by S D Simper
And, oh, suddenly Ayla’s mouth was on her breast, and Flowridia released a moan as the woman’s tongue pleasured her sensitive form. She tried to rise, to arch herself instinctively, but Ayla pushed her down, and Flowridia gasped as she felt another bite on her lip. Ayla’s eyes met hers, dangerous yet pleased, and Flowridia smiled, sighing as fingernails traced down her chest.
Ayla squeezed her roughly, something erotic in the sight of her own breasts spilling from Ayla’s hands. Flowridia’s sigh became a whine when Ayla’s fingers took over the work of her tongue and twisted the sensitive buds. Teeth scrapped against Flowridia’s collarbone before a sting along the curve of her neck betrayed Ayla’s newest act.
Flowridia knew something of foreplay, had read of it in the books kept in Mother’s home. She knew of biting, of touching and teasing, of kissing lips and intimate parts, but nothing could have prepared her body for the storm brewing within her.
She reached up, stroking past Ayla’s pointed ear, and cupped her head as she pushed the elf against her, the thought of being claimed so visibly causing her breath to grow heavy. She felt Ayla grin.
A hand tangled in Flowridia’s hair, pulling tight, forcing her to reveal more of her neck. Compelled to stare at the ceiling, Flowridia realized she had nearly lost feeling in her limbs. Her hands traced Ayla’s back, memorizing the lithe musculature, and she dared to skim the barest outline of Ayla’s breasts. Despite the growing heat between her legs, her demure heart dared not go further, not until Ayla released her, grabbed her hand-
Ayla pressed Flowridia’s hand against her own breast, and Flowridia swore the soft weight – the only bit of softness on Ayla’s taut body – was a miracle.
She hardly noticed when Ayla released her hair and traced down across her stomach, until the length of her arm forced her to pull her face away from ravaging Flowridia’s neck. Ayla sat up, hunger in her relentless gaze. Still caught in her grasp, they squeezed both of Ayla’s breasts in tandem, the tight muscles of her stomach reflecting the flickering candle light. To watch Ayla so visibly revel in her attention stole Flowridia’s breath.
Then, Ayla released her hands. Flowridia let hers fall away, no time to be disappointed before Ayla pushed the rest of the dress away. Ayla planted herself between Flowridia’s legs, spreading them apart as her fingers traced unknown words across the sensitive skin of her thighs. Flowridia sighed, not expecting such a tender, teasing gesture from her companion, and instinctively thrust against the air. Her body screamed for something her vestal form couldn’t name, but it seemed Ayla would force her to, all the same.
“Beg,” Ayla said, all pretense of rectitude gone in that simple, boorish command. When Flowridia didn’t immediately respond, Ayla took both of her breasts into an iron grip. Ayla’s nails dug into the tender skin. “You do want me, right?”
Flowridia managed to nod, her mind hazy from desire.
Ayla squeezed painfully. “Say it.”
“I want you.” Flowridia’s voice was little more than a squeak, but how else was one meant to sound when cornered by a lion?
Pacified for the moment, Ayla’s expression grew less severe as she released Flowridia’s marked breasts. “You want me to fuck you. Now, say it.”
Flowridia tensed in anticipation when she felt a cold finger trace against her wet folds. There was no true choice; Ayla knew what she wanted, and she would take it. Ayla had marked her uncharted body. Now, she would claim it for herself.
Flowridia’s body burned for friction, for Ayla to reach inside and quench the very flame she’d kindled. “Fuck me,” she said, staring into the icy ring surrounding Ayla’s consuming pupils. Desperation bled into her tone. “Fuck me, Ayla, please-”
Ayla’s fingers slipped inside her, and Flowridia swore the touch imprinted new writing onto her soul. Gasping, Flowridia’s hands dug into the sheet, searching for stability amidst the indomitable storm that was her lover, lest she be swept away. Ayla’s thrusts became bliss, each precise motion pulling inarticulate cries from her throat. Relentless, each stroke of Ayla’s fingers, and any semblance of control Flowridia may have imagined filtered away.
Ayla’s thrusts became deeper, harder. Flowridia felt her body tense unbidden, and she reveled in the fullness inside her, her pleasure surmounting to some grandiose height. When she thought she might burst and scream, Ayla bared her teeth and smiled.
