Five Avirin
FIVE
Avirin
“Will I not be touching you?” It’s pitiful how needy Avirin sounds, unable to hide her craving for the carnal knowledge Lord Riften holds.
Since he accepted her request, she has fantasized about the moment he finally puts his body to hers.
When she gets a glimpse of what Lord Riften does in the brothels.
When she receives an up-close demonstration of how their body moves, how she should use her hands, how his face will change when she —
“Apologies,” Lord Riften smiles, “I must have misunderstood.” He lifts Avirin’s chin on a slender finger, tone dark with amusement. “Are you the teacher?”
The undercurrent of their words makes Avirin want to whimper. “No…but I need to feed from you. Your energy. You have to be…” She wets her lips. “Stimulated.”
His gaze follows her tongue. “I assure you, you will be fully sated when you leave here.”
She can’t begin to wonder what that means, but something inside her can’t leave well enough alone. She has that scrabbling need to understand, to push back against Lord Riften’s certainty, to slip her fingers around the reins he holds. “If this lesson is focused on my pleasure, that won’t —”
His eyes flash. “If your suitors experience no pleasure watching you, then they have no taste, and even less right to become your husband.”
The two of them are only inches apart now. Her eyes fall to his mouth, leaving her feeling warm and half-sprung. Lord Riften remembers themself, dropping their hand from her chin and putting space between the two of them once more.
“The men you are after love nothing more than having their ego stroked.” Lord Riften adjusts their cuffs. “How better to convince them than to make them believe they are the best amoureux you’ve ever had?”
Avirin blows out a puff of air. “It would be difficult not to place first when they’re the only one who’s entered the race.”
“All the more reason for this lesson. You will learn how you look when you’re enjoying yourself, so that you might perform for your husband.
” Lord Riften waves that thought away with a roll of their eyes.
“More importantly, you will come to know what you like, so you can direct him in how to please you.”
A laugh startles out of her. She’s certain her pleasure will be the least of her husband’s priorities, but Lord Riften doesn’t join in, so she douses her humor and busies herself setting aside her reticule.
Lord Riften’s focus follows her. “Have you touched yourself, Lady Avirin?”
There goes that ache between her legs again. When Avirin nods stiltedly, Lord Riften wanders closer.
“And what do you like?” Their voice curls with curiosity, winding the spring inside Avirin tighter. “What do you imagine?”
She can’t say it. It’s hard enough to admit to herself that she’s staring at the burning star of all her fantasies.
Since she became acquainted with Lord Riften, her debaucherous thoughts have taken new shape.
Now, Lord Riften’s face hovers over all of them, a thunder cloud threatening to burst into a summer downpour that drenches everything.
She pictures them throwing rocks at her window and fluttering up to her sill, slipping inside with that smirk in the dark.
Her mouth waters when his wings spread behind him, casting both of them in shadow as he makes space for himself between her legs, and says —
“Look at you,” Lord Riften breathes.
Avirin’s thoughts jerk back to the study. It’s just like her dreams, the lord watching her with awe she’s never seen before. Their hand returns to her jaw, raising gooseflesh onto her skin — from their touch, or just the way they look at her?
“Even when they’re all black,” he whispers, “I can still see…”
Oh no, her eyes. She’s forgotten to contain them. She shrinks from his touch, trying to force her eyes back into a human shape, but Lord Riften shakes their head.
“Please don’t hide them.” They keep her face tilted up toward them. “Not from me.”
Her lip quivers. She isn’t sure how to give up the struggle for control. She isn’t sure she wants to. But when Lord Riften’s warm fingers brush the column of her neck, she shudders and feels the black seep across her eyes again.
“Beautiful. You’ve got so much going on inside your head, don’t you?
” His thumb brushes the hollow under one eye.
“I can see it better when your eyes are like this. Bare. Uncovered.” Lord Riften turns her toward the mirror hanging on the opposite wall.
“You need to see that. You need to watch yourself. You need to learn exactly how captivating you are.”
With only candlelight, it takes a moment to make out her reflection.
At first, Avirin looks nearly the same as she always does — round face too puffy, lilac dress pulled tight across her hips and arms. Yet with Lord Riften hovering over her shoulder, she sees something different.
Her skin glows in the warm light, sensual shadows lounging in the valleys of her body.
When she meets her own black gaze, it’s so intense that her breath catches.
“Do you see it?” Lord Riften asks. With a hand on her waist, they guide her back against their chest, leaning into the shelf behind them.
“Now, I’m going to direct you. You’re going to touch yourself exactly the way I tell you to.
” Their breath teases the tendrils of hair against her ear. “Do you understand?”
A keening sound builds in her throat.
Lord Riften tugs on the fingertips of one of her gloves before he drapes the limp fabric over his shoulder. “Lift your skirt.”
She does as she’s told. Every inch exposes her, her calves to her knees to her thighs until her modesty is barely preserved by the hem of the dress.
She should feel ashamed for showing herself to someone who has no intention of marrying her, for wearing her sin right on her face, yet her eyes lock on Lord Riften’s in the mirror.
She lifts her skirt over her hips.
He curses into her neck, his own gaze dipping between the thick swell of her thighs.
His fingers trail the marks stretching down them, and her hunger flares, burning away the good sense she should cling to.
She wants to show them more of her. She wants to watch them take her in.
She wants them to drink in every part of her.
Lord Riften gathers her skirt in one of his hands. “Trail your fingers down your body.”
Her hand jumps to her clavicle.
“Slowly,” Lord Riften breathes.
Carefully, she brings her fingers down her bodice. It’s strange and clumsy at first, but her hands are drawn to every pleat and bauble, toying with the textures as she makes her descent.
“Trace the curves of your breasts,” he instructs.
