Nighttime trips to Geralt's room became regular. Multiple times a week Ciri tiptoed through the dark drafty halls of the castle. She knew the way well enough that it didn't matter how pitch black it was. On nights with no moon, Ciri dragged her fingers along the walls of Kaer Morhen, navigating tactilely.
On this particular winter night the moon was very nearly full. It's light alone would've been plenty to see by, but Geral also had a fire burning on the little stone hearth in his room. In front of the flames were a cozy pile of furs, and atop them Ciri lie completely naked. The flickering warm glow of the fire illuminated her right side, the bright moon streaming in the window lit her left.
"Is tonight the night Geralt?"
"Hmm." He crouched by the flames, idly poking at the embers. He added another split log to them.
"Don't make me beg for it..." Ciri pouted.
Though they'd slept in the same bed many times now, Ciri still remained a virgin.
"Not tonight my love—"
Ciri scoffed, "You always say that." She crossed her arms over her bare chest.
"Ciri..." He looked away from the fire and met her gaze, solemnly. "I don't think I can do what you want me to. We need to wait. At least another year. Maybe two."
Her eyes widened, her jaw slacked; a perfect picture of incredulity, "A year? But—what—why?!"
"You know why."
Never had he made her feel so childish.
"Hmph. Fine. Then let's do whatever you're willing to do. Right up to the arbitrary line you seem to've drawn." She spread her legs wide, letting the firelight reach between them. "Right about here I should think." And she traced a line across her glistening pink skin between the concentration of nerve endings at the top and the orifice below it.
Geralt laughed, a real out loud laugh. Ciri smirked.
He stood, slipped one hand carefully under her shoulders, and the other under her hips. He lifted her as though she were weightless, spun a hundred and eighty degrees and dropped down on the pile of fur. Ciri fell on top of him giggling. With their chests pressed together, Ciri felt that tingling sensation go straight to her heart.
She sat up on her knees and straddled him, tangling the fingers of both their hands, and leaning her weight back onto his hips. She rocked her body back and forth, grinding them down into the already stiff bulge in his trousers. Her wetness left a damp spot in the fabric.
"These are kind of in the way..." she whispered both teasingly and lovingly.
Geralt freed the fingers of one hand from hers, still holding tight to the other. Ciri lifted her bottom off his pelvis and he lifted his own ass a little off the furs so the trousers could be pulled down with his free hand. He kicked them the rest of the way off and Ciri sat back down, pinning his erection flat to his stomach.
There was no describing the feeling of his Witcher skin between her legs. It made sense that the pleasant, piercing vibration of his touch was at it's strongest in her most sensitive areas. She shivered before resuming her back and forth motion.
Geralt supported her by holding her hands and she rocked her hips, sliding her wetness up and down his length. As Ciri moved back the thing would spring up and slap her in the stomach, just below her navel. When she moved back forward she pushed it back flat against his abdomen with her weight.
She leant down to kiss him, freeing one of her hands. She reached behind herself and between her thighs, cupping him below the shaft. Ciri fondled him as they kissed. She felt Geralt's tongue flick between his lips to graze hers, which she parted slightly. Ciri gingerly pinched his lower lip between her teeth and tugged slightly. She let go and his lip snapped back into a smile.
The fire warmed Ciri's back, friction warmed her front. She decided it was time to try something she'd been wondering about. She unhooked her fingers from the Witcher's and slid down his body, kneeling on the toasty stone floor. He looked down at her with a raised brow. She grasped Geralt's base in her petite fingers, gulped audibly, and pointed it toward her lips. He watched the curious girl blink and stare at it's tip. He felt only her breath for several seconds while she hesitated. Ciri looked up at his mutated yellow eyes. He nodded. She swallowed again before lowering her lips toward him. First she kissed it and felt him twitch in her hand. She licked it tentatively, and when Geralt laid his head back with a heavy sigh she felt more confident. Ciri wrapped the very end of it with her lips and then the first few inches. It tasted odd, similar to the smell of his sweat, which she'd discovered she actually enjoyed. On the nights when she didn't visit his chambers she always slept with a piece of his clothing clutched close to her heart.
The princess removed his erection from her warm wet mouth.
"Does that feel okay?" She copied words he'd used before. Geralt just nodded, breathing heavily through his nose.
Ciri continued. She licked the entire length, conforming her tongue to the shape. She put her mouth on the side of it, running her lips and tongue up and down. Ciri kissed the tip again and then lowered her head, covering as much as she could with her mouth. She took too much, and gagged. Her eyes watered slightly as she withdrew. When she pulled her lips away a string of drool trailed from her mouth back to him. She wiped the saliva off her lower lip with the back of her wrist, and smiled. Geralt smiled back.
Backlit by the flames, her ashen hair glowed orange and pink. He tucked a strand behind her ear. Ciri gripped him tighter and began stroking, she found him slick with her own spit. The girl added her other hand too. Even with both her fists stacked on top of each other she still had a couple inches of room to work with. She squeezed his stiffness and tugged. Ciri's hands met so little friction that she could twist them in opposite directions as she caressed him up and down. Still holding him in both hands, Ciri put her lips back on the tip of it. She stroked and sucked the throbbing thing, flicking her tongue over it repetitively.
Geralt moaned her name, "Ciri, I'm—" he grunted.
Ciri took him out of her mouth with enough suction to create an audible pop as it passed her lips. She did not let go or stop the motion of her hands. She loved this part. Ciri watched as his grip on the furs tightened and her breasts were covered in the hot liquid. When Geralt was empty, Ciri licked the tip clean and pondered the salty taste.
The girl wiped her chest clean with a spotless washrag. They were more prepared these days.