Flowridia came undone at that wicked grin. With Ayla’s name on her tongue, her body arched in ecstasy, stars passing through her gaze as pleasure radiated through every inch of her body.
Then, an absence as Ayla pulled out, and a teasing touch on her aching bud.
A weight settled beside Flowridia. Ayla lounged with her head propped up by her fist as she lazily sucked on her fingers. Flowridia felt the beginnings of fresh arousal begin to simmer.
Ayla leaned over and planted a kiss on her mouth, a bitter taste staining Flowridia’s lips. “My name on your tongue is such a joy,” Ayla said. “Perhaps I’ll make you scream it again before the night is through.”
A breathless smile crossed Flowridia’s face. “I think I’d like that,” she said, blushing fiercely. Uneasiness seeped into her tone. “But is there anything I can do for you?”
Intrigue crossed Ayla’s features, and she cracked an amused grin. “Convince me.”
Fear rose like a tidal wave and slammed against her chest. Flowridia’s voice shrank. “I-I did say I-” She stopped herself, allowing the shaking in her voice, along with her breathing, to mellow. “I said I could be meat-eater. I’m dying to know what you taste like.”
Flowridia kept her hands clenched together at her chest, but desire flooded Ayla’s eyes like a blackhole. “Do go on.”
Though she trembled, Flowridia’s hands swept aside what hair had fallen into Ayla’s face, as tender a gesture as she could summon the courage for, nervous to accidentally brush against where the severed ear had been sliced. Instead, one hand moved to cup Ayla’s jaw, her thumb stroking the jagged lines of her cheekbones, and the pale woman turned her head to kiss her palm.
Something electric coursed through Flowridia’s blood. Wide-eyed, she stared at Ayla’s lips as they brushed past her hand. Flowridia leaned in, both sides of Ayla’s face held between her palms, and placed a kiss on her thin lips. Slow, tender, but full of curiosity, Flowridia reveled in the contact, memorizing each movement. Her tongue slipped into Ayla’s mouth, and she moaned at the sensation, realizing she could contentedly kiss those thin lips for hours and never bore. Humming, her hand slid back to cradle Ayla’s head, bringing their faces closer.
She resisted when she felt Ayla pull away. Instead, she planted kisses on the sides of Ayla’s mouth, her cheeks, her jaw, peppering sweet affection along that pale skin. “Flowra,” she heard Ayla chide, “are you stalling?”
Flowridia’s false confidence withered. She tried to hide her face, but Ayla grabbed her jaw, forcing eye contact.
“Oh, my Sweet Summer Blossom . . .” Ayla fluttered her lashes as she pouted her doll lips. “Is this your first time?” Perhaps she was not purposefully patronizing, but Flowridia felt shame begin to rise inside her.
She chose not to speak, embarrassed to admit her inexperience. When her face fell, eyes to the bed, Ayla moved her hand from Flowridia’s jaw to her hair, gripping with menace. Immediately, Flowridia stared forward, locked into Ayla’s stare.
Ayla leaned forward, grinning like a starved predator presented with raw meat. “Sweet, innocent Flowra . . .” A dark chuckle met Flowridia’s ears. “Not so innocent anymore,” she said, and her pupils widened, a black hole ringed with pale blue. “I’ll give you a demonstration.”
And she did. Over and over . . .
* * *
Flowridia didn’t taste Ayla that night, but it seemed by the woman’s own design; Ayla’s true pleasure came from Flowridia’s domination, her capacity to own her completely. Names had power, and with each breathless cry of, “Oh, Ayla . . .” she grew both fiercer and more pacified
.
Finally, when the burning between Flowridia’s legs did not subside, she managed to voice her thoughts. “Ayla . . .” Her words shook from fatigue and light-headed pleasure. Pulled by the change of tone, Ayla looked up from between her thighs. “I might break if we try for one more,” Flowridia said, letting a smile settle on her lips.
Ayla wiped her mouth on her wrist, an obscene glint in her gaze. On hands and knees, Ayla crawled up beside her and wrapped her thinly muscled arms around Flowridia’s exhausted body. Tenderness filled her, Ayla’s naked, bony form providing a strange sort of comfort as she pulled Flowridia close and caressed her hair. A blush bloomed across Flowridia’s cheeks when she felt lips lightly trace the side of her head. The predator was still here, but Flowridia felt no more danger in the lion’s den – only peace.
