Being in her home town inflicted her with a palpable homesickness that hollowed her chest.
Were the circumstances better, she would ask to visit her parents, but… But not like this. Not with threats over their heads and no promise of success or survival, despite what Farengar assured them. She may not know what was in store yet, but she wasn't so foolish that she couldn't tell her life was on the line, and she didn't want her parents to know.
There would be no keeping it from them either. Her lies and fake smiles were as transparent as clear waters; her father, at least, would know something was up as soon as she stepped inside, and her mother would be close behind. And then they might not let her leave, or her last memory of them would be them believing they would lose her, standing by and watching her march for death's den… No, she couldn't do that to them, no matter how her affection was tempted to create final happy memories. Better she die out of sight and out of reach, if that was her fate.
She was just thankful the inn was far enough from her parents home that they could stop in for a sleep and meal and leave in the morning before any risk of bumping into them.
Perhaps the innkeeper would recognize her, or perhaps not, considering it was the week's end and, as they entered, she could see it was quite full. Not packed, but the inn wasn't struggling by any means.
They trudged in one after the other, Farengar in the lead as always, while Minline went after him, and Lynette after her. Folkvar stuck to her side like a hairball caught in rose thorns, eyeing the amount of people in the inn with nervousness. He wasn't used to all the strange smells and the sheer volume of people. Her poor pup; she patted his head as a means of reassurance.
Vilkas was at the rear, as if he meant to ward off any overly brave drunkards with his frame alone. Certainly if anyone felt like picking a fight they would think twice at the sight of the mighty Companion, but she'd never known for it to be common at the Jerall View Inn. Most patrons were respectable, at least to some degree.
With the coin they had, they easily paid for two rooms for a night and big meals and a little drink, with spare for the journey back—if there was a journey back…
She chastised herself. Such thoughts would do nothing but bring bad karma.
The innkeeper did eye Folkvar as if he meant to deny his presence, and Lynette was ready to open her mouth and defend her hound's honor, but ultimately nothing about it was said.
"Enjoy your stay. Your meals will be brought soon," he rumbled, voice heavy with accent.
Perhaps it was Vilkas that made him think better of it, or maybe Farengar's status was persuasive enough… Either way, Lynette was beginning to grow suspicious of how smooth this was going. But alas she ascended the stairs after the others.
Unlike the inns of Skyrim, the Jerall View Inn's rooms were on the second floor and had thicker walls, spreading them farther apart and giving the patrons the luxury of added privacy. Lynette missed this. The thin walls in the Bannered Mare made her constantly aware of every little noise she made and how she could be overheard.
"How are we splitting the rooms?" Minline inquired once they reached the doors, bringing her hands to her hips.
"It'd make sense to pair the women in one room and the men in the other, wouldn't it?" Vilkas suggested.
"I don't care. My only concern is food and a bath."
"Oh a bath sounds lovely!" Lynette agreed. From her hair roots to her toenails she felt caked in grime and oil and gods only knew what else. Divines, a bath sounded luxurious after so long on the road.
Stunning them in some measure, Farengar made an announcement.
"Lynette and I will room together." His tone was balanced, his expression indecipherable. He didn't even blink.
Lynette reeled on him, mouth open. "W-What!?" Her stupid heart leapt with joy, erecting hope where it had no foundation to stand on.
"We have some things to discuss," was his only response, terse.
He refused to meet her eyes and her foolish desire sputtered out like a neglected flame. She dug her fingernails into her palms till there were stinging half-moons, knowing this could be no herald of a love confession. This was Farengar. More than likely he was going to give her a firm talking-to about how terrible tomorrow could go and how she might die.
Oh Divines she was going to cry so bad.
Vilkas fought his face muscles to keep it shrouded in nonchalance—Lynette could see it—but he failed and something akin to a sly smile tugged his lips upwards.
"Understandable. We'll leave you to it."
"Ladies first?" Vilkas asked, gesturing first to Minline, then to the room on the right in an over-the-top bow.
With an eye roll, Minline marched ahead of him and yanked the door open before he could, entering. He laughed, then followed, bestowing Lynette a wave and wink before he disappeared.
Traitor! This wasn't funny!
The aroma of freshly roasted meat assaulted her senses as soon the door opened, making her stomach twinge in repulsion. But to Lynette's further dismay, Folkvar trotted in after them, undoubtedly wanting whatever roasted goodness laid beyond.
