The sun was beginning to set, sliding slowly through the evening sky to rest behind the hill. Princess Ivy watched from the west wing of the castle as the red hue filled the sky before her, bathing the kingdom in a beautiful glow. It had been an awful day and she was nestled in her favourite window seat, watching the sunset in the hopes that it would cheer her melancholy mood.
It had a calming effect on her and she used it to think over her day without too much anger rising within her. It had been a day organised by her mother to find her a husband, as most days were now that she'd turned 21.
A dozen suitors had been paraded in front of her over the time, each more dull and lifeless than the one before. Some were snivelling things, brought forward by some Lord from here or there, the heir to an estate who wanted to ally themselves to the royalty. Some were strong men – warriors, grown rich by war and now wishing to secure a title. She could see no beauty in them, no creativity, just a greedy, grasping need.
Ivy knew little to nothing about men, but the thought of being matched with any of them filled her with dread. She was lucky, her mother was letting her choose from the selected suitors, but she would only have that chance for so long before impatience would set in. She needed to marry, this much she knew, but she couldn't bring herself to take that awful step and she was sure that soon it would be forced upon her.
She had picked her bedroom based on this view. It certainly wasn't the biggest in the castle, but it had its own cosy charm and looked over the lake with the backdrop of hills and mountains that she adored so much. Her four-poster bed took up much of the space whilst most of the walls were covered with bookcases. A few metres from the foot of the bed there was a magnificent fireplace with two arm chairs before it.
The fire was unlit and with the sun setting, the room was starting to chill. That meant that Luke, one of the servants, would be in soon to light the fire. She hoped he wasn't in too much of a rush so that she could ask him to stay for a while, entertain and distract her from her spinning thoughts.
He had joined the castle staff years ago with his father, and being only a few years older than her meant that he'd often been given the task of playing with her when they were young. She had no friends her age, and he was the closest thing. However, as they'd grown older his duties had changed from odd-jobs boy. He was now helping run the whole staff, in charge of security for the castle and advisor to the king. He still made sure to light her fire each night though, even though it wasn't his job, just so they could chat for a while before he left the castle for his own home in the town.
The door creaked open and she made sure to keep her gaze firmly set on the hills before her. She listened as his confident footsteps moved to the fireplace and heard as he began to move logs from the basket by the hearth and into a skilful pile in the grate.
"How're you today then, Ivy?" he asked, still shuffling around with the kindling. He was the only member of staff who had the courage to call her by name and it would usually make her smile but not today.
"Oh, Luke," she sighed, "not great to be honest." She heard him still, the sounds of rustling ceased for a second, before he continued with his ministrations.
"Really? That's not like you. What's wrong?" She chewed on her bottom lip, trying not to be overwhelmed by her thoughts, twirling a strand of her long auburn hair between her fingers.
"Luke..." she began nervously.
"Yes, Ivy?" he answered, concern was heavy in his voice.
"Do you remember when you first came to the castle?"
He had stopped rustling now, the fire possibly ready to be lit, and she heard him stand up to come over and speak with her properly. He made his way to the window seat and leant against the wall by it. His thick arms were crossed over his torso, his dark curly hair messy and unkempt as always. He looked down at her with furrowed brows. He looked concerned.
"Of course," he eventually replied. He stared down at her, his face urging her to continue.
"I was just thinking. The games we used to play, they were such fun," she stopped to chew at her bottom lip some more, and Luke's gaze flickered to her mouth for just a second before returning to look into her pale green eyes. "And we used to play so often. Remember when we'd play hide and seek?"
"You always found the funniest places to hide," Luke said, the memories now filling his mind too. He turned to gaze at the hills and chuckled. "The coal basket was ingenious." Ivy giggled too at the memory.
"Oh gosh, yes, I forgot. I was covered in black soot when you found me. Nanny was so mad." She sighed again. "It's just.... I wish I was still that age, still young, still able to just play games with you all day."
She gazed down at her palms, her fingers twining and then untwining around each other. Luke turned his head to look down at her once more. He watched her hands fiddling. It wasn't often Ivy was sad, and it made him sad to watch.
"We can still play, Ivy. You never get too old to have fun," she glanced up at him and he winked down at her, grinning. The sunset was casting an orange hue across his face, the light playing along the lines of his cheek bones, making them stand out even more than usual. He leant down so that their faces were level with each other. He tried to muster his most menacing face, which to Ivy seemed very menacing indeed, and in a low voice he whispered;
"Run."
