Chapter Six The Group Date of Doom #3
She patted her dark lips with a napkin. “Tell us more of the witch you serve, Lady Dottie. Is she a great strategist?”
“Oh yes. She’s already seen the ending of this war.”
“Does it not end well?”
“In every possibility, the Dark Mage is defeated. That is how strong our queen’s cause is.”
There was clinking of cups, but Ariana’s eyes were on me, and the queen’s on her.
“Why send you, then, Lady Dottie?”
I didn’t like this line of questioning.
“To help. Make sure we don’t pay too much for the victory. What the Witch of Mayfair meant though, is that, erm, romantic harmony will only strengthen the cause. After all, Your Grace, you are the champion of all things good. The Dark Mage is not.”
The queen seemed to like that. She patted absent-mindedly at Ironclaw who was now scraping the second course of soup into his mouth.
“I see,” the queen said. “It’s no wonder, with my own engagement setting an example for the court.”
Queen Elthra wasn’t looking at any of us, just Ironclaw, waiting for him to give an affirmative.
I’m not sure I’d ever seen Ironclaw smile, but he looked at the queen with a level of affection unique to her. Or at least his brow wasn’t creased by military strain. “There are none like you, my queen.”
Ariana had taken her eyes off me (finally!) and looked covertly at Ironclaw. Her gaze narrowed and I saw for the first time that she didn’t like him. She was completely loyal to the queen, but there was something in her expression that told me that it didn’t extend to the queen’s consort.
I was coming to know more about him than I wished to, but I needed him and the queen to be collegial. I lifted my cup. “With the two of you as our shining stars, it’s only right that members of the court act upon any hidden feelings before it’s too late.”
There, let Ariana chew on that. I settled back into my seat and let those words take effect on each member of the table.
The queen’s attention was on Ironclaw. Sir Aaron Key straightened his spine.
I watched to see where Ariana’s gaze would go—the handsome Master of Horse perhaps? —but she only spooned her soup.
––––––––
OUTSIDE THE QUEEN’S tent, Draw pulled his arm out from mine and wound it around my middle. I was surprised. It was dark, yes, but I noticed he’d been very careful of how he touched me in front of others. When he touched my waist at dinner, it was almost a ghost.
“Dottie dear, I would hate to not follow through on your magical commandments—would you like to come to my tent tonight?”
His fingers on my hips now buzzed with electricity. It never got old, being wanted.
“For the whole night?” I whispered. Yeah, I knew what that was code for.
“For as long as you want.”
I turned into him and brought my hands to his chest. After our afternoon in the ruins, exploring each other, he felt slightly more familiar yet still surreal. Surreal that I could turn to a man and touch him so easily.
I felt the tension between both of us as we held back from pressing our hips together, from snaking a hand under the other’s clothes.
I didn’t know how I could stand it. I’d felt uncontrollably eager before, but usually alone after reading something marked online as “spicy.” The feeling of someone equally enthralled by my body was making me drunk.
We stumbled back and into his shelter, keeping our squeaks to ourselves. His tent felt different compared to earlier. It was dark, I was aglow with the glass of wine I had at dinner, yet the smell was all him. Books and a hint of whisky.
The moment Draw had me inside, his mouth was on me, his hands on my bottom, pulling me toward him. I felt my heart racing, my chest warming. We stood there, him stooped over me, me on my tiptoes to maintain our kiss.
He broke it and held my face in both hands for a moment.
Then he left me to twist the lantern’s knob.
A servant had lit it low in advance of his return and the walls flickered with amber waves as he widened the valve.
With the light, I became shyer. I think he sensed that.
He kissed me again, softer this time, his hands on either side of my ribs.
Draw was still moving slowly, taking time to stroke my hair and nuzzle my neck, but I was determined to forge ahead. For once I was glad for the low cut of the maroon dress. I wished I could spill out of it. I longed for his mouth along my collarbone.
I pulled at his robes, my hands shaking as I unpinned his sash.
“Have we moved on to undressing already?” He was joking, but his voice was tight.