No! How dare he abandon her too!? He was her security blanket, her source of comfort.
She moved to go after him and bring him back, but Farengar stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. It startled her so much she froze without resistance.
"It's for the best," said Farengar, releasing her with a squeeze."We don't want any disruptions." He crossed to their room, opened the door, and entered, leaving her in the hall with an army's worth of dread.
Just get it over with, she told her, swallowing hard. Folkvar would be fine with Vilkas.
Mind in a frenzy and knees turning to jam, she reluctantly went in after him.
Lynette thought the air couldn't possibly be any thicker with awkwardness and tension.
Farengar sat in the window that overlooked the small garden behind the inn, staring at nothing and refusing to acknowledge her beyond informing her they were going to wait for their food first. He looked like a statue, apathetic and unreadable.
Evidently she was going to be left to rot in her anxiety for some time yet, so she sank to one of the cots and clasped her hands. Behind her eyeballs burned, and she didn't know if it was from tears or exhaustion.
The beds were side-by-side, their frames up against the farthest wall between the two windows. The rest of the room wasn't anything to write home about, but there were the beds, a small table and chairs, and another door that no doubt led to a washbasin and privy—more comfort than she'd had in what felt like weeks.
It turned out Lynette was mistaken about the length of wait; a light rap of knuckles sounded on their door.
Farengar rose silently and answered it without a word.
"Hello!" The barmaid greeted them enthusiastically, coming in as Farengar stepped aside for her. "I've brought your food!"
She couldn't have seen more than eighteen summers with how youthful her complexion was. She was short, pretty, and buxom; her auburn hair was pinned back into a bun and her eyes were a silky brown, but Lynette was too distracted by her basket of goodies, mouth watering and eyes shiny. There were half a dozen bread rolls that smelled heavenly and fresh, several ripe apples, a block of cheese, two bowls of granola and dried fruits, butter, and knives, as well as a pot of tea and cups. An absolute feast, as far as Lynette was concerned.
And thank Mara there wasn't any meat! She would have to thank Farengar when she got the chance.
He took the basket from her and in her fragile state, Lynette couldn't prevent herself from watching to see if their hands brushed. They didn't.
"Would you be so kind as to draw Lynette a bath while you're here?" He unfolded his other hand, revealing two septims.
Even if it didn't assuage her misgivings, she was touched that he didn't forget.
If the barmaid's eyes were bright before, they were outright luminous now. Ecstatically, she exclaimed, "Of course!" and accepted the coins.
While she left to fetch a bucket of hot water, Farengar went to the table and distributed the food in two spots.
Hesitantly, her hunger outweighing her trepidation, she approached and sat, not meeting his gaze. She did her best to wait patiently for him to pour the tear and evenly split the food, but it was a struggle. Her stomach felt hollow and she wanted to stuff her face with as much as possible before the barmaid returned.
"You don't need to wait for me. You can eat," he said, as if he read her mind.
She didn't even give herself the chance to fret about being an open book; she snatched an apple and bit a huge chunk out of it, chewing aggressively.
His chuckle was quiet, almost inaudible, and somehow the modest little noise reprieved her nerves, even if only a smidge.
She polished off her apple quickly, sipping her tea between bites, and while she shoveled granola in her mouth, he set about slicing the cheese and bread and buttering some of the slices.
Only halfway through the rolls, the barmaid arrived back, hauling two wooden buckets of steaming water with a strength that made Lynette envious. Pretty and strong. The girl had it all going for her.
Escorted by Farengar, she brought the buckets to the bath, and Lynette heard her pour them into the tub without any issue. Then she was back in the room and curtseying a farewell.
"It's pretty hot still, so I'd give it at least five if I were you," she told them, then granted them a fond wave and smile before practically skipping out of their room, the coins clinking in her pocket.
Lynette hoped the innkeeper wouldn't claim them off her for any reason. The tips were hers for the keeping, surely?
But there was no guarantee. It wasn't until she came to Skyrim and struggled to make ends meet for herself that she spared a thought for those who worked what were considered 'bottom barrel jobs'. Her family hadn't been rich by any means, but neither she nor her mother were ever forced to scrub their fingers raw for pay that was highway robbery. Worse, she recalled how her and her school friends would often talk awfully about such people. It was terrible and Lynette was ashamed of the person she used to be.
Her appetite was a fraction of what it was and she struggled to swallow a bite of bread and cheese. It got balled in her throat and she almost choked on it, trying to force it down.