She giggled and squealed all at once, leaping from her seat at the window and dashing behind the far armchair by the fire place. He began to stalk towards her slowly, a predatory grin heightening his already dangerous good looks. She gripped the chair in front of her, momentarily frozen by the look in his eyes – the way he was looking at her made her cheeks flush and her breath come in shallow gasps but she didn't have time to figure out why. He was getting closer.
Realising he was about to catch her, she mentally shook herself and bounded across the room, jumping up onto the bed. She stood there, hands on her hips with a haughty look on her face. He spun on the spot to face her and cocked his head.
"You think you're safe there, little one?" he drawled. He stayed where he was, just before the fire, and stared straight at her, waiting for her to move. He feigned a dash towards her, causing another delighted squeal to escape her lips before she sprung off the bed, heading once again in the direction of the window, just as he'd expected.
He dashed forwards in three long strides and caught up to her just as her feet hit the wooden floor. With one hand he encircled both of her delicate wrists with his fingers. She giggled and tugged away, becoming increasingly breathless. He grinned and tightened his grip.
"Tut tut, princess," he teased, "you need to learn to recognise when you've been caught." He moved a little closer to her. She shook her head stubbornly at his words and thrashed about as hard as possible, trying to wriggle her wrists out of his grasp but it was hopeless. She was petit and he was much taller, much stronger, than she.
As she struggled, his other hand rested firmly on her waist. Suddenly and without warning, he pushed her backwards a few steps, until her body was pressed up against the wall. As he did so, he quickly raised her arms above her head and pinned them above her.
The position forced her small frame to be stretched out before him, her back slightly arched as she was raised up on tiptoes. It all happened so quickly she barely knew what he was doing until she felt the cool stone pressed against her, the temperature seeping through her clothes and cooling her skin. She suddenly became agonisingly aware of how close his body was to hers, though not quite touching. She wished they were touching, she realised.
The thought caused her breath to falter for a second and she bit down on her lip, confused by her own mind. She risked a glance up at his face, just inches from hers, and saw a similar anxiety in his eyes. His breathing was hard and fast, his breath warming her face.
In truth, he was acutely aware that he had gone too far. Her body, pressed up against the wall like this, her wrists held by his hand, she was completely at his mercy and he was trying desperately to calm his body down so as not to act on this realisation.
"You're trembling" he whispered. He was shaking too. He could feel the blood flushing his cheeks and neck, and watched as the same happened to her own pale skin. He noticed beads of sweat began to form between her small but plump breasts which were rising and falling with an increasing speed. He could scarcely breathe as he registered these distinct signs of her arousal.
He began to swirl his thumb in slow circles on her wrist, still pinned to the wall above her head, and gasped as she let out a quiet moan.
"Let's test something," he whispered, more to himself than her, and moved his body away from hers by just an inch. In any normal situation it would have been unnoticeable, but in her flushed state it felt as if he had moved a mile and she instinctively arched her body more to follow him.
As he registered her movement his body took over from his mind, he gripped her wrists tighter and moved back to where he had been, before deciding to ignore his better judgement entirely and move even closer. He moved forward more, pressing his body flush against hers, his thigh resting in between her legs, pressed up against her pussy lips beneath her dress. It forced her legs apart slightly and she began to pant delicately, slight mewling sounds were coming from her throat.
He could feel her trembling increase, could almost see her heart thudding beneath her breast. She could barely breathe as her body became awash with new and strange sensations. As he had moved towards her, her stomach had seemed to swoop and dip, an intense pool of heat was building between her legs and her skin felt prickly and hot. His thigh, pressed against her like this, felt delicious in ways she couldn't understand.
Instinctively, not knowing what she was doing, she moved her hips slightly to rest more of her weight against his leg. Her nether regions were now pushed against his strong, thick thigh and it was causing an odd tickling feeling deep within her. He growled, low and guttural, scarcely believing what she had done, the way she had moved her hips against him, what that meant she was feeling.
He moved his gaze so that he was staring directly into her eyes, wanting to watch her reaction, to make sure. She was biting her lip but her eyes seemed dark with lust. He slowly moved his thigh up to press harder against her, watched as her eye lids closed slowly for a second before fluttering up again to continue looking at him. He watched as her gaze then darted down to his lips, heard her moan softly. His stomach erupted in butterflies and he completely lost his self-control. Slowly, agonisingly, he dragged his thigh up against her and then back down again, expertly ensuring that it would brush the spot where her clit would be beneath her skirts.
