18. Lose our heads
Lose our heads
Torren spent the remaining portion of the evening entertaining his guests, as was customary. He dutifully danced the evening away, toasted to the health of Faerie, and conferred with those in his council.
And still, he could not tear his mind from the way Cypress had felt under his hands, how her breath had caught when he inched closer, pressing her back against the wall.
Perhaps he should not have indulged in the Pixie wine either, as he was struggling to control himself as well.
He’d already turned down several offers from those within his court, though usually he would have done otherwise.
It was much, much later when Torren left the celebrations in search of Cypress.
She hadn’t reappeared within the throne room all evening, as he had hoped.
Hopefully, the Lass had found some companionship that suited her for the evening. It felt rude to ask such a thing, but still, Torren owed it to Cypress to check on her before retiring.
Moonlight filtered through the open windows, casting the white bark of A’aravos Paravale with a barest of blue tints. Torren tucked his hands in his pockets as he walked the halls, nodding respectfully to those whom he passed.
When he rounded the final corner, which led to the hall where her room was located, Torren heard the slightest of sounds. He kept walking, undeterred.
When the Prince of Faerie raised his fist to knock on her plum-colored door, the noise came again. Torren was intimately familiar with the sounds that women would make in the throes of pleasure–this was not it.
A pained, breathy sob echoed through the door. Torren pressed his face against the wood, ears straining to catch the sound.
As soon as the sound came again, Torren immediately knew Cypress was within the chambers and was not having a good time. Without thinking, he burst through the door, expecting the worst.
There was a shout– a squeak of surprise, and then Torren locked eyes with Cypress, her fingers desperately moving in and out of her center.
Her cheeks were flushed, mahogany hair splayed on the pillows behind her.
Cypress's chest heaved great breaths, sweat danced over the mound of her breasts and over her brow.
The door shut with a distinct click behind him.
Green and brown mismatched eyes rolled back in her head, and a breathy moan sounded in her throat, but Cypress’s fingers did not stop moving when she growled a pathetic “Go away.”
Torren’s pants tightened, his cock growing uncomfortably hard. He cleared his throat, unable to tear his gaze from her body, still wearing the pretty green dress that complemented her skin.
“What are ye doing, Lass?” He asked, voice thick with need.
She licked her lips, a motion Torren felt in his groin. “You said,” Cypress panted, “I had to cum to stop feeling-” she didn’t finish her sentence, eyes rolling back in her head.
Understanding spread over Torren in a wave. “You've been in here this whole time?”
His eyes greedily danced up and down her form, spread out on the bed sheets. She’d made quite the mess already.
“Yes,” Cypress gasped, those little fingers never pausing.
Torren took a step closer, kneeling at the end of the bed. “Oh, Lass,” he crooned. “This is not the time to handle things yourself.” He couldn’t help it. His mouth watered, hands trembling with restraint.
Torren could watch her fingers plunging deftly in and out of herself all evening–Pixie wine or no.
Cypress didn’t respond with anything other than another long moan, two fingers disappearing up to the knuckle.
“It’s not enough, is it, Lass?” Torren rasped.
She let out a sob, throwing her head back on the pillows. With a growl, Cypress said, “No, why isn’t it enough?”
“It’s the wine, Lass. I thought you’d find someone to occupy yourself with.”
With another growl, Cypress sat up, all of her skin flush and slick with sweat. “Would you get to the point, Torren!”
“The wine will make you go crazy until you… Well, for a lack of a better explanation, until you satiate the urge.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing in here, Torren?” Cypress shrieked, moving off the bed with ferocity.
“That’s not,” Torren stumbled, backing away from the bed in a rush.
“You have three seconds to explain before I gouge your eyes out for what you just witnessed.”
“Easy, Lass. I just meant that you have to find pleasure at another’s hand to satisfy the madness of the Pixie wine,” Torren said in a rush.
Cypress narrowed her mismatched eyes, chest heaving. Then, she said, “I’m going to kill you,” and moved toward him.
“I thought you were going to find someone to spend the evening with, Lass! I tried to tell you, I swear!” Torren said, dancing away from her reach.
“This is all your fault,” Cypress said and grabbed a hair comb from the nearby dresser and hurled it at him.
He ducked, barely avoiding the comb. “I didn’t do anything!” Torren said, watching her warily. If she went for her sword, he likely wouldn’t leave the room as anything more than a pile of ribbon, as he was currently unarmed.
“You could have told me not to drink it! You could have informed me that I needed a partner to slake this hunger,” Cypress countered, then threw a shoe at him.
She stood there staring at him, her skin flush and already glistening, and it was all Torren could do to stay on this side of the room. Her mismatched green and brown eyes were lit with passion.
