20. Rothgar
ROTHGAR
Her hand remains on my forearm.
The heat of her palm steadies me more completely than the maps spread across my desk. Moments ago, Galmoleth held all of my attention. It takes only the weight of her hand to draw them elsewhere.
She returned carrying proof I should have uncovered myself, trusting me to see what she had seen. She could have walked away after our first conversation.
But she stayed. I turn my hand beneath hers until our fingers rest lightly against one another.
“Calla,” I say softly and when she looks up, every lingering hesitation dissolves.
My hand rises to her cheek, my thumb grazing warm skin. She leans into the touch, and everything else falls away.
The first kiss is gentle, almost questioning and she answers without hesitation.
“I thought we were going to spend the night buried in maps,” she murmurs against my lips.
“So did I.”
“What changed?”
I smile at that.
“I grew tired of pretending they mattered more than you.”
Her breath catches and before I can question the confession, her fingers slip into my hair, drawing me back into another kiss.
This one steals whatever restraint remains.
The maps crumple beneath our hands as parchment slides across the desk, weeks of careful notes scattering forgotten over polished wood. Neither of us makes any attempt to save them.
I lift her onto the desk, and she steadies herself with one hand against my shoulder before glancing down at the disordered schematics.
“I suspect those took rather a long time to arrange,” she teases softly, her fingers already working at the buttons of my collar.
“They did.”
A soft giggle escapes her. “I’m afraid they’re beyond saving.”
“I’ll survive.”
She laughs again, the sound bright and unguarded, while she frees another button.
Rather than prolong her efforts, I lift a hand. Storm-light ripples across my shirt before the fabric dissolves into drifting wisps that vanish into the air.
Her hands still as her gaze drifts over the scars crossing my chest, lingering with quiet appreciation that stirs something unfamiliar within me.
“How come you never use your magic on me like that?” she asks, shrugging out of her worn coat.
“If I did,” I whisper, stepping closer, “how would I have the privilege of doing this?”
I remove each layer with unhurried reverence, my lips following wherever my hands have been. By the time the last garment falls away, she stands before me exactly as she is.
“Rothgar,” she says my name with quiet wonder.
Pulling back, I let my gaze travel over her, drinking in the sight of her sprawled across my desk.
“You are a vision, Calla.” I brush my thumb over the warmth of her skin, caressing until her eyes lift to mine once more. Slowly, I drag my hand down from her face to her perfect breast and squeeze until she arches into my hot palm. “Fucking perfect.”
I lean forward and draw a peaked nipple into my mouth, sucking hard. With my other hand, I push her thighs apart, and plant her left foot onto the desk, leaving her utterly bared before me.
Kneeling on the cold floor, I draw a slow breath, committing every tremor of her to memory. When I lift my gaze, the trust shining in her eyes steals the air from my lungs.
“You are so beautiful, Calla.” My fingers tighten against her thighs. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
She searches my face for only a moment before shaking her head.
I require no further answer. With my hands braced around her, I bend to her soaked cunt. The first taste of her draws a groan from deep within my chest, answered at once by her startled cry echoing through the quiet of my study.
“Rothgar!” Calla screams when I slip a finger with my tongue, alternately fucking her with them. I feel her begin to unravel beneath me, every breathless sound tightening the ache within me. “Rothgar, please!”
She begins to squirm beneath me. Her thighs tremble as she reaches for me, her fingers threading through my hair before settling around the curve of my horns. The touch pulls another rough sound from my throat.
“Fuck, Calla.” She guides my head and rolls her hips against my mouth, chasing my tongue with each stroke. “That’s it. Ride my face.”
“Yes!” she cries, grinding her clit against my nose. “Please, I want you.”
“Not yet.” The words leave me low and unsteady. “I need you to come all over my face, love.”
The sounds filling my study grow wonderfully unrestrained until her body finally yields, her cries breaking softly into my name as wave after wave overtakes her.
Only when the trembling begins to ease do I rise.