“Well,” I tried to match his tone, his confidence, “if you want me to slow down...”
He gave a strangled chuckle. “I had planned to pin you to the bedroll and peel your dress up slowly, but I can’t wait. Is that okay?”
That was it for my arsenal of foreplay talk so I showed him what I wanted by spinning and pulling my hair over my shoulder.
He ran his tongue up the crest of my spine while unbuttoning my dress.
I let it fall to the rug, the weight of the fabric gusting down my hips and legs as I heard him sweep off his robes.
Then, the tent was silent.
It felt momentous to be nearly naked in front of each other, and I was dismayed to feel embarrassed despite my yearning for these very events.
I’d only ever been seen in part, and that in the dark.
I worried it said something about me, us, the fact I felt unsure.
I swept my hair over, letting it cover my upper back.
“Dottie?” Draw asked tentatively.
I couldn’t not look at him, couldn’t let him feel as uncertain as I was. That wasn’t what I wanted—I wanted this to be different. Be everything I’d imagined all those nights when I fantasized that I was the type of person to take exactly what I wanted.
I turned and met Draw’s eyes. His face went from concern to drowsy lust. His lips parted and he took my hand in his and wound our fingers together.
I snorted. “What are these?” Draw was standing in a pair of long, off-white linen shorts.
“What are these? What are those?” He ran a finger along the spandex waistline of my simple blue cotton underwear.
If he liked this, maybe I would enjoy showing him the fancier varieties my satchel held.
“I’ve never seen anything so fabulous. Look at the way it cups your curves. ” He spoke as if in pain.
Then we were on each other again. We stood, running our hands across each other’s bodies.
He arched my back in his efforts to pull me against him.
His chest was warm against my camisole, his hips heavy against mine.
Soon I pulled my thin tank top off and Draw took my breasts in his hands with a groan.
My own went to his waist. I was eager to touch him again, this time with less fabric between us.
With another ounce of bravery, I cupped him with my hands.
His palms stilled against my breasts, my nipples topped by his thumbs.
I took my time playing with him again, rolling him beneath my hands, squeezing where I liked, then moving more rhythmically. His body was tense, and the tent soon smelled of clean sweat.
It seemed like he could not bear my direct touch any longer for he wrenched me in front of him, my backside now against his linen shorts. He strained into me as I ground against him. One hand caressed my breasts, the other dipped low to knead the front of my underwear.
I was warm and nearly panting. I needed more so I turned to him. He bent, then knelt, rubbing his mouth over my chest and stomach, then before I knew it, he dipped down to my crotch and—
My voice wavered, unable to get a sentence out.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“I just...I just haven’t.”
“And I’ve only done this once, so—” The rest of his words were lost between my legs as he pulled my underwear down and pressed his face into me.
I could hardly stand I was so overcome. My knees buckled in my bid to stay upright.
I moaned, the sound of it shocking me. He worked his mouth on me until I had to collapse onto his bedroll.
He bent me over, as if he was going to lick me from behind, between my legs.
I was so embarrassed, I flipped over quickly onto my back, my heart pounding.
Base instinct won out over decorum though, and I parted my legs invitingly.
It took time, but I came hard, then again.
The second time, I lay spent. I pressed my thighs together as the waves washed over me. I was fully damp and getting ready to return the favor when I heard Draw grip himself roughly. I opened my eyes, curiously turned on as he managed himself, which ended with a soft exhale.
Within a moment he was business again and handed me a cloth and cleaned himself up as well.
I felt awkward. “I was going to—”
Draw lay down next to me. “I’m not going to ask a lady to work past her own occupation.”
A giggle burst from me. I’d read the term occupation in the books before—another one of Sherry Whitehorse’s too-cute monikers—but it was different hearing it aloud. “I was at my occupation twice.” There was glee in my voice.
Draw nuzzled me. “I take it Earth has a different vernacular for orgasm?”
“We call it coming.”
It was his turn to snort, but I was serious again.
“Was it—”
“My dear Dottie, at some point we’ll stop asking if everything is okay, and simply know that we are.”