She flopped down on top of him, their sweaty bodies pressed together. Ciri felt that pleasurable reverberation from her scalp to her soles.
"I love you, Geralt of Rivia... Even if you refuse to bed me properly."
The Witcher laughed breathily from his nostrils, it shook her whole body. Ciri was so pleased that she was able to make him laugh of late. It had proven a difficult task when they first met... or maybe it was just that she hadn't said anything funny then. She'd not been in the joking mood at the time, far more focused on survival.
"I love you too, little lion."
Ciri smiled with such radiance he was sure she shone brighter than the moon or the fire. The naked girl hooked her arms under his shoulders, hugging him close. His hands glided down the smooth curve of her back and past her hips, then back up the backs of her thighs. They rested just below her bottom. He kneaded the soft flesh, squeezing, slapping, spreading. With one hand he held a buttock aside, and with the other he reached between her legs from behind. Geralt's fingers inched ever nearer, never touching that sweet spot.
Exhaling his name, she planted tiny kisses all over his shoulder and neck. His fingers slowly circled and gently prodded at the dripping opening between her legs.
"Geralt please. Stop teasing m—oh!" She swore quietly as one finger slipped inside her briefly. First Ciri chewed her lower lip, then she sunk her teeth into his neck.
He withdrew his finger and smeared the wetness up the crack of her ass and circled her other hole too. Ciri was shocked at just how aroused she was by this line of teasing. His finger explored the surface of her skin, never penetrating her of course, but prodding her incessantly in—by all accounts—the wrong place. Perhaps it was the wrongness which she found so exhilarating.
Finally, Geralt reached for the spot she'd been waiting for. He used three fingers and pressed harder than usual, rubbing unpredictably. Side to side, back and forth, circular motions. She would never get used to the pulsating sensation his skin caused her. Ciri shook with her first orgasm.
Before her legs grew still she'd been lifted, flipped over, and laid back down on their makeshift, fireside bed. They locked lips for a long moment. Then Geralt dragged his mouth down her neck and kissed her all over. Once on her collar, between her breasts, above and below her navel, and just above that point which was so prone to over stimulation. The princess felt the Witcher's hot breath on her and gave one more anticipatory shudder. He kissed her inner thighs. He kissed the sweet spot.
Her fingers clenched fistfuls of his hair, holding his head in place. He ran his tongue along the inside of each lip, circled the impossibly sensitive point. He kissed the spot again, applying a small amount of suction with his lips. Ciri squirmed and let go with one hand to bite her knuckle. Again came the unpredictable movements, only this time performed by his tongue and lips. Again Ciri climaxed, only this time more intensely. Her back arched, her hips buckled, pleasure filled her whole being.
The girl's breast heaved with deep breaths as she recovered. Geralt collapsed beside her. He brushed sweaty strands of hair off her forehead.
"You've got to get some sleep, love. You run the Trail again in the morning, and the path can be treacherous in the snow. It's not called the Killer for nothing." He teased.
She smiled and thumped his chest in a manner which was both playful and indignant.
The next day, Ciri met a stranger on the Trail; an enchantress. That evening she felt true jealousy for the first time. Actually, with the arrival of Triss Merigold came several complex new feelings. She envied the magician her beauty and body, which attracted the attention of all the Witchers, even old Uncle Vesemir. Even Geralt, who was the least obvious in his ogling. Ciri still noticed his surreptitious glances at Triss's developed chest and backside, with which she could not compete. Every time Ciri caught him looking at her it hurt. What hurt more was that their time together at night was limited significantly after the arrival of the enchantress.
She envied Triss, but could not hate her, couldn't even dislike her. The magician had a way of dispelling Ciri's concerns about, and distastes for, womanhood. She looked up to Triss, wanted to grow up to be that beautiful. And Ciri did deeply appreciate the young wizard's generosity around her cosmetics. Ciri'd grown particularly fond of the eyeshadow. The most wonderful thing Triss did for her though, was to magically repair and resew her ill-fitting goatskin outfit. Ciri loved it, she felt that she looked a proper Witcher after that.
She certainly did not approve of all of Triss's behavior though. While all the Witchers seemed to steal glimpses of Miss Merigold, Triss clearly only had eyes for one at Kaer Morhen. Ciri did not at all appreciate when Triss flirted with Geralt. The girl rolled her eyes whenever the enchantress would bat her lashes, or touch his arm or neck in too lingering a fashion. One night, after—in Ciri's opinion—Triss had consumed one too many glasses of cider, or brantwjin, or some combination, she had actually tried to kiss Geralt. In the dining hall. In front of everyone! Ciri felt such admiration for the Witcher when he politely refused, and again later that night when he carried the drunk enchantress to bed. Ciri felt considerably less jealous after that.
She awaited, bittersweetly, the arrival of spring, and their departure from her Kaer Morhen. What she looked forward to most was that the little chestnut in the stables, which she'd grown to adore quite dearly, had been promised to her for their journey. She did not however look forward to leaving Kaer Morhen. Ciri loved the old castle, it had quickly become her home. She was warmly welcomed, never told to mind her manners, never made to do dull chores like sewing or spinning. And best of all, she'd been trained to fence, and given a sword of her own. Ciri would, verily, have difficulty bidding farewell to the place, and it's inhabitants.
When the time came to do so she fought back tears, first embracing, then shaking—like a man—the hands of each of her Witcher teachers. Together with the beautiful magician, and the man who was her destiny, Cirilla left Kaer Morhen. She had the nagging feeling it wouldn't be a permanent goodbye though. She'd be back.
Perhaps by that time, she'd be a woman; an idea that distressed her less every day she spent with Triss Merigold. And then... there'd be no reason for Geralt to refuse her anything.