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Authors: Mya Lairis
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floor, and to Gavenas’s surprise, she returned to the edge of the hearth.
Before he realized what she intended to do, Shoraya had dipped the spoon back into the stew. She raised a helping and sniffed at the steam rising from it. “Well, at least it’s seasoned nicely.”
He reached out, with the intention of taking the spoon away. “Shoraya, I don’t think—”
She blew upon the spoon to cool its contents and then devoured the helping before Gavenas’s eyes. She then dipped the spoon back in the pot and offered a serving to him. “It’s not a bad soup…stew. You wanna try some?”
Gavenas took only a moment to debate the positive and negative aspects of pixie mushrooms and ingesting them. There was most certainly the danger of him confessing how he had become so used to Shoraya’s company, how he adored waking up and going to sleep in her arms. The threat of him confessing his love was hovering like a warning in the back of his mind, and even still his fear about her leaving could surface. However, as Shoraya was not faeyanin, her memory of the time spent under the drug’s influence would be impaired. There was a great possibility even that should he confess to the suspicion that they were fated for each other, she would not recall it the next day.
“I suppose so,” he said, making his decision based on the risks. He leaned forward and parted his lips so that he could accept the spoon.
Chapter Eleven
Shoraya’s cheeks ached from grinning. The night before had been so surreal. She only remembered flashes of the event, but those bits were bright in her mind. Never had she been as intoxicated or felt as free as she did after sharing that wicked broth with Gavenas.
She might not have even stirred from the bed if Gavenas hadn’t been summoned by a family of rambunctious wood walkers. With no courtesy whatsoever, the tiny tree-dwelling humanoids, no taller than Shoraya’s waist, sprang into the den to loudly express the demand for Gavenas’s services. As he suffered the loss of the pallet’s warmth, she decided to as well, pushing the thick spread off her form.
Both of them groggy and aching, Gavenas had gone deep into the woods with his companions, and Shoraya had taken up her sword and hiked to the lake. Her intention was to study and practice. There was a breed of crustacean, the Grave Pincer, which bore four front claws much larger than its six locomotive limbs. It had a way of brandishing its weaponry high above its head whenever a predator was near. Like a shield protecting attacks from above, their weapons served dual purposes.
Shoraya longed to mimic the creature, place its natural defensive techniques into her own repertoire, and yet she found herself sitting on the bank of the lake and reliving the night before, trying to gain back pieces shrouded in darkness as well as savoring those that were embarrassingly clear.
Gavenas had taken an interest in her toes, suckling each one with leisurely attentiveness. He had painted the soles of her feet with lazy kisses that tickled whenever his tongue darted out to steal a lick. On occasion he had even looked up and smiled at her.
There was a lot of mirth to be had that night, but it dulled a bit when Shoraya placed the foot that he wasn’t worshipping into his crotch. Gently she pressed against the hard, hot root of him, giving him a massage of her own. She recalled him lifting his robe to guide her foot to the naked, pulsing flesh and little more than his groans afterward.
In another memory, Gavenas was lying facedown before her, and it was her turn to pay reverence, to the ivory-and-rose cheeks of his ass. With both of them lost to common sense, there were no boundaries as she played her lips across his taut globes and even less when she parted his cheeks and tasted him at the core.
Gavenas had taken her. She remembered being astride him, rocking with impaired strength but experiencing every one of Gavenas’s thrusts like a lightning
Before he realized what she intended to do, Shoraya had dipped the spoon back into the stew. She raised a helping and sniffed at the steam rising from it. “Well, at least it’s seasoned nicely.”
He reached out, with the intention of taking the spoon away. “Shoraya, I don’t think—”
She blew upon the spoon to cool its contents and then devoured the helping before Gavenas’s eyes. She then dipped the spoon back in the pot and offered a serving to him. “It’s not a bad soup…stew. You wanna try some?”
Gavenas took only a moment to debate the positive and negative aspects of pixie mushrooms and ingesting them. There was most certainly the danger of him confessing how he had become so used to Shoraya’s company, how he adored waking up and going to sleep in her arms. The threat of him confessing his love was hovering like a warning in the back of his mind, and even still his fear about her leaving could surface. However, as Shoraya was not faeyanin, her memory of the time spent under the drug’s influence would be impaired. There was a great possibility even that should he confess to the suspicion that they were fated for each other, she would not recall it the next day.
“I suppose so,” he said, making his decision based on the risks. He leaned forward and parted his lips so that he could accept the spoon.
Chapter Eleven
Shoraya’s cheeks ached from grinning. The night before had been so surreal. She only remembered flashes of the event, but those bits were bright in her mind. Never had she been as intoxicated or felt as free as she did after sharing that wicked broth with Gavenas.
She might not have even stirred from the bed if Gavenas hadn’t been summoned by a family of rambunctious wood walkers. With no courtesy whatsoever, the tiny tree-dwelling humanoids, no taller than Shoraya’s waist, sprang into the den to loudly express the demand for Gavenas’s services. As he suffered the loss of the pallet’s warmth, she decided to as well, pushing the thick spread off her form.
Both of them groggy and aching, Gavenas had gone deep into the woods with his companions, and Shoraya had taken up her sword and hiked to the lake. Her intention was to study and practice. There was a breed of crustacean, the Grave Pincer, which bore four front claws much larger than its six locomotive limbs. It had a way of brandishing its weaponry high above its head whenever a predator was near. Like a shield protecting attacks from above, their weapons served dual purposes.
Shoraya longed to mimic the creature, place its natural defensive techniques into her own repertoire, and yet she found herself sitting on the bank of the lake and reliving the night before, trying to gain back pieces shrouded in darkness as well as savoring those that were embarrassingly clear.
Gavenas had taken an interest in her toes, suckling each one with leisurely attentiveness. He had painted the soles of her feet with lazy kisses that tickled whenever his tongue darted out to steal a lick. On occasion he had even looked up and smiled at her.
There was a lot of mirth to be had that night, but it dulled a bit when Shoraya placed the foot that he wasn’t worshipping into his crotch. Gently she pressed against the hard, hot root of him, giving him a massage of her own. She recalled him lifting his robe to guide her foot to the naked, pulsing flesh and little more than his groans afterward.
In another memory, Gavenas was lying facedown before her, and it was her turn to pay reverence, to the ivory-and-rose cheeks of his ass. With both of them lost to common sense, there were no boundaries as she played her lips across his taut globes and even less when she parted his cheeks and tasted him at the core.
Gavenas had taken her. She remembered being astride him, rocking with impaired strength but experiencing every one of Gavenas’s thrusts like a lightning
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