She shivered and moaned louder, closing her eyes and dropping her head at the intense sensations he was causing. He gripped her wrists tighter again, pushed them even harder against the wall, and with his other hand reached up to cup her chin and neck, forcibly tilting her head back up to him. He needed to be sure, to read the look on her face.
Their eyes locked together, he slowly began to trail his hand down her neck, feeling the quickening pulse of her blood coursing through her body. He moved his hand down further, stroking over the delicate mound of her breast, tracing the lace neck line of her dress, grazing his thumb down and over her nipple. He let out another growl as he felt her nipple, which was hard, beneath the fabric of her clothing.
Ivy's body seemed to jump at this contact and suddenly, a flicker of fear crossed over her face and he froze. His conscience was warring to be heard over the rush of blood and lust that was coursing through him, urging him on. In a cold moment of clarity he suddenly realised what he was doing, or rather who he was doing it to. He instantly let go of her wrists and stepped back, away from her.
She dropped her arms down and her body seemed to slump against the wall. She wrapped her arms around her tiny frame in, what, protection? Luke suddenly felt intensely sick. She looked confused for a second and then he saw what he thought was relief cross her face. He cursed at himself and began to take a step towards her, wanting to comfort her, but she turned her head to stare at a point on the wall across the room from them, crossing her arms over her chest. Her delicate features were scrunched up as a war seemed to be going on inside her mind. She dropped her head and curtain of auburn hair obscured her beautiful face from his view.
She was panting but obviously trying to get it under control. He tried to speak but faltered, not knowing how he could explain his actions, what he had done, what he hadn't ever planned to do. She was so innocent, he knew that, and he had always kept that in mind during the course of their long friendship. She was delicate, she was young, she didn't know the world that he knew. As beautiful as Ivy was, as alarmingly sexy as she was, she didn't know it and he had never allowed his mind to wander in that way. He had never wanted to corrupt her. He swore to himself again.
Straightening his clothing, he tried once more to speak but gave up. Eventually, after what seemed like an agonisingly long time, he simply turned on his heel and strode out of the room, pulling open the door a little too forcefully. Collecting himself, he shut the door gently behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Ivy watched as Luke closed the door firmly behind him. The second it had shut, her knees gave out entirely and she sank to the floor. She was still shaking uncontrollably and tried to take deep breaths in order to steady herself. Her emerald green dress fanned out like a pool around her, the creamy lace edging creating a striking contrast against the dark wood of the floor.
She did a mental check of her body - its reactions. She was fascinated by science, by anatomy, by any information she could gleam at all from the books that lined her bedroom walls but nothing she had read had prepared her for this.
Her hands were shaking and clammy, her breath laboured, her stomach tight yet fluttering. She listed these things off in her mind as if it were a check-list of symptoms. Her thighs were trembling and she could still feel the hot flush that had overtaken her face. Her breathing was laboured, coming in short gasps.
Her nipples were hard. She could feel them still, tight and insistent against her bodice. The soft fabric of her under-shift suddenly seemed too soft; the delicate fibres tickling the sensitive nubs. That had been the last thing that had tipped her over, she remembered.
During the game, against the wall, that was when the symptoms had started. The heady feelings had overwhelmed her in a sudden rush, she had barely been able to comprehend it, it had all happened so quickly. But then, when he had touched her nipple, she had felt a flash of something more, even more than when his thigh had pressed between her legs. It was as if the layers of her skirt had dulled the contact and therefore her reaction. But not her bodice. At the delicate touch of his thumb against her breast she had felt her mind swaying.
In that moment, it had felt like her sense of self, maybe even her sanity, had been teetering atop a high precipice and she had been about to tumble. Amongst everything else, THAT had been the moment, the direct jolt of fear that had truly terrified her. What on earth was happening to her body?
And this last symptom: the place between her legs, the place she so little thought about. It was still burning. The jolt of fear that had been intertwined with his touch on her bosom had seemed to shoot straight there, setting alight a sensation that had been building since he'd first pinned her wrists together, ending the furtive chase. It has been so strong, almost painful, but not quite... there was something else. But what?
She quickly lifted her skirts, running her finger up between her legs, along her trembling thighs. She hesitated once she reached the top of her legs, her hand resting just before the juncture where they met. She stroked her fingers along the inside of her thighs, trying to comfort herself in a desperate attempt to stop them trembling. The shaking had begun to get more intense again and she could see her legs vibrating, her usually pale skin painted a flush red.