Farengar ate in silence, taking his time and showing manners she lacked in her hunger. She would have been mortified if she wasn't so upset with herself over things she couldn't change.
Lynette was feeling a little batty from how stressful the quiet was, how it weighed on her, but she also was too afraid to disturb it and be a catalyst for the discussion she was dreading.
There was no point in eating more right now so she scooted out her chair and stood. "I'll go bathe now."
Farengar nodded. Nodded only, didn't even look at her, entirely focused on his dainty bites. He couldn't even bother to speak to her when she said something? Couldn't even meet her eyes? He really was about to hurt her.
Biting back tears, she spun on her heel and stalked for the privy, practically slamming the door once inside.
Irritation commanded her movements as she yanked off her robes, cringing out how they stuck to her skin in places. Sweat? Blood? She didn't dare find out. And they smelled atrocious. Frankly she was amazed they weren't turned away at the door.
Thankfully Farengar left her pack and a change of clothes—more robes, plain blue and unenchanted, but they were clean—which was…unexpectedly thoughtful of him, but it wasn't quite enough to extinguish her upset.
She'd never been a bath girl; never saw the appeal of baths for relaxation. They were necessary for hygiene and she appreciated them when she felt dirty, but beyond that they meant little to nothing to her.
But as she carefully stepped into the tub, she finally understood it. She all but melted into the hot water, submerging all of her body but her head with a drawn out moan. She closed her eyes and just floated; as much as she could in the cramped tub. The water wasn't clear, but it was warm and clean, and it stripped the dirt and grime and blood from her skin and hair effortlessly. Her hair almost changed colors, from a darker shade to lighter, so darkened with grossness.
She probably stayed like that for ten minutes before she finally scrubbed her skin raw with the soap and a rag. And even then she was reluctant to leave. But the water was cooling and she was getting sleepy. Falling asleep in water did not sound like a good time.
Once out and dressed, she mopped up the excess water with the extra towels, then she used her fingers to detangle her hair as best she could. She didn't know what to do with the water in the tub, but she assumed the barmaid would come back to deal with it eventually.
Unfortunately there was no other excuse left to avoid going back to the room, so it was time to face the music. She left her dirty clothes in a pile, promising herself she'd deal with them later, and hoping she would have a chance to wash them before tomorrow. Donning crusty clothes was not something she would do willingly, even if they were her dear apprentice robes.
Her heart clobbered inside her chest when she reentered their room. She found the food cleaned away and the leftovers replaced in the basket, but Farengar was no longer sitting. He paced the entire length of the room, arms folded behind his back, and the moment she timidly arrived, his eyes honed in on her daggers. Or at least they felt like daggers, intense as they were.
"Sit, please," he told her gently, waving towards the bed without stopping his rounds. "This is hard for me to speak about and I'll feel better with you sitting."
She obeyed, crossed the room and shakily lowered to the edge of one of the cots, but the request made her doubly uneasy. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest and she felt like throwing up.
"I wanted to wait until after we were victorious. I had this whole speech planned…"
"Farengar, you're scaring me–"
"...But we're not guaranteed success. We're not even guaranteed tomorrow. And I won't face what's to come without telling you the truth."
Her chest constricted and her heart pummeled her breastbone. Every fiber of her being glowed with hope, but her mind wouldn't let her take the leap of faith. Truth didn't mean an I love you. Truth could mean the kiss meant nothing, and that he needed to come clean about it. Needed her to know that she was dreaming of someone she could never have.
He wouldn't do that to me, not before tomorrow. But would he? Farengar was nothing if not honest. He cared none for false pretenses and sugar-coated lies. If she were to confront tomorrow, she would need to do so with the strength of her own will, not one that was birthed from a fake truth. He would make sure of that.
But his words were not a chisel set to carve her heart into bits; they were a god that bestowed her heart with wings to fly free.
"I love you, Lynette. And even if you don't feel the same, I–"
She stood up from the bed and latched onto the front of his robes to silence him with a kiss. It was a sloppy kiss, as most first ones were, even if this wasn't technically their first. Her lips clumsily crashed against his and tasted his breath, spices and herbs from his tea.
Divines, how long had she waited for those words?
He froze but it didn't last. His lips melted into hers as his arms came around her and hugged her close to his body. In response she twined her arms around his neck, seeking the support and closeness, and she should have been embarrassed, the way her breasts pressed against his chest, but she wasn't; instead she was aroused.