“Forgive me for asking,” Flowridia said, each breath more serene than the last, “but why all of this?”
Amusement tugged at Ayla’s lips. “Flowra, I have lusted after you from the moment I first saw you,” she said, a dangerous hunger bleeding into her words. “Captivatingly beautiful, dressed up for Marielle’s ball, and with those precious flowers woven into your hair . . .” Ayla leaned close and sniffed her hair, an erotic moan escaping as she released the air. Even in Flowridia’s exhausted state, a shot of pleasure coursed through her blood. “I have a habit of taking things I want.”
Somehow, the implied threat only caused her cheeks to flush. “If you wanted,” Flowridia said, unable to quite meet Ayla’s eye, “I’m sure they wouldn’t miss me too much.”
“Steal Staelash’s Grand Diplomat? Oh, Casvir would have my head. And losing a head seems far less pleasant than losing an ear.” Teeth scraped against Flowridia’s ear, evoking a gasp. Ayla laughed, yet a threat still tugged at her smile. “I do hope you’ll care for my ear, for me.”
Flowridia nodded, enthralled by her gaze.
The clouds shifted outside the window, letting the full moon shine into the candle-lit room. Ayla began to pull away.
Despite the clenching in her chest, Flowridia said, “Will I see you again?”
Ayla’s grin had never left. “You will.” She planted a quick peck on Flowridia’s mouth, but before she could remove her touch, Flowridia cupped Ayla’s cheek, praying her lips would stay. Those small lips parted to return the tender gesture. Slow, passionate, Flowridia hoped the memory would linger and serve as a parting gift.
Ayla stayed at her lips until Flowridia pulled away. “You do have a bed to sleep in, right?”
“Oh, you adorable thing.” Amusement flickered across Ayla’s face as she stood and stole a single white flower from the pile on her nightstand. “Tomorrow night, Zorlaeus and I will be meeting with Marielle for dinner. I hope you’ll be there. Perhaps afterward, you and I can grab another bite.” She grabbed the bundle of her dress.
Ayla seemed to vanish, then appeared at the windowsill. Flowridia swore she could feel the kiss blown from Ayla’s lips.
With a wave, Ayla fell backwards from the window and into the dark night.
Flowridia was one to rise with the sun. To awaken still exhausted, with daylight already shining bright through her window, caused her to bolt into sitting.
Sharp knocking at the door had awoken her, she realized. Lightheaded, she let her face fall into her hands.
She was naked. Why was she-?
Flowridia gazed across her nude form and saw a bite-shaped bruise turning purple on her inner thigh. Amorous memories replayed in her head, spreading a smile across her face.
Again, came the knock. “Flowers, I swear on Alystra’s Supple Ass, I will blow down this door if you don’t answer.”
“Give me a moment,” Flowridia said, and she stood, careful to avoid stepping on any extinguished candles.
In the mirror, she saw a mess of bruises dotting her neck, forming a necklace along the sensitive skin. Red and blue marked her torso, her breasts, where Ayla’s nails had threatened to pierce the soft skin. Littered all over her body, just like her thigh, were bite marks. None drew blood, but Flowridia felt thoroughly ravaged and claimed by Ayla’s lovemaking. The thought brought heat to her abdomen.
Flowridia slipped into a long-sleeved night gown, realizing the fruit on the desk remained untouched.
She positioned herself carefully behind the door, letting only her head peek out as she gently turned the knob. Demitri immediately ran inside and began to sniff at her long gown, but Etolié smiled pleasantly, expectantly, as she raised an eyebrow at the obvious bruising on Flowridia’s neck.
“I’m sorry I slept so late,” Flowridia said, stepping aside so the Celestial could enter.
Flowridia blushed when Etolié began inspecting the aftermath of the night’s activities. “So, Flowers . . .” The door shut, and Etolié quirked an eyebrow when she noticed the pile of dried blossoms on the nightstand. “It seems you’ve been deflowered.”
Grimacing, Flowridia asked, “Can I borrow a scarf?”
From the air itself, Etolié pulled a glittering scarf. “Well, Demitri and I had a lovely night. I told him mother needed, uh, alone time.”
Having adjusted the cloth to cover her bruises, Flowridia knelt beside Demitri. “I’m sorry about dinner. I know I promised.”
Etolié says you decided to eat out instead.