She sits before me, beautifully undone, and the evidence of her pleasure has long since found its way onto the abandoned maps scattered across my desk.
Weeks of careful work lie in ruins, and I cannot summon the slightest regret. I will commission another set before I allow myself to regret choosing her.
“Open for me, wife.” My voice comes quieter than the command deserves, roughened by the lingering taste of her.
She obeys without hesitation, never breaking my gaze.
I slip two fingers inside her waiting mouth and even without instruction, she sucks, cleaning my fingers of her sweetness all the while staring at me as she does. Leaning down, I kiss her with the same reverence she has awakened in me.
I drink her in for a moment, committing this version of her to memory.
When I open them again, Calla is watching me with that same open warmth she has always offered so freely.
“Do you know what frightens me most?” I ask quietly.
A faint crease forms between her brows. Concern replaces the softness in her smile as she searches my face.
I lace my fingers through hers, drawing her hand against my chest.
“I once believed the silence of this spire was peace.” The confession settles heavily between us. “It wasn’t. It was loneliness that had become so familiar I no longer recognized it.”
“I never knew you were lonely,” she whispers, eyes glistening.
A small smile finds my lips, stirred more by the certainty in her voice than the words themselves.
“Neither did I.” I brush my thumb across her knuckles. “And then your music filled places I had forgotten were empty.”
She cups my face with effortless tenderness, her thumb brushing lightly across my cheek. I lean into her touch, savoring her warmth.
“Can you stand?” I ask after a moment's respite, already helping her to her feet. “I'm not nearly done with you yet, wife.”
“I think so,” she says breathlessly.
Supporting her with a hand at her waist, I turn her gently before guiding her onto the edge of my desk. As gently as I could, I palm the nape and guide her down until her cheek meets the wood.
With my other hand, I pump my cock a few times, rubbing it against her wet slit.
I press my body down on her as I guide my cock into her tight sheath. A primal groan escapes me as I sink deep, thrusting slowly at first waiting for her to adjust.
“My lord,” she gasps, reaching back for me.
I free the kerchief keeping her hair in place. Pale strands tumble over her shoulders in a silken cascade, and I gather them loosely in my fist before giving it a gentle tug that earns a soft moan from her.
“You take me so well, wife.”
Her answering moan sends a fresh wave of heat through me.
“Storms,” I rasp through tightly gritted teeth as she meets my hips. The pace she sets is urgent, almost frantic, as she uses me to chase her climax. “Fuck, yes.”
“Rothgar! Yes!” Her cry echoes through the study. I shall remember that sound for the rest of my life.
Storms, I need her nearer.
Releasing her hair, I ease her upright until her back rests against my chest. Her head falls against my shoulder as I cradle her jaw, turning her face toward mine for a slow kiss despite the urgency consuming us.
I find a steady rhythm, slamming into her hard.
Calla tightens around my cock so hard with her orgasm, she brings me over the edge with her.
“You undo me, love,” I whisper against her mouth when I spill my seed inside her.
She sighs, her weight settling against me.
Only when her breathing steadies do I murmur a quiet spell. Warm water gathers in the washbasin near the hearth, a clean linen cloth drifting into my waiting hand. I tend to her with unhurried care before conjuring a robe of soft charcoal wool, its lining warmed with faint storm magic.
“There,” I say, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Much better.”
Before she can protest, I slip one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her into my arms.
“I'm starting to think you doubt my ability to walk,” she answerss, nuzzling against my shoulder.
A quiet chuckle escapes me.
“And have you ever considered that perhaps I simply enjoy having you in my arms?”
Her smile lingers as she traces idle patterns along the embroidery of my collar while I carry her through the sleeping halls. The few servants we pass lower their eyes with practiced discretion.
She is nearly asleep by the time we reach our chambers.
I lay her beneath the blankets before slipping in beside her.
She curls instinctively against my side, and I press a kiss to her hair, quietly marveling that after centuries of belonging only to this spire, I finally belong to someone in return.