Fervency became their kisses—gentle suckles evolved to breathless hunger, as if their mouths were seeking to devour one another completely.
What she lacked in experience she made up for with a carnal instinct. It all came naturally; it all was right. And though she was self-conscious of her inexperience, she needn't be. The moment her tongue touched the gap in his lips, he shivered and she knew anything she did would pleasure him. She pleasured him.
Her tongue slipped between his lips and hesitantly explored the entrance of his mouth, and this was when he took the lead. His hand eased down her back and firmly cupped her bottom, squeezing it, and at the same time he sucked her tongue deep into his mouth. Her moan was husky and a shudder rippled between the both of them, shared, but he didn't release her tongue. He curled his own around hers, coaxing it into a sensual dance as their lips brushed over and over desperately, swelling beneath the need for one another.
She couldn't help herself—impulse and desire commanded her now. Her hands slipped away from his neck and sought the front of his robes, yanking the flaps open so she could slip one inside and timidly brush the sculpt of his torso. One may not define Farengar as muscular, but to Lynette that didn't matter; he was soft and solid and this was all him, and that's all she cared about.
She barely touched him, unsure if he would accept, but without hesitation the hand not cupping her ass grasped her wrist and pressed it firmly to his ribs. With permission she fully explored him with both hands; fingers trailing across silky skin that was untouched by the harshness of a warrior. She traced the shape of his stomach, the ribs that slightly stuck out. Then upwards to his chest, fingers caressing his curly chest hair before gliding around his back and trapping him in a partial hug.
As she brought them closer, her leg came between the two of his and she felt his erection against her thigh. Her stomach flip-flopped with thrill and heat bloomed between her thighs, quivering with anticipation.
When he retreated, he sought her eyes, and she was overcome with softness at the sight of vulnerability darkening their pools.
"We don't have to do this. You don't have to be ready." His voice was rough, elevated, and it turned her insides to molten heat.
No, she wanted this. Divines damn the anxiety in her stomach; between her legs was a craving that she needed to fulfill.
"I want to. The answer is yes."
It was all he needed to suddenly let go of her rear and back her up until the backs of her legs hit the edge of the cot. He bumped her chest with his and used his body to lie her down on her back, fingers expertly undoing her robe's belt. Undone, he let it fall to the floor and opened her robes up, baring her body for him.
Now the self-consciousness hit her like a hammer; she reddened from crown to tip-toes, fretting about her ugly undergarments. The bra for sure did her no justice; it didn't tease at cleavage, it wasn't sexy, and it almost entirely hid her breasts with more support and comfort than visual appeal. Her thong was a little more interesting, but it too was a plain cotton that sat at her hips and gave no depth to her minor curves.
And it wasn't just her undergarments—Lynette wasn't confident in her body either. She wasn't flat-chested, but she wished her breasts were larger and plusher. She was slim but she didn't think she was curvy in the attractive way. Her stretch marks and freckles and scars felt like they were anything but beauty.
It was a defensive mechanism, to dread a sudden turn-off; to fear that as he took in the sight of her body, he would no longer wish—
The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. "Oh you're a thong girl."
"Shut up!" she cried, turning as red as a snowberry.
He softened considerably. "You're beautiful," he murmured, taking hold of her waist and giving her hips a comforting squeeze, as if reading her apprehension.
In spite of her half-unclothed state, she was hot all over and practically squirmed beneath him. And yet she still had the gall to remark, "You're not so bad yourself."
He smiled, and with lightness his hands roamed up her abdomen, as if he meant to roll her over. When she stilled, bracing for the unfamiliarity of someone else undressing her, he hesitated.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked again, softly. "I don't want you to force yourself."
"Yes." Croaky, she cleared her throat and repeated, "Yes, I'm sure. This is all just…new for me."
"We'll take it one step at a time, okay? You tell me to stop, we stop."
She nodded, warm and gooey inside like the center of a freshly baked pie. "Okay…" But there was still that negging thought that wouldn't let her completely submerge in the ecstasy.
He, of course, saw right through her. "What's the matter?"
"Can…can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"The kiss, when you took your magic back—"
"It meant something. Of course it meant something." And then he smiled, and it crinkled the corner of his eyes in the most wonderful way.