Building up her courage, she traced her fingers higher. Looking directly into the fire, she reached out with the tip of her index finger and touched herself as lightly as she could. She was so sensitive that the intense sensation that coursed through her upon contact almost made her double over and she quickly wrenched her hand away. She looked at her fingers, startled. They were wet.
She searched every dark recess of her mind that she could access to try to distinguish what was happening to her. It seemed to resemble intense fear. The shaking, the feelings in her stomach. They must come from adrenaline. Yes, the fight or flight reaction. But she couldn't remember any information about why that would cause this reaction between her legs.
And regardless of the reaction between her legs, why would she become so terrified of Luke? She had never feared him before, never with any of their chase games. He had never hurt her. Even when he'd pressed her against the wall today, it hadn't hurt... or, not exactly. The memory caused another intense surge of heat to lash through her groin and a moan fell from her lips before she could catch it.
Frustrated, no, infuriated at her lack of knowledge, her inability to understand, she forced herself to stand up and quickly moved to her closest bookshelf. She squinted hard at the titles but in the dying light she couldn't make out the words. She shot a glance at the window, saw that the sun had now almost completely fallen down to hide behind the hills; leaving her room in near-total darkness, save for one candle. Of course, the fire - it hadn't been lit.
She ran her fingers through her hair in anguish. She moved to the servant's bell by the door, reaching out to tug at it, summon someone to light the fire, but stopped herself. She couldn't bear to do it, to have anyone in the room right now would have been too much but especially to light the kindling that Luke had set up, as he did every night. It seemed wrong, intensely wrong.
She swirled on the spot and scanned the room. A chest of drawers sat beside her bed and she rushed to it, pulling out the drawers frantically, searching for the matches that she was sure she kept in there. She often read late into the night and needed to be able to light the candles by her bedside. She just hoped she hadn't used the last match.
The drawers were empty and she resisted the urge to scream. She quickly dropped to the ground, scanning the wooden floor for any hint of matches. And then she saw the cardboard box under her bed. She must have simply dropped them down a night or two before, absent-minded from whatever book she'd been caught up in.
She moved over to the fire, matches clasped in her still-trembling hands. The first few matches she tried to strike snapped. She was being too vigorous. Obviously the adrenaline was still surging through her delicate frame. She took a moment to steady herself, taking a deep breath in and holding it for a few moments before allowing it to trickle out of her lungs slowly.
The next match burst into flame instantly. She carefully lowered it down to the kindling, lighting first one corner, then the next, as she had seen Luke do so many times before. The thought made her squeeze her eyes shut with an over-whelming emotion that she couldn't put a name to. She shook herself mentally and carried on with the fire.
Eventually, the entire kindling structure was roaring with flames, heat licking at the sides of the hearth. She quickly rose and began to frantically pull books down from her shelves, anything that she thought could help, could explain what was happening to her body.
She had never felt so terrified, so confused by her own senses. She felt betrayed in some way and suddenly that anger latched onto Luke. Luke, who had been there when this happened, had seen her body behave in strange ways and yet said nothing. He had just left. What if she was ill? She just didn't know. But Luke knew so many things about the world that she didn't, having been allowed to roam beyond the castle walls. He might have been able to help her.
With a new bout of anger, she began to tear the books from their shelves, not even considering the titles anymore. Once she had nearly emptied the bookshelves of their contents she set herself down on the floor in the middle of the pile, in front of the fire. There she remained for hours, reading furtively well into the night.
******
Luke stormed out of the castle and into the grounds, his fists clenched against his sides and an awful feeling causing his stomach to churn. He couldn't remember ever being so furious with himself. Yes, furious, but also something else. There - niggling at the back of his mind was an even deeper feeling of pure, burning lust. This made him even angrier and he quickly pushed that feeling as far away from his conscious thoughts as it could go.
He sped up his pace and quickly reached the stables where his horse was kept. It was a beautiful, strong black mare. It had been the first thing he'd bought with his wages from the castle and he had learned to ride with an avid fascination. Learning to control such a beautiful creature had filled him with intense feelings of strength, a feeling he hadn't forgotten since. He had been planning to teach Ivy to ride -- she had wanted to learn. She always wanted to learn. He shook the thought from his mind as the painful realisation surged through him that he wouldn't be able to teach her now.
