25. Honeymoon
Meanwhile, the two who had caused all the drama back in the city were still secluded in the forest not ten minutes away. Eragon and Arya's first passionate encounter was like the first course of a magnificent meal, only enough to whet their appetite and make them eager for more. Eragon didn't keep track of time, but by the movement of the sun, they must have spent hours in one another's arms, increasingly less hesitant as they became more familiar with one another's bodies and desires. At times they were playful and teasing, other times found them passionate and desperate, and during yet others, their expression was gentle and tender. Their hunger and thirst were only for each other, and as the sky darkened, their appetite seemed only slightly more satisfied than when they first began.
Finally, after a powerful release had simultaneously swallowed them, Eragon rolled to his back off of Arya, and they lay panting side by side on the ground. He grinned as he remembered his oft-replayed fantasy of something like this happening, reminiscent of their exhausting swordplay under the instruction of Glaedr's Eldunarí.
Eragon turned to his side, supporting himself on his elbow as he faced Arya and idly trailing one finger down her body. "I must drink," he insisted. "Or I shall perish."
Arya also twisted to face him, scooting over to slide her leg over his thigh and pressing her whole perfect body into his, without any concern that their bodies touched or that her nakedness would test his self-control. She grinned wickedly. "I'll never let you forget that you were the first to beg for rest," she threatened, nuzzling his neck with her lips.
"You seem intent on killing your new husband your first night with him," Eragon defended, closing his eyes in enjoyment at the tickling sensation. "You're insatiable!" But he was obviously pleased, for here was an area where his stamina seemed no match for hers. She demanded more again and again.
"What did you expect?" Arya quipped. "Over a hundred years of never allowing myself to love or be loved? Repressed passion like that is bound to be deadly."
"Please," Eragon groaned. "I surrender. Only let me get something to drink."
Arya reluctantly peeled herself away from him and lay on her back with her knees up and her arms under her head, gazing through the trees at the stars. Night had fallen hours before.
Eragon crawled toward where he had dropped the pack Murtagh had given them, opened it, and began searching for something to wet his parched mouth and quench his burning thirst. He found two large water skins and opened one, completely draining it and exhaling in relief before returning to offer Arya the other.
When she didn't immediately take it, he dryly asked, "Or are you not thirsty, then? Ready for more already?"
"Don't tempt me," Arya mischievously warned, sitting to accept the water skin and drinking deeply, though not as much as Eragon. "I'll save the rest for you," she teased. "For when next you break down with exhaustion."
Eragon tossed the water skin aside and playfully grabbed her, twisting her body around so she sat on his lap and tickling her sides. Arya squirmed as she attempted to escape his iron grip, but to no avail. She giggled as he relentlessly continued.
"It may serve you to remember that I am now stronger," Eragon said, laughing with her.
"Please, Eragon," Arya gasped, still struggling futilely to end the attack. "Have mercy!"
Eragon stopped then, and Arya sank into his embrace, attempting to recover. He pulled her hair around to drape across her front and began absently playing with it, unconcerned when his fingers accidentally—or intentionally—brushed elsewhere.
"You looked glorious today," Eragon stated as he removed some of the emerald-colored vines that hadn't fallen out. "But I was right. Your true perfection is apparent only without the cover of clothing."
"Mmmm," Arya murmured, "I could say the same of you, darling." After a moment of silence, she added, "And what do you think then, of being husband and wife, of our intimate union?"
Eragon shrugged. "What kind of a question is that, Arya? Words cannot adequately describe what I think. Have you not felt and ascertained with every one of your senses my complete and utter adoration of you, how I worship you with every fiber of my being? Being your husband, our intimate union, is the most incredible thing I have ever experienced. Nothing could have prepared me for how powerful it is, for how close it makes me feel to you."
"Those words seem adequate," Arya teased but said no more.
Eragon shifted at her silence. "And what do you think?" he asked with an attempt at nonchalance, unable to hide his worry.