He kissed her again, this time drawn out and sweet like nectar. He was so considerate of her, so gentle and respectful, not all what she was used to experiencing from men. A secret facet of him, the treasure locked within a steel chest, and he was showing her and her alone. The Lynette from months ago would have cackled if someone told her Farengar possessed this side!
He rolled her over and she bade herself to relax as he undid her bra, his fingers undoing the tiny straps with expertise of one who was several times familiar. And perhaps they had undone many a woman's bra, but that didn't bother her. She knew Farengar slept with others before her, but there was no point in being down about the past. This here and now and all that mattered was this moment.
The bra was tossed over the side of the bed and then she was rolled back over, face-to-face with him again, noses almost touching. Slyly he hooked a finger in the waistband of her thongs and yanked them down, causing her to squeak and blush anew.
"The things you do to me," he murmured, dissolving into what sounded like a quiet groan. He pressed his lips to her forehead and she was a mess.
"I love you, too, by the way," she blurted in a high-pitched voice, suddenly recalling that she hadn't responded and warming so badly she swore steam would come out of her ears.
This spurred him into a grin that seemed to say I know. As he moved off her he took her thong with him, sliding it down her legs and tugging it away from her ankles, then let it drop to the floor as he uprooted and started removing his robes.
Lying there, she was forced to be aware of her exposed body, insecurity creeping up her spine. But she tried to tune it out, admiring how the robes slipped off his upper body and revealed his fair skin beneath. He was slim for a Nord, but there was a natural broadness around his shoulders that begged her hands to map it.
Gone were the robes, his underpants only remaining, which were soon pulled down and kicked off as well, back facing her.
She bit her lip. He was caked. Who knew he hid such a fine ass behind that robe! And as he revolved to bare himself in all his glory for her, she couldn't help it, she squirmed. She did that. His erection did things to her and despite having never felt this way about anyone before, she craved him to be inside her.
He eliminated the gap between them slowly, purposefully, and upon reaching the edge of the bed, he pressed his penis to her leg, smirking as she shuddered.
"What would you like, my dear? Should I eat you out first?"
Part of her was tempted to pretend that she didn't know what he implied, to tease him back, but her expression gave herself away before she could commit to the charade. Her cheeks were fire and her eyes were liquid desire as she smiled at him.
She couldn't help it—the sight of him, like this for her, made her so happy. No matter what came of tomorrow, she would have the memory of them together like this.
"Fuck."
He growled under his breath and she felt his erection quiver against her leg before he backed off, lowered to his knees, and stuck his head between her legs. Lightning bolts went off where his lips kissed her thigh. He licked her all the way from where her knee began to her clit.
She anticipated him going to town immediately—fortifying herself for the raw newness she would experience and ignoring the anxiety churning beneath the surface—but he took his time loving on her body. He retreated some to delectably kiss both of her thighs again, giving them each a tentative nip that wreaked pleasure and goosebumps in their wake. It was as if he could read her insecurity like a basic spell tome; the stretch marks she loathed were caressed with his mouth, the blemishes stroked with his tongue, the freckles kissed.
He delicately and silently instructed her to bend her legs; she propped her feet on the bed, bent them, and opened herself to him, ignoring the mortification roaring in her ears.
"Relax. I've got you," he uttered against her thigh, teasing and seductive in the most innocent way. Though he'd said it before, in this moment the words took on a different meaning.
Her reservations elapsed into a subdued moan as he lapped at her entrance, coaxing more heat to descend where he was headed. Was she supposed to do something? He wasn't behaving like it.
His tongue edged past her folds, wetting every part of her in its wake and encouraging wetness of her body's own making. Slowly, intentionally, he took time to enjoy every inch of her.
Then suddenly and exquisitely, his tongue breached and went straight for her pleasure spot. With a moan she shuddered, clenching instinctively, but it didn't affect him. His tongue, the seducer it was, wrought its magic and made her soft in his mouth.
Her heat trickled for his lips, congregating where his tongue claimed her, and she began rocking her hips faintly, feeling it was right. It excited him; she sensed him rile. His gentle laps became intense suckles, tasting her and drawing her heat harder, faster, as if he meant to devour her and Divines she would let him. They were both breathing hard, but he didn't stop. Lynette's whole lower half trembled, her heat and bliss building behind a dam that he was rapidly breaking apart.
He perceived she was coming close, so he eased, dragging out her climax. Her fingers attached to his hair in search of an anchor, but she pressed him further into her instead.
"Don't stop," she hissed.
