Chapter 14 Verr
VERR
She does not leave when she should. She doesn’t.
Three steps.
That is all I manage before the awareness of her behind me sharpens instead of fading, settling into the space between my shoulders like a presence I cannot dismiss.
The humid air clings to my skin, thick with the scent of soil and water and crushed leaves, and something in it feels heavier now, charged in a way that has nothing to do with the environment.
I pause, and look over my shoulder, as if my gaze can somehow diminish her. She meets my eyes spark for spark. Why does she continue to stare at me so?
“You do not fear me?” I ask.
“No,” she says, her voice soft.
I spin around and close the distance with two long strides. My hand encircles her throat, her fragile, pale human throat.
“I could end you right now,” I say, and my voice wavers. Wavers! Her pulse thuds against my fingers, eerily calm considering my threat.
“I know,” Lyria replies, her voice tight from my grip.
“And still you do not fear me? I could kill you without any consequence. Skot would simply find someone else to dig in the garden dirt.”
“I know,” she says. “But you would gain nothing from my death, either.”
She is wrong. I would gain freedom from the incessant thoughts of her beating behind my eyes day and night. Yet, what price, freedom? Too high. The price is too high.
Slowly, her hand lifts, her fingertips brushing the cord like tendons sticking out in stark relief on my arm.
“What are you doing?” I ask, but she does not answer. Not with words, anyway. Her touch is equal parts infuriating and soothing. The dichotomy is not one I can reconcile.
“I have longed to touch you,” she gasps as if in sudden relief. She grows bolder, her hand now caressing my cheek. I wince as if I’ve been touched with fire, but she does not stop. “You are so angry, yet underneath it all, so sad.”
“You seek to comfort me?” I scoff, but the words have no venom. My grip loosens slightly on her throat. My eyes close as of their own accord as I cannot help but bask in her silken touch.
“I…don’t know what I seek,” she says. I feel the words through my fingers as I hear them.
“You lie,” I rasp, my voice growing hoarse with sudden, urgent need. “I know what you want from me.”
“And what would that be, my Lord Verginyon?” she asks with faux formality.
Words fail me. I know what she wants, because I want it too. I move my face closer, and pull her into me. Her warm breath anoints my skin. Her red lips part slightly as her eyes half close.
I crush her lips with a kiss, my heart racing as I taste her for the first time.
She does not resist. Far from it. She releases a sighing gasp into my mouth, and her body melts into my own.
My hand is no longer on her throat. It’s now on the back of her head, clawing at the red scarf binding her hair.
We pull apart slightly, enough to lock gazes. Something unspoken goes between us. I pull the scarf away, freeing her magnificent curly red-gold tresses.
“You will no longer hide your beauty from me,” I rasp, my hand caressing her cheek. Her hands go to my chest, kneading like a pet cat. Her eyes are anything but innocent, however. They smolder with a fire that stokes the inferno raging inside of me further.
The heat of her body is immediate now, cutting through the damp air, her breath brushing against my mouth as she inhales again, steadier this time, controlled despite the acceleration I can feel
My hand slides from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers threading into the base of her hair, holding her there, and this time when I pull her closer, she moves with it, matching the motion with a certainty that stirs my desire to even greater heights.
Could it be that she wants me as badly as I want her?
Impossible.
“Mine,” I growl.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I kiss her neck, tasting the salty sweat on her skin. She clings to me like a swimmer in a storm tossed-sea clutching a rock. My cock twitches hard, rapidly engorging itself on blood to the point I feel light headed. She feels it against her.
And she presses harder into me. There is no illusion left, now. No denying what we both want. What we both need.
I grab her bodily, thrusting her against the garden wall with impetus. She lets out a gasp born not of fear or pain. My hand goes to the rough, homespun trousers concealing her loveliness. The laces frustrate me, so I tear them with a fierce tug.
“Oh, my Lord,” she gasps, her fingers brushing through my hair.
“Call me Verr,” I growl.
“Yes, Verr,” she groans, heavy breasts heaving as I tug her garment down.
The pillars of her exquisitely shaped thighs frame a dark red patch, glistening with her need.
I caress her with trembling fingers, as if touching paradise.
She sucks in a sharp gasp of air and lets it out as a shuddering moan.
My cock hardens to the point it is almost painful, thrusting against my silken trousers.
I yank them down and out of the way. My crown is adorned with a pearlescent drop of moisture.
My hand grips her toned thigh and I lift her leg, parting the dark hair and revealing the pink softness of her human pussy.
The smell alone almost makes me cum. She arches her back, easing my entry. Her slick walls spasm and quiver like a captured rabbit as I invade her inch by inch. She’s ready for me, so ready.
The first thrust is slow, adroit, yet powered by a basic drive so primal it links our two disparate peoples together.
Her mouth flies open, her arms cling to me as her lifted leg hugs me tighter.
I lean into the thrust, straining not to let myself release yet.
I have taken many women before, but it’s never been like this. Never. Never so raw and real.
Never so perfect.
Our bodies move in unison, seeking the perfect synchronicity of which so many speak, yet so few find. I let out a guttural groan, pleasure emanating from my cock to the rest of my body. My brain feels embalmed in golden light. For a moment I wonder if this is what it feels like to touch the divine.
She grinds into me, her cries growing louder. Suddenly, I fear discovery. Not that I am ashamed of what we do--but because I fear what might happen to her if anyone, especially m y father, learns how much she means to me.
My hand clasps over her mouth, stifling her cries.
When she instinctively grabs my wrist I clutch her hand and shove it to the wall above her head.
Her cries are more guttural, softer but not fully silenced.
I feel her hot exhalations on my skin as I pump my hips, burying my cock into her sweet folds.
Her body convulses like a woman possessed, a scream pealing from her throat but stopped largely by my hand. I gasp as I empty my seed inside of her, relief flooding through me as I experience a new kind of ecstasy.
I let my hand fall from her face. She pants heavily, eyes glossy and half lidded, but looking at me…looking at me in a way I’ve never experienced before. The moment is almost as perfect as the climax itself. Perhaps more so--
A voice cuts through the din.
“Lord Verginyon?” cries a servant. “Your father seeks your presence.”
The garden rushes back in around us—the sound of water, the scent of soil, the faint movement of fronds and petals in the wind.
She doesn’t speak.
“I…”
I don’t know what to say. What can I say? Even the greatest elfin poet would strive for the right words. Perhaps the right words don’t exist.
“I…must go,” I gasp at last.
Then I turn from her and walk away, buckling my belt, afraid to turn around and see that look in her eyes again.
It would break me.