you could tell.” I smile at him, and he starts to smile back before shaking his head.
“No, no, you’re not distracting me with your adorable fucking face,” he says. “Tell me what you were thinking about, Juliette.”
“It’s going to scare you. It might frighten you so much you’ll run away and never return.”
“Damn. Now I’m twice as curious.”
I try to make myself say it. I toss around a few different ways to explain, but nothing feels right. Meanwhile my climax has receded, and I’m mad about it.
“Juliette,” he says sternly, holding my knees apart. “Tell me what you were thinking.” He dips his head, gives me a quick swirl of his tongue. I whimper and quiver as pleasure flares through me again.
Rupert smirks and gives my clit a little puckered kiss. “Tell me, or I won’t let you come.”
“Oh…” I let out a small sigh that’s half a pleading sob. “Fine… I was thinking about you and me running away together… opening an inn on a well-traveled road. Baking and ale and magic, your charm and my talent—we’d build wealth and reputation, side by side.”
He’s licking me again—long, deep strokes through my slit.
“We’d be together,” I continue, breathless, “and we’d enjoy simple things—drinks and jokes, laughter and good food, the exchange of news and stories with travelers—we’d make improvements to the comfort and quality of the place until we became known as the destination for that route.”
Rupert whispers that little Elvish rhyme again, and his tongue begins to vibrate as he drags it from my center up to my clit. His rough, warm hands find mine, and I clutch those strong male fingers eagerly, anchoring myself.
“And we’d fuck,” I gasp, poised on the edge of mind-shattering bliss. “We’d fuck, and kiss, and cuddle, and make fun of each other, and argue, and read, and take the longest walks through the countryside—” Tears are leaking from the corners of my eyes, but I’m coming anyway, coming helplessly against the gentle buzz of his tongue.
He softens the vibration, easing me through the pleasure. Then he lets go of my hands, rises up on his knees, and takes out his cock. Without a word, he slides into my slick opening and thrusts slowly, smoothly. Each stroke is deeply satisfying, and not just for my body, because his rhythm feels like yes, yes, yes to everything I told him, even though he hasn’t spoken at all.
In the soft light of the lamp I watch his face. He’s holding my thighs, looking down at his cock surging in and out of my body. There’s a glimmer of moisture his dark lashes, a tremor of his mouth which he tries to hide by pressing his lips even tighter and clenching his jaw until muscles flex at his temples.
If it wasn’t ridiculous and impossible, I could swear this Half-Elf likes the sound of my imagined future. Likes it so much he can barely control his emotions.
Quietly I begin speaking again, sultry and low, as if I’m telling him the most indecent secrets. “We’d have horses at the inn, too. Maybe a couple dogs or cats. Some chickens. A garden full of the loveliest flowers… we could plant Elven herbs there, too. We’d be safe, and we’d be happy—”
Rupert makes a sound—harsh and broken, and yet there’s relief in it—relief that’s bone-deep, soul-cleansing. His groan is followed by the rhythmic flex of his cock in my body—a slow, powerful release.
Still inside me, he leans forward, lowers his body against mine. Kisses me tenderly, like he cherishes every second of this gentle bliss.
I kiss him back just as fondly, twining my arms around his neck.
When he ends the kiss and buries his face in my hair, his scruff grazing my cheek, I whisper, “Mine” in his ear. He presses his mouth to my ear in return and says hoarsely, fiercely, “Yours alone.”
A glorious thrill courses through my body. Neither of us said “love.” But its fragrance is in the air, in the musk of our joining and the scent of our whispers. It lingers in the look we exchange when he reluctantly parts from me and heads for the door. It trembles in my anxiety for him, my fear that he’ll be caught leaving my room.
I know he has magic and tricks to avoid being seen, but I can’t help worrying and wondering, even as I sink into a dream of the future we can never have.
16
Juliette is safe, for now. I don’t think the King will require her to spin straw again so soon. Even if he doubts her claim that her abilities take months to recharge, he would probably allow her a few days to recover before testing her limits. He’ll be sleeping for most of the morning, exhausted from last night, and then he’ll have to catch up on meetings and tasks that he missed.
As Rupert, the servant of the House, I’m supposed to wait upon the women the King has conscripted—or kidnapped. And I was lax in fulfilling those duties yesterday, so today I must play the part better, or risk losing my place here, near Juliette.
This morning the women are allowed to roam the gardens awhile, and I’m one of the handful of servants who must stand motionless here and there among the flowerbeds and hedges, ready to fetch a drink or a fan as needed.
I keep my distance from Juliette, though she’s within sight. Even in my disguise as a servant, a eunuch, I dare not show her special attention. Thanks to my stealth and spells, I don’t think anyone has noticed my frequent trips to her room, but it’s best to be safe and avoid my name being coupled with hers in anyone’s mind. The one sanctioned excursion to the kitchen was risky enough.