When she does, they hiss a breath, and that is far more arousing than anything she could do to herself. Looking at them in the mirror makes her heart quicken. Everything about them is honed on her. She wants to stare, to look at nothing but them, but when they catch her, they click their tongue.
“Eyes on you, Lady Avirin. Bring your fingers where you want them.”
The demand is overpowering, burning hotter than anything she has imagined on her own. Her fingers find the soft skin of her belly, then the curve of her mound, then —
The slick sound makes both of them gasp.
“There you go,” he murmurs. He watches her face more than her fingers, as if he can tell exactly where she touches just from her expression.
Does he know every body so well, or only hers?
His earring brushes the delicate skin of her shoulder. “Show me what you do in the dark of your room. Show me how you touch yourself when no one else is watching.”
Her toes curl in her shoes. This is a performance she never expected to give, and she feels suddenly foolish. What if she does something wrong? Her teeth scrape her lip, and she circles the sensitive nub between her legs, ears growing pink at the slick sounds of her desire.
It’s nearly loud enough to embarrass her, but before she can pull away, something grows hard against her back. She touches herself again, and when the sounds of her wetness grow louder, Lord Riften’s length twitches against her once more.
She isn’t sure why she does it. She shouldn’t, but she can’t stop herself from tentatively swirling her backside into him.
His grip tightens on her hips. That’s almost enough to make her moan, so she grinds and arches into him again, chasing that delicious friction until he holds her in place.
“Do not focus on me,” he grits. Then, as if he knows she won’t listen, he reaches between her legs.
She makes a hopeful sound, but Lord Riften does not touch her sex.
He holds her wrist instead, moving her fingers into a new configuration before he presses against her knuckles to amplify the pressure.
The new sensation makes her mouth fall open. Somehow, the arousal has spread wider, reaching further, a slow build that seeps intently through her.
“Do you feel your pleasure deeper?” he asks.
“F — uck.” Her hips buck. Never has she said such a thing, never in the company of anyone else.
Lord Riften’s smile spreads against her ear. “What a mouth you have on you, my lady!”
They keep guiding her fingers, never touching where she wants them, but never releasing her.
She melts back against them as if they are one.
Her hand takes on a life of its own, no longer the shy touches of a girl.
Under Lord Riften’s guidance, her movements are sensual and certain, seducing her to a peak so much higher than the ones she’s used to.
“Look at you,” Lord Riften breathes, bringing her eyes back to the mirror.
“Look at the way your lips part. How your eyes roll back. How your neck arches.” With his other hand, he trails his fingers down her throat.
The touch makes her spasm, and he moves her fingers faster, his mouth pressed to the back of her hair when he snarls, “You’re fucking exquisite. ”
She whines.
Lord Riften forces her to find words. “What does it feel like?”
She clenches her eyes shut, trying to temper her sob into a pleading whisper. “It feels like I’ll die if you don’t — touch me!”
He chuckles darkly against her ear, never slowing his pace. “Oh, you don’t need me. But I’ll count you down, and you’re going to find your release. Can you keep your mouth closed, or do you need me to cover it?”
She fumbles for words. “I’ll keep it closed. I can keep it closed, I prom-”
When her sentence cuts off in a groan, he hums. “Mm, I doubt that.” Then he focuses the motions on the tips of their fingers. “Three…”
Their movements are tighter, drawing everything inside her to the surface. She reaches overhead with her other hand to find the back of their neck, grabbing hold of them as if that might keep her in one piece.
“Two…”
Quicksilver heat builds low in her gut. She tries to keep the rhythm, but her legs begin to shake.
“One and a half…”
She cries out, tangling her fingers in their hair. Lord Riften laughs, lips brushing the curve of her jaw before the command returns to their voice.
“Look at me when it happens.”
Her eyes find theirs in the mirror, release building too quickly for her to stop. She can’t hold out any longer. They will destroy her if they don’t give it to her now, if they don’t —
“One.”
Pleasure screams through her, prying her lips apart, but his hand covers her mouth as she writhes in ecstasy.
“There you go.” They capture all her noises in their palm, holding her about the waist. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
There’s a crackling sound behind them, like something’s trying to break free.
Lord Riften curses and guides their hand to the back of her neck to pull her toward him.
Blue smoke floods between his lips like a stream of water, spilling over her jaw and down her chin.
It’s more than she can swallow. It’s more than she’s ever seen, but she takes it wholly on her tongue.
It’s even better than she remembered, better than anything she’s gotten on her own, and she gulps it down as the waves of orgasm crash against her.
His energy fills her, invigorates her, curls her fingers into his shirt when she turns to face him. She presses him back against the shelf, and he moans into her mouth, spilling his essence over her breasts.
She could bathe in it, drown in it, and it still wouldn’t be enough. She keeps drinking until the smoke dwindles to wisps. Only then does Lord Riften ease her away from his panting mouth. “Does that…satisfy you?”
No. She wants their lips, their tongue, their sounds. She wants a proper kiss. She wants to explore Lord Riften’s mouth, but they’re not here to satisfy her urges. They’re here to teach her. To feed her needs, not her desires.
She wipes at her jaw, but no smoke clings to it. It courses through her instead, leaving her body buzzing. “I’ve never seen that much.” Her fingers are still curled in his shirt, but she forces herself to release. “I didn’t know people could create that much.”
“Doing something this intimate produces more — or so I’ve heard.”
Lord Riften’s grin is lazy, but their skin is losing color. Carefully, Avirin guides them to the desk chair and hands them an apricot. They take it gratefully, eyelids heavy, as if they were the one who’d just come apart spectacularly.
Avirin tries to ignore the question fluttering in the back of her mind.
All of that just from watching me?