“It’s not like I didn’t say anything,” Torren started, but quickly became distracted when she reached up to the thick ribbon on her shoulder.
“Your fault,” Cypress pressed, and pulled one of the ribbons for the bows at her shoulder. “And so you’re going to fix it.”
Heat rushed to his groin, his pulse jumping.
“I’m going to fix it,” Torren agreed with a nod, trying to think of any of his friends who would be a suitable match for the Lass. Or rather, someone that Cypress wouldn’t destroy within the evening.
Intimately, he knew Cypress would be too much for many of his friends. She’d been up here for countless hours attempting to pleasure herself, to bring relief to the burning in her veins.
In his experience, that meant it would take quite a while for the effects of the Pixie Wine to be satisfied, even with a competent lover.
Torren himself felt that thrum, that heady scent of arousal thick in his nose. He, too, would need to find a partner for the evening once he solved this for Cypress. But which of his friends would be best suited for the Lass?
Rhene was far too devoted a man for a job like this. Ellisar was still at the camp at the edge of the Wylds. Who else could he ask such a thing from?
“Good boy,” Cypress crooned, then crossed the distance between them and pressed her body flush against his. The contact sent his pulse skyrocketing, his cock tenting his pants.
Her distinct eyes gazed up at him through thick lashes. The small crown of vines still adorned her now unruly hair, her body warm against his.
And then, Torren’s brain caught up with the look in her eye, and reality came crashing toward him.
“Me?” he asked, arms coming to band around her waist despite himself, keeping her body flush against his.
“Yes, you. Everything that’s happening right now is by your hand,” She countered, a small smile on the corner of her lips in complete contrast with the furrowed brow and glare she was sending him.
“I highly doubt I can take credit for all of this,” Torren countered, trying to control himself, but their hips pressed flushed together was a special kind of madness he was having a hard time resisting.
“If you didn’t try to steal the scepter from Cade’s tent, we never would have met.
I would never have come to the Wylds, never would have tried Pixie Wine,” She said, fingertips dancing across his bare chest. “If you had warned me properly, I never would have drunk so much of it, or retreated into my rooms and fucked myself mercilessly in an attempt to fix it.”
Cypress’s voice was like silk against his skin, arousal flooding his body. Torren couldn’t hear anything other than her breath in his ear, couldn’t focus on anything other than the shape of her lips.
“I could apologize again, if you’d like,” Torren said with a smirk, fingers tightening on her dress as he struggled to keep his thoughts in order.
“I’d rather you just make it feel better,” Cypress replied in a breathy voice, shifting in place within his embrace.
“I’m afraid I am not, uh,” Torren began, eyes rolling back in his head at the press of her lips against his chest. He took a breath, then another to master himself.
“I also drank the wine, Lass. I’m not sure either of us can really make this choice in our current states,” he tried, though his grip on Cypress’s waist revealed the torment he was in.
“Don’t patronize me, Thief. I know what I’m asking of you.”
Torren attempted once more to sway her. “What if I don’t like the idea of compromising you like this?”
“I am not a commodity or a good for you to trade and assess value upon, Torren.”
“One of us needs to keep a level head here, Lass,” he said, groaning with torment as she slid her hands beneath his jacket, caressing his skin.
“Torren, if you don’t fix this, I will not be held liable for what I do to you instead,” Cypress warned, her nails rasping over his back.
“Let me think for a moment, Lass, will you?” Torren said, breathing deeply, even if his hands were still clutched around her waist.
Cypress took a step back, and Torren couldn’t help it; his fingers reached toward her receding form. “Don’t think too long, Thief,” She said in a low, husky voice.
Torren couldn’t tear his gaze away from Cypress, her hair tousled, skin flushed in a beautiful gown he couldn’t wait to remove the rest of the way.
But could he? If it were any other woman in this position, he would of course do what needed to be done.
Madness from Pixie wine was a horrendous ordeal to go through alone.
Torren gripped the footpost of the bed with a shaking hand, trying to master his arousal and think.
Cypress was Captain of the Prince Guard, and Torren knew she was loyal to Caelith and Cade, likely to a fault. It was foolish– beyond it – to even be considering this, rather than finding someone he trusted to help the girl.
And yet, Torren found himself saying something else entirely.
“Fine. I’ll help, ye Lass,” He started, voice thick. “But only that. I’ll help ye get rid of the heat, the madness. Nothing more,” Torren warned, unable to look away from her lips.
“And you? How will you get rid of the heat, the madness?” Cypress asked, firing his words back at him.
“Anything I do will be for your enjoyment, Lass. Nothing for myself,” Torren repeated instead of admitting that in their current state, there was a high chance of him finding pleasure– release, even if she never touched him.