-:-:-
Arya heard the concern in his voice and knew Eragon worried that she might not feel the same. She turned around, sitting provocatively astride him and placing her lips a hair's width from his. In a low voice she purred, "Do you even have to ask? How about I show you what I think?"
And without waiting for a reply, Arya did show him, in her most feverish advance yet, fully opening her mind to Eragon for the first time as his wife and holding nothing back so he would mentally feel what she felt, what it was like for her to be with him in this way. She effortlessly joined their bodies, drowning him in her physical and mental onslaught until he was gasping for breath, his fingers digging into the ground by his sides so he wouldn't hurt her.
Arya gave him no time to process what had just happened. Gazing down at him with fiery intensity, she emphatically said, "And in case that wasn't enough, being with you, being your wife, is amazing! I've never felt so alive or comfortable, so vulnerable and loved. Never so empowered, even as I surrender. The way you reverence me makes me feel like a goddess, and I don't think I'll ever be able to get enough of you. Ever. I love you, Eragon," her voice rose as tears sprang to her eyes, "so desperately, and I'm so grateful you didn't give up on me. That you waited for me to come around. That you're so tender and gentle, even while you are strong and unyielding. My blood burns with longing for your body and begs my limbs never to let you free. My lips ache to kiss you, to taste you. My yearning for you truly is insatiable, as you said."
-:-:-
Eragon regarded Arya with increasing levels of awe the longer she continued her impassioned tirade, still stunned by what she had shared with him in her mind.
"Shall I continue? For I could," Arya vehemently assured, the indignant tears spilling onto her cheeks. Eragon meekly shook his head.
"Do not ever doubt that I love being with you again, Eragon," she finished with quiet warning, her body trembling from her outburst. "I am yours completely, body and soul."
Eragon carefully sat up, giving Arya time to pull her legs under her and tenderly taking her face in his hands. He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs and pressed his forehead to hers. "Forgive me for doubting, Arya. I'll never do it again," he fervently promised.
Arya sagged against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably for a time as the powerful emotions of that very long day culminated in this last exhausted release. Eragon held her gingerly, not quite knowing how to calm her or if he should even try.
He decided it wasn't needful to try, sensing that she couldn't do much about the unexpected outburst but let it follow its course. So he simply stroked her hair and the skin of her back while she vented her feelings.
At length her crying ceased, and Arya sat up, glancing at Eragon apologetically as she wiped the tears from her face.
"I'm sorry, Eragon. I have no idea where that came from, but I promise I'm not unhappy. So many emotions, powerful emotions, have been building within me all day. That speech was more than I could bear. They needed to come out. I feel perfectly calm now."
Eragon believed her, so he felt safe to tease her. "I suppose it was only fair for you to cover me in warm liquid after all I've done to you today."
Arya smiled sheepishly, blushing slightly and looking down as she once again felt the evidence of their intimacy. Eragon couldn't help but add, "After all you have done today and all I've done, that was the first time you blushed. It was worth the wait."
Arya blushed even deeper, and Eragon grinned at her, gratified. "You have no idea how wonderful it feels to be myself with you, Arya, to be with you like this and not feel restriction or shame."
"Yes I do," Arya tenderly replied. "It seems so natural, so easy, as if this is how we were supposed to be with one another all along." He nodded. "I never want it to end," she admitted.
"Nor I," Eragon agreed. "Although I suppose at some point, when our passion cools . . ." He trailed off as Arya defiantly raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.
"In several years?" Eragon hopefully amended, but she shook her head.
"In several decades?" Eragon then tried, and Arya finally nodded assent, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"Very well, my love. When our passion cools several decades from now, I suppose we must then make our way back to the city and see what has become of the Riders in our absence."
A delighted laugh escaped Arya's mouth as Eragon joked with her, and she gave him a hug. Her laugh was so contagious that Eragon couldn't help but join her, and he was also amused by her insistent defiance.