She felt him smile against her, but she wasn't sure he would listen, as he continued to only glance her sex with the tip of his tongue. But then he expanded, sliding it deeply into her and honing in on her pleasure spot once more. She gasped and her hips started moving on their own, rocking into him.
His motion was vigorous, his mouth invading her so cavernously she was aching for him to make her his. But then he would retreat, teasing her with an exit until she was trembling for him to come back for her.
All at once, with some tongue skill she could only describe as pure magic, he thrust her to her climax, breaking her dam. With a mighty shudder and a splintered moan, her back arched off the bed and she spilled everywhere.
She lay there, exhausted and panting, but with her whole body brimming with euphoria as he licked away the remnants of her release.
When he was satisfied with himself, he planted another kiss on her thigh.
His sultry murmur tickled her skin. "We're not done yet."
Abruptly he grabbed onto her hips, then in a single motion dragged her lower half to the edge of the bed. She squeaked, but it died on her lips in favor of a gasp as he climbed over her and straddled her. No matter her exhaustion, having him on top of her aroused her all over again.
More so as he latched onto the shaft of his erect penis, giving her another once-over as he brushed her hip with it.
"Do I have your permission?" It was drawn out, unhurried.
"Yes!" Heat clustered between her legs yet again, quivering to have him inside her.
He lifted himself just enough to bend her legs into her body once more, and this time she easily opened herself up to him, her sex pulsating for his arrival. He guided the tip of his penis to her folds, but stopped there to knowingly tease them until she groaned in impatience.
With a grin down at her, he parted her sex's lips and drove himself inside her so abruptly she gasped, but it dissolved into a moan as his swell crowded her. It hurt a little at first, but not enough for her to complain—if anything, it only added to her pleasure as he started thrusting inside her, hips bucking.
She followed his lead, rocking herself into him as he closed in on her, then backpedaling when he backed off. They became a symphony of pushing and pulling. Thoughts tried to form, but they were killed off in their infancy, Farengar demanding all of her focus.
He pulled himself all the way out once, but it was only so he could forcibly roll her over and haul her legs over the side of the bed. He entered her again from behind, cramming into her in a havoc of pleasure, with no complaint from her, only moans. There was something thrilling about not being able to see.
He slapped her ass once and she hissed, welcoming it, before another groan was hauled from her throat as he clasped both hands on her hips and plunged himself as far as he could go. His rhythm became erratic and needy, giving her no relief between his heaves as he carried them both to a climax.
As her heat mounted behind the dam again, his spine stiffened and his lunges slowed. Her dam burst into orgasm and her pleasure flowed outwards, moments before she felt him release.
He ended with a final thrust, emptying his delicious culmination inside of her, loading her to brim. His leftovers drizzled out of her entrance as he pulled out, and he seemed content to leave the mess behind as he rolled off of her and sprawled on his back, panting.
Delirious from bliss, she gave him a lopsided grin and flipped over next to him. The sensation of his spill all over her was so delightful it almost mortified her, but that was forgotten quickly with the distraction of the gooey pleasure.
His hand stretched for her, brushing the hair of her face and curling the strands around his fingers, smiling a crooked smile.
"You're beautiful, you know that?" he murmured.
She reddened, flabbergasted that these words embarrassed her more than what they'd just done. "I am?"
His eyes narrowed and he glared at her playfully. "Yes! Lynette, you're breathtaking. I fucking love you and I love fucking you."
She made a noise that sounded like a strangled gasp, unable to pull together an intelligible response. Except for, "I love you too."
She was further rendered speechless as he plucked her by the waist and drew her in for a kiss. This one wasn't as passionate as before, not at first, but their mouths molded together in sweetness that made her lips buzz regardless.
It deepened as he traced the shape of her mouth with his tongue tip, his arms coming around her snugly so he could press her further into his bare, solid chest. She felt safe in his arms, knowing no one—not even Namira—could touch her so long as she was trapped in his embrace. This memory was theirs; this love was theirs, and she would embed it in the cavern of her heart, thankful that no matter what came tomorrow, they would forever have this.
As his fervency heightened and he nipped her bottom lip, she tried to match him, kissing him faster until they could taste each other's breathlessness.
With a low moan, he disengaged to bury his face where her neck met her shoulders, muttering, "Fuck."
His erection hardened against her thigh again, and when he claimed her by the hips once more, she giggled, knowing they wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight.
