“Farengar,” Olria gasped. He was bending over her now, his thrusts going even deeper. She grabbed at his hair, running her hands through the sweaty tangles. The man let out a low groan and set her down on the bed, lying on top of her.
He did not resume his frantic pace. He fondled her breast. His wet lips glided over her ear. He kissed her neck, her face. He almost pulled out. Then he pushed back into her, slowly. He continued at this reduced pace, one languid stroke at a time.
Olria all but melted into his arms. She arched against him with each thrust. She was intensely aware of the sensation of flesh sliding against flesh, of how Farengar’s muscles coiled and relaxed above her. His mouth found hers again, his tongue teasing her lips.
Heat began building low in Olria’s stomach. Each slow, persistent thrust added more fire. Olria gasped unintelligibly, barely able to return Farengar’s kisses. She gave up trying, throwing back her head. He licked her neck instead. Olria’s hands gripped the bed sheets. She steadied herself against the boiling wave that washed over her body, leaving her panting and her muscles quivering.
Olria trembled as Farengar thrust into her half a dozen more times. He weathered her orgasm with sharp gasps. He bit back a cry as he reached his own climax, causing heat to pool in Olria’s belly.
Breathing shakily, Farengar collapsed beside Olria on the bed. She turned onto her side to face him. He blinked up at her before leaning over to kiss her cheek. Olria smiled and nestled against him. Not long after, she heard the tired man’s breathing grow slow and even. His heart pumped quietly in his chest.
Once she was certain he was asleep, Olria gently disentangled herself from the man’s arms and slipped out of the bed. She pulled her nightdress back down around her legs. The woman tiptoed from his bedroom quietly, her feet cold on the stone floors of Farengar’s workroom.
With the help of Candlelight, she found another vial of Child’s Bane in the court wizard’s potions cabinet. Olria studied the vial for a moment. Uncorking it, she drank the unpleasant mixture before returning to Farengar’s room.
Olria slipped back into her spot next to the man. He was dead to the world, not even stirring. She wondered how long the nightmares had been plaguing him – it had been days since the dragon’s attack and their unfortunate journey into the Nordic ruin. Olria lightly stroked Farengar’s cheek. She couldn’t erase what had happened, but she hoped the image of her near death would not continue to haunt him.
***
Farengar felt considerably better the next day. It was his turn to awaken confused that Olria wasn’t in his bed. He dressed and went out into his workroom, blinking owlishly at the light. He saw people walking back and forth through the keep, servants bustling about, and guards patrolling. “Noon?” he muttered to himself. “I never sleep until noon.”
The court wizard went to find himself a midday meal, figuring the serving woman from yesterday wouldn’t oblige him after his rude behaviour – at least not without Olria’s kind smile. His apprentice must be in Whiterun, working at the temple again. Farengar had to shake his head in slow amazement. Did she never grow weary of helping people? She was already back to work the day after she returned from a near-fatal expedition!
Smiling to himself, Farengar ate quickly. He cleaned away his dishes before finding the sketchbook lodged in his travel pack. Drawing up a chair and finding a lamp for extra light, Farengar sat at his desk and began to compare his notes to the ancient documents he’d found in Windhelm.
“So good to see you’re back, Farengar,” called a woman’s voice.
Farengar felt his stomach clench. He didn’t bother looking up from his work. “Arcadia,” Farengar said. “Perhaps I overestimated your intelligence. Was my comment about you sending a courier next time you needed something too subtle?”
“Oh, not at all,” the shopkeeper replied. “I simply hoped you would have had a change of heart after sampling my wine.”
The court wizard continued his writing. “Unlikely.”
“Really? Is that why you won’t look at me?”
Farengar’s fingertips clenched his quill so tightly they blanched.
“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 6c/?
He did not resume his frantic pace. He fondled her breast. His wet lips glided over her ear. He kissed her neck, her face. He almost pulled out. Then he pushed back into her, slowly. He continued at this reduced pace, one languid stroke at a time.
Olria all but melted into his arms. She arched against him with each thrust. She was intensely aware of the sensation of flesh sliding against flesh, of how Farengar’s muscles coiled and relaxed above her. His mouth found hers again, his tongue teasing her lips.
Heat began building low in Olria’s stomach. Each slow, persistent thrust added more fire. Olria gasped unintelligibly, barely able to return Farengar’s kisses. She gave up trying, throwing back her head. He licked her neck instead. Olria’s hands gripped the bed sheets. She steadied herself against the boiling wave that washed over her body, leaving her panting and her muscles quivering.
Olria trembled as Farengar thrust into her half a dozen more times. He weathered her orgasm with sharp gasps. He bit back a cry as he reached his own climax, causing heat to pool in Olria’s belly.
Breathing shakily, Farengar collapsed beside Olria on the bed. She turned onto her side to face him. He blinked up at her before leaning over to kiss her cheek. Olria smiled and nestled against him. Not long after, she heard the tired man’s breathing grow slow and even. His heart pumped quietly in his chest.
Once she was certain he was asleep, Olria gently disentangled herself from the man’s arms and slipped out of the bed. She pulled her nightdress back down around her legs. The woman tiptoed from his bedroom quietly, her feet cold on the stone floors of Farengar’s workroom.
With the help of Candlelight, she found another vial of Child’s Bane in the court wizard’s potions cabinet. Olria studied the vial for a moment. Uncorking it, she drank the unpleasant mixture before returning to Farengar’s room.
Olria slipped back into her spot next to the man. He was dead to the world, not even stirring. She wondered how long the nightmares had been plaguing him – it had been days since the dragon’s attack and their unfortunate journey into the Nordic ruin. Olria lightly stroked Farengar’s cheek. She couldn’t erase what had happened, but she hoped the image of her near death would not continue to haunt him.
***
Farengar felt considerably better the next day. It was his turn to awaken confused that Olria wasn’t in his bed. He dressed and went out into his workroom, blinking owlishly at the light. He saw people walking back and forth through the keep, servants bustling about, and guards patrolling. “Noon?” he muttered to himself. “I never sleep until noon.”
The court wizard went to find himself a midday meal, figuring the serving woman from yesterday wouldn’t oblige him after his rude behaviour – at least not without Olria’s kind smile. His apprentice must be in Whiterun, working at the temple again. Farengar had to shake his head in slow amazement. Did she never grow weary of helping people? She was already back to work the day after she returned from a near-fatal expedition!
Smiling to himself, Farengar ate quickly. He cleaned away his dishes before finding the sketchbook lodged in his travel pack. Drawing up a chair and finding a lamp for extra light, Farengar sat at his desk and began to compare his notes to the ancient documents he’d found in Windhelm.
“So good to see you’re back, Farengar,” called a woman’s voice.
Farengar felt his stomach clench. He didn’t bother looking up from his work. “Arcadia,” Farengar said. “Perhaps I overestimated your intelligence. Was my comment about you sending a courier next time you needed something too subtle?”
“Oh, not at all,” the shopkeeper replied. “I simply hoped you would have had a change of heart after sampling my wine.”
The court wizard continued his writing. “Unlikely.”
“Really? Is that why you won’t look at me?”
Farengar’s fingertips clenched his quill so tightly they blanched.