She clenched her teeth and glared at Etolié, horrified at the remark. Etolié laughed.
“I didn’t eat a single thing last night,” Flowridia said, approaching the tray of fruit.
“Judging by the state of your neck, I’d say Ayla was the one taking a few bites.”
Glaring, Flowridia gave Etolié a curt sigh. She stepped into the hallway, petulant at hearing Etolié chuckle.
“Bring your food to the library,” Etolié said, coming up beside her. “We’ll have a post-mortem.”
Flowridia stopped, cringing at the choice in words. “A ‘post-mortem?’”
Etolié nodded vigorously, stealing the tray and continuing ahead. “For your childhood.”
An odd sentiment, and Flowridia frowned before hurrying to catch up to the Celestial. Of all the stepping stones into adulthood, Flowridia felt losing one’s virginity and losing one’s innocence were hardly the same.
Certainly an exercise in trust, but Flowridia had felt nothing taken; only given. Her body ached, but the memory of Ayla’s smile rising from between her legs would be one to warm her for many nights to come.
Innocence could only be stolen, and nothing could quite patch the wounds those experiences left.
“Slit his throat, Flower Child. He’ll patrol the swamp, and once he’s collapsed the garden will appreciate the sustenance.”
“But, really, did you have a pleasant night?”
Flowridia’s expression softened at the thought, pulled from her spiraling memories. “Yes,” she whispered, and a fluttering sensation filled her stomach as she smiled.
“Do you think she’ll be back?” Interest laced Etolié’s words, and when Flowridia turned to face her, she saw cold calculation.
“She’ll be at dinner tonight with Marielle and Zorlaeus. She suggested that afterward . . .” Flowridia blushed at the thought. “Well, we’ll see.”
Etolié raised an eyebrow at her gentle smile, but Flowridia realized she couldn’t be embarrassed, not when the memory had yet to cool. She followed the Celestial to the library in silence.
* * *
“She disappeared out the window?”
Flowridia, wrapped in Etolié’s scarves in the center of the library, held a teacup and saucer in her hands. Demitri paced behind Etolié as the three-quarters angel stood beside one of the many shelves circling the room.
A plate of stale cookies sat on the ground beyond her reach, delivered a day or two ago – Etolié claimed to not remember – by Khastra, who chronically disparaged Etolié’s eating habits. They were palatable when dipped in the tea, but otherwise too old to be appetizing.
“She vanished,” Flowridia said with an offered nod.
The tea had gone cold, but she had nowhere to place it. Etolié had insisted on bundling her up for her ‘post mortem.’
To Flowridia’s relief, Etolié hadn’t pushed for details regarding the sex itself. She seemed much more annoyed at the apparent mistreatment. “Un-classy,” Etolié spat. “She should have at least waited until you’d fallen asleep.”
“I’m not bothered.”
Etolié scoffed dramatically. “That’s because you’re young. First lust.”
A shy smile spread across Flowridia’s face. “I wouldn’t say I’m in love-”
“Did I say love? Look at you, blushing warmer than the Sun Goddess. You wanted her the moment she danced at Marielle’s party.”
Flowridia brought the cold tea to her lips and feigned a sip. “Maybe not consciously, but-”
“Well, you have her,” Etolié finished, and she stooped down to pick Demitri up and cradle him in her thin arms. “Now what?”
That, Flowridia hadn’t considered.
“Are you a single notch on her coffin, or are you planning to see her again?”
Flowridia frowned as Etolié placed successive kisses on Demitri’s face. “What are you implying?”
“Do you want to keep her?”
With care to balance the liquid, Flowridia moved to untangle herself from the engulfing pile of scarves and blankets. “Of course I want to keep her. I’m seeing her tonight.” Etolié, seeing her struggle, stole the saucer and cup, keeping Demitri secure in one arm. Flowridia managed to free herself. “What do you mean by ‘coffin?’”
She set the teacup on a bookshelf. Flowridia stopped in front of the flighty Celestial, forcing her to stop pacing. “Imperator Casvir is known for employing the undead,” Etolié finally said.
Flowridia crossed her arms, prepared to offer an objection. An insane idea, to think of Ayla as some sort of ghoul or undead monstrosity. Last night, Ayla had shown such life, such passion, with her cold touch and eerie smile, her unnatural strength . . . her tendency to bite . . .