He swiftly jumped up into the saddle, setting into a gallop and racing along the road leading to the town. As he rode, he couldn't help running over the scenes of that night in his mind. Like an endless spinning wheel it kept going, images of her flashed like lightning bolts before his eyes.
Her quick breathing, her flushed face, the sweat on her breasts, the roll of her hips against his thigh. Damnit, why hadn't she said something? He had been following her cues! And yet something had pushed her over an edge of some sort. He knew she had been aroused, as sure as he knew anything, could tell the signs from a mile off. So why had she become startled, HOW had he pushed her too far?
Because he was a servant, surely. Because he was below her. In all the books she had, he was sure there were Fairy Tales, romances. He'd never seen them on the shelves but she was bound to have them hidden somewhere. And what happens in Fairy Tales? The princess gets her prince. Prince Charming. That was her fear, that's what had caused her mind to overcome her desire - that she'd been made to feel that way by a mere servant of hers.
With a roar he whipped the reins to speed his horse on, wanting to get as far from her as he could. It was a straight line from the castle and as he rode he could still glance behind his shoulder and see the castle in the distance; Ivy's window a tiny pin point in the otherwise all-consuming darkness of the massive stone structure. And then, with a start, he tugged at the reins, causing his horse to skid to a halt.
Ivy's window. A pin-point. A pin-point of light. That meant that the fire had been lit. He hadn't done it; he hadn't gotten that far before being caught up in her talk, her words, her...
That meant that someone else would have had to light the fire for her -- she'd have had to call for one of the other servant boys, and she would have watched as this other man set aflame to the structure that he, Luke, had built for her.
He always lit the fire for her at night, and the break in this tradition wounded him more than any other thought that he'd had so far. He dug his heels into the horses flank with a fresh surge of fury. So, he obviously wasn't special to her. Their time together, their talks, easily replaced.
If he was so easily replaced, then he'd be damned if he didn't find someone who could so easily replace her. He reached back into his mind where he'd stored that all-consuming lust and pushed it to the fore-front, allowing it to guide and spur him further into the night.
******
Once he arrived at the inn by his house, he tied up his horse and rushed inside. He knew he'd find Caroline there, in this ramshackle building. Caroline, the first girl he had lain with. Although their past was tangled, they'd seemed to reach a quiet understanding. No seriousness, no talk of love, but every now and then a wonderful night of ravaging passion.
She noticed him as soon as he stormed into the building and she stood up with a flirty wiggle of her hips. Her ample breasts were nearly spilling out of her loosely laced gown and she bounced up and down a bit, knowing how it would make them jiggle.
"Ooh, Luke! Long time, no see," she smiled and reached out to him. He grasped her hand and tugged her quickly to the stairs leading to the rentable rooms above. "Eager are we?" she giggled, before quickly allowing herself to be dragged away.
They raced up the stairs together and fell into the first available room. He slammed the door shut and pressed her up against it, feeling the plump curves of her body pressing against his hard muscles. She clasped his face in her hands and brought it down to hers, kissing him roughly, swirling her tongue around his and gently sucking it into her mouth. He kissed her back with fury, knowing he was probably bruising her lips but not caring.
She moaned as his head dipped down to kiss her neck. He licked and bit at her rosy skin whilst grabbing at her waist and swivelling her around to the bed behind them. She eagerly slipped from his grasp, hopped up onto the mattress and began to undo her dress.
"I don't know what's got into you, Luke, but I like it," she laughed.
He forced himself to grin but couldn't maintain it; images of the princess, flush face and panting, were filling his mind and he needed to get them out. He crossed the room to where Caroline now lay on the bed. She had shimmied out of her dress and was entirely naked. Her ample curves created a beautiful picture and to his relief were different enough from Ivy's body to momentarily distract him from her.
He climbed on top of Caroline, his arms resting either side of her head. She quickly reached her hands in between the two of them and undid his trousers, sliding her hand down and beginning to stroke his growing cock. He moaned and sunk his head into the curve of her neck, biting at her skin. He brought his hand up to the back of her neck and entwined his fingers in her blonde ringlets.
He tugged, hard, bringing her head back and allowing him more access to the delicate skin of her throat. She moaned appreciatively and rolled her hips against him, pressing her body up to his with urgency. Luke tugged her hand out of his trousers and pinned it above her head. He reached down to her other hand which was stroking at the taught muscles of his stomach and moved it up to join the other.
"Keep your hands there," he whispered to her, before moving down to kiss a trail from the base of her throat to