He pulled her hair to the side while she had her arms around him so he could study her back. He slid one finger down her spine before spreading the fingers of both hands and trailing his fingertips back up to her shoulders, admiring how strong and feminine she was. He traced the symbol of the yawё tattooed on her left shoulder, and Arya shivered at his touch.
Recognizing that reaction and sensing where his innocent touch would lead them, Eragon quickly attempted to distract her. "That was, ah . . . unexpected . . . what you did with your mind a moment ago," he offhandedly commented, intentionally downplaying it.
"Yes, I suppose it was perhaps unfair of me not to first warn you," Arya agreed. "But I couldn't have you ever again wondering or doubting my sincerity. I've seen your skepticism that I truly do feel the attraction I profess and hoped that would be sufficient to put your mind at ease."
"Aye," Eragon laughed, finding the understatement humorous. "It was most assuredly sufficient. I thought your physical passion was strong. . . . I never would have guessed . . . was totally unprepared for the intensity . . ." He trailed off, unable to articulate his thoughts.
"I hope you didn't mind," Arya worried.
"No," Eragon reassured. "I don't think any man would ever mind an advance like that from his wife." He paused, adding in a whisper, "That was just the closest I've ever come to hurting you, Arya. I was so overcome, so entirely swallowed by your mind and body that I couldn't even think, could barely control myself. It's lucky I got my hands away when I did. I fear I might have crushed your ribs . . ." He once again trailed off, sickened by the thought and ashamed of his confession.
"But you didn't, darling," Arya soothed. "Even when your mind was so otherwise occupied, your desire to protect me was automatic and unconscious. I know you'll never hurt me, Eragon. Truly, after that—when you might have accidentally—I don't think you are capable."
"Thank you for your trust," Eragon murmured against her hair, comforted by her words. He ran his fingers along her ribcage as if grateful it was still intact after his confession. Arya shivered again and sought his lips with her own.
But Eragon kept them against her hair and wearily said, "We should rest, Arya. I'm not sure I can carry on without some repose. Was that not enough for now a moment ago?" His head was still swimming from the recollection of the overpowering experience.
"A noble attempt, my husband, but after a touch like that, I cannot help but want more." Then longingly, but with understanding if he truly couldn't, Arya asked, "Please, Eragon? Once more before we rest?"
How could he resist? The deep longing in her lovely emerald eyes ignited his own, and Eragon wasn't sure he would ever get used to seeing her want him so much. Nothing had ever made him feel more like a man than the way she looked at him like that, insisting he was the only one who could ever hope to satisfy her.
As Arya had done earlier, Eragon answered her with actions, softly kissing her while moving his hands along her back and shoulders. "Are you not sore?" he checked, thinking of how passionately he had explored and tasted her that day.
"Mm-mmm," Arya breathlessly denied as he began her favorite form of pleasuring.
Eragon had become familiar with the sounds of her passion that day, as many times as he had experienced them. And though Arya had confessed that she felt somewhat improper and self-conscious, he had assured her he didn't mind. Indeed, her evident satisfaction—made clear by her instinctive vocalization—was extremely arousing.
As he tenderly touched her with his hands and lips and tongue, Arya sighed blissfully, and Eragon welcomed the effect it had on his body. It helped him overcome the feeling of exhaustion that had threatened, for it sounded like humming to him and he was pleased he could please her.
Eragon opened his mind to Arya as he let himself be swept away, loving her so much it almost hurt and wanting her to understand what this was like for him. Her eyes widened in wonder at his mental perspective.
As she had before, once her breathing had slowed, Arya whispered, "Thank you, Eragon. That was incredible." She gazed into his eyes to communicate her pleasure and satisfaction, which she perceived as gifts from him.
And just as nearly every time before, speech failed him, and Eragon stared back at her, completely awestruck and incapable of finding words to express his feelings.