22 Maerryl #2
I grabbed the tray and began loading it up with a chaotic sort of charcuterie board—figs, a couple tangerines, a wedge of the crackly gouda we both loved, some honey-roasted nut and seed clusters, and the two pressed sandwiches that Choia had left for us wrapped in butcher paper.
“Ohh yes, found it,” Dove said gleefully.
She snagged the delicious leftover mint-and-caramel cake from last night, tucking it behind her back so Hanc wouldn’t see we were taking the whole thing. An unnecessary effort, as he seemed lost in his own thoughts as usual, absentmindedly humming and swirling his ladle through the air.
“And something to drink. I could use it after this morning,” I added.
Darting to one of the cellars, Dove pulled a bottle of elderflower wine out and held it up in silent question. I nodded approvingly. “Perfect choice.”
We carried our bounty out of the kitchens and down the low-lit hallway to the ballroom. But as I turned to head up to her rooms, Dove nudged me with her hip. “Let’s eat in the orchards. It’s not too far. The sun’s out. This might be one of the last warmish days we get before the weather turns.”
I looked dubiously outside, not exactly in the mood for a picnic, but followed her anyway through the echoing ballroom and out the tall glass double doors that led to the entertaining courtyard.
She grabbed a long cloth for us to use as a blanket from atop a credenza on the way, throwing it over her shoulder.
Locking the door behind us, Dove then swiped a finger up the caramel frosting of the cake she carried and licked it off thoroughly as she headed across the courtyard and down wide steps that led into the gardens.
Desire shot through me. I hurried after her, balancing the tray full of food as best I could while keeping Dove’s mouth in sight.
We walked through the gardens and then followed a cleared path through the cool wood.
After ten minutes or so of strolling along—both of us enjoying the peace and quiet after our morning with the children—the trees opened up, and we came upon an open area with neat rows of fruit trees.
“Here we are, Mae! The famous Wistrallo orchards!” Dove said, gesturing grandly toward them as if she’d planted and pruned each tree herself.
A not-unpleasant jolt shot through my chest. “Mae?” I asked quietly.
“Oh—did you—do you not like nicknames?” Uncertainty slowed her steps as Dove came closer to me. “That just came out. I can—”
“No, I like it,” I cut her off, taking a step nearer. “I just haven’t heard that in a while. A long while. It’s what most folk used to call me back home. My friends and family… everyone I was close to.”
Her mouth fell into a small o, eyes suddenly serious. But I smiled softly and nudged her.
“Say it again?”
Gaze locked on mine, Dove murmured, “Mae. Grumpy, stubborn, secretly sweet Mae.”
Warmth coursed through me at her words, and a grief-tinged joy squeezed at my heart. Impulsively, I leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
A pleased blush on her cheeks, she led us on to one edge of the orchard, walking past the row ends as she continued talking.
“We grow two varieties of apples—one that’s quite tart for baking and the other semi-sweet for snacking.
But our real specialty is pears. Guess how many kinds we have.
” She turned eagerly to me, and my chest ached a little at how cute she looked when she got excited about something.
“Hmm… four?” I said.
“Five!” she exclaimed, bouncing away to one of the rows in the middle. Branches heavy with fruit, these light green pears had a rosy hint as if they flushed in the sunlight. “These are my favorite. They’re called Blushing Ogre. Isn’t that sweet?”
She plucked one from a nearby branch and held it to my lips. I took a tentative bite, and buttery sweetness swept over my taste buds. She bit down on the pear too, making a little happy noise as she chewed.
“It’s delicious,” I said, eyes tracking her lips, down to her bare throat as she swallowed. She caught my gaze and blushed as prettily as the pear she held at her lips.
“Come on,” Dove said, turning and moving farther down between the rows of trees.
She placed her cake plate down carefully and threw the midnight-blue cloth out across the grass.
Tugging the tray from my hands, she arranged it just so over our makeshift blanket and plopped down, patting the spot next to her.
I sprawled at her side and grabbed the wine bottle.
As Dove took off her riding boots with a satisfied moan, I twisted the cork out with no small effort and poured us each a glass.
“What a day. And it can’t be later than one o’clock yet,” she said, accepting her glass and taking a quick sip.
We tapped our wooden cups together, and I followed her lead.
The floral, slightly herbal elderflower flavor burst on my tongue, perfectly complemented by the lingering pear.
I took another, larger taste, savoring it.
Despite the stresses of this job, I’d certainly eaten and drunk better in the past week here than in the past several years.
I poured myself another small glass and downed that too. I could feel Dove watching me, and finally turned to her with a sigh.
“Can we talk about everything later? I know there’s a lot to discuss, and I promise we will. I just—I want to just enjoy this moment. Be here with you, instead of in the past or planning for the future. For a little while. Do you know what I mean?”
Dove nodded slowly, head tilting as she studied me. She reached out, gently tucking hair behind my ear before cupping my neck, stroking me with her thumb. I leaned into the touch, wanting her comfort. Needing it.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, we can do that.”
I opened my mouth to thank her, and she surprised me, closing the space between us and pressing her lips to mine without hesitation.
Groaning into her, I moved to my knees to get better leverage.
My cup fell on the grass, and I plunged both hands around her face, under her hair, wanting nothing more than to be closer.
Dove tasted of sweetness and heat, and I nibbled softly at her full lower lip until she gasped.
I moved my kisses to under her chin, to the velvety skin of her neck, down to her collarbone.
Pulling back for a moment, she fumbled with my belt, letting out an adorably frustrated huff as her busy fingers worked to pull the buckle free.
I didn’t help, enjoying the feel of her trying so desperately to get into my pants.
But I did place gentle bites along her neck, pushing her riding jacket back to bare her round shoulders Finally, she succeeded with my belt.
With a triumphant cry, Dove loosened the laces of my leather breeches and slipped one hand in, past my underwear.
Her lips found mine again as I felt the first touch of her soft fingers against my cunt.
I let out a long sigh, rolling my forehead against hers.
My stomach, already clenched in anticipation since that first swipe of frosting I saw her lick, tightened deliciously.
Dove pulled back a little to see my face, checking.
She stroked a finger into me, feeling how wet I already was, and her eyes gleamed.
“That feels—feels so good, Dove,” I whispered.
“I’ve wanted to do this for days,” she said, slowly pushing her fingers deeper into me, just a bit. “Wanted to feel you, hear what kind of sounds you’d make for me.”
She rubbed my clit lightly, and I groaned, spreading my legs wider on the blanket.
Cupping the back of my neck with her other hand again, she tapped it once.
Twice. I gasped low and pulled her closer, undoing the simple buttons at her waist. Dove’s looser pants opened easily for me, sliding down her hips to rest on her ass.
I reached in greedily, suddenly needing to feel her too.
When I touched her hot core, she shuddered.
“Maerryl… Mae…” Dove moaned, and my name on her tongue sent lightning straight down my body.
Her fingers worked against me faster, harder, and I matched her pace, spreading her wetness over her own clit.
I felt her tighten, her breath coming in shorter and shorter huffs.
Fingers clutched the back of my neck, the firm grip comforting and somehow exhilarating all at once, and I heard myself groaning low into the pear-scented orchard air.
“My Mae,” Dove said again, and the lightning struck again as I felt myself hurtling over the edge, burning sharp and sparking.
Dove stilled against me too for a moment before jerking, crying out fiercely.
I held her to me as she came, lingering in the bliss of my own orgasm and gently—so, so gently—brushing my fingers over her clit to draw her tremors out.
With a whooshing sigh, she pulled back, wonder and heat in her eyes, before kissing me tenderly.
Standing on shaky legs, she stepped out of her flowing pants, leaving just her underwear on—petal-pink silk with a dark splotch of wetness that I suddenly, desperately needed to nuzzle—and picked them up, tugging me to my feet.
I stumbled but let her pull me over to one of the pear trees, let her push me back against its low curved branches.
I’d let her do anything she wanted to me, at this point.