14. Arrick

Chapter fourteen

Arrick

S he is in my arms.

It's only been a few days, but I've wanted her for what feels like a lifetime. Her body is draped over mine, her face pressed to my chest, and I can hear her soft breathing. I am so content in this moment, it's as if I've never known peace until now.

I was awake when she started touching herself, but I'll keep that information to myself. Mesmerized, I listened and felt her body softly squirm, seeking her pleasure.

It wasn't until I realized she needed more, a deeper touch, more movement, that I got up my courage to interject, and I'm so fucking glad I did.

Feeling her body writhe and come under my fingers was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.

True, I'm not physically experienced with another partner. But I've read enough books and seen enough people fucking in the woods—not in a leering way—to have a good idea of how things work.

One default of being a Vaki is receiving images and thoughts from magical creatures in the forest. It all shows up in my head like a constant stream of consciousness.

My brain then takes the information and sorts it for its usefulness.

So when some dirty gnome enjoys watching, I get all the images. That being said, everyone knows gnomes are perverts and have no sense of boundaries. Part of me questions if people choose to mate in the woods because they like to be watched.

I realize now that we were most likely watched.

I've never hated the idea of the forest spying on me before.

As a guardian, my body is marked with runes, assigning me to this place and its creatures. I exist for this magical land, but the thought of everyone watching us makes my skin crawl. I need to tell Yera as well. She needs to be made aware.

I hope that doesn't keep her from warming to me more. Now that I've finally gotten to touch her, the thought of her pulling away breaks my heart.

The night sky is lightening, bringing with the day. The pink sunrise mixing with the black shadows on the forest floor creates a purple hue.

The mix of colors dances on Yera's hair and skin, making her look otherworldly, almost magical. I want to lie here forever, her soft form draped over mine and my hands gently gliding over her skin and curly hair .

The day is dawning, and I want to make her the coffee I've saved for a special occasion. Tea is much easier to come by. You can keep your supply up for months if you know what plants you're looking for, but coffee is another story. You need to buy it in town and pack it. So, I only usually make one cup a week to make it last. I don't care if she drinks all of it this morning, as long as she smiles at me when she does.

I gently lift her and slide my body out from underneath hers. Losing her warmth immediately makes my senses call out in protest.

The sensation bothers me so much that I sit beside her for a long moment, wringing my hands through my hair and rubbing the warm spot on my chest where her face rested.

I must get up and shake off the trance she has me in.

Now that I'm in her orbit, I only want to luxuriate in her nearness.

But the sun breaks over the horizon, reminding me it's morning. I glare at the light, holding my hand to my brow, and then leave her side.

I have a good-sized metal pot attached to my pack, and I grab it before walking to the creek just a few feet from camp.

The water is icy and refreshing. Once my pot is full of water, I splash some on my face and neck. Its glacial temperature initially stings my skin, but the sensation slowly fades, leaving a refreshed feeling.

Then I remember what happened last night—in my pants. Shifting where I stand, I feel the hardness around my button fly and then look down at the freezing water.

Oh fuck, this is going to be cold.

** *

Now that I have splashed my leathers, it looks like I have soiled myself. I walk back to camp, feeling a little foolish. I stand close to the fire, willing the heat to dry me off before Yera wakes up.

After thirty minutes—now that I have thankfully dry pants—Yera starts tossing and turning, releasing sleepy moans and yawns.

I'm standing over the boiling water with the coffee press at my side full of fresh grounds.

The moment the hot water hits the earthy grounds, she bolts upright. The sweet, rich, slightly bitter smell breaks into the thin morning air.

Her hair is a mess of curly tangles, which I half-heartedly blame myself for. I couldn't resist running my hands through those soft locks.

I laid there for hours after she fell asleep, running beautiful bronze strands over my pale fingers.

Now, she looks at me with wild eyes, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

"Is that coffee?" Excitement floods her expression, and I smile and nod casually at her. She throws the blankets off and moves to get to her feet.

"Hold on for a minute. I was going to bring you some." I fill the metal cup in my hand. Hot, fragrant steam pours over the rim, and I carry the cup to her. She is rumpled in the blankets, looking tousled but lovely, and she reaches her delicate hand out to me.

She holds the mug under her nose, taking deep inhales, savoring. I relax by the fire, trying not to make it obvious I'm staring, but I can't help it. Her sweetness is overwhelming me.

Her nose and cheeks pinken from the chilly morning, still bundled in the bedding from last night. Her eyes affectionately lower to the coffee, which should concern me, but I can relate .

"This tastes like heaven. I didn't know you had coffee here." She takes a short sip, trying not to burn her mouth.

"There is plenty of it in town, so I try to stock up whenever possible. It's a little bitter since the beans aren't the freshest."

"I don't care. I know it's only been a few days, but it feels like years since I've had some." Another slow, reverent sip. Then her eyes flick up at me, and there is a slight tease in her voice. "You were holding out on me." She's all devilish smiles now.

I mime being shot in the chest. "You've wounded me. How could you ever think I was capable of such a thing?" I love being playful with her. Her broad smiles come easily, and I drink up every one of them. I fake staggering over to her wounded and then dramatically twirl and fall into the bedding with her.

"Hey! You will be mortally wounded if you make me spill my coffee!" she threatens, but there is no merit to it. Her grin is still wide, and she looks down at me, my head now in her lap, where I have mock fallen.

It takes everything in me not to reach my hand out and brush her cheek.

Wait, why shouldn't I? I smile inwardly and then reach my hand out and rub my knuckles over her soft skin. She leans into the touch and then takes another mighty gulp of her coffee.

"Good morning, lovely," I say, still grazing my forefingers over her jaw. She sets the cup beside her and combs her fingers through my blue back hair, careful to miss the curved horns. Her mouth is still a little swollen from my kiss last night.

I kissed her hard and desperately, wanting her to taste her any way I could, and now I think I want more.

Looking up, I take her chin in my thumb and pointer finger. She doesn't back away from the touch, so I use my hold to bring her face to mine. I run my nose along hers momentarily before giving in to my urge to kiss that full mouth. Our lips touch gently, teasingly. She tastes like coffee and morning rain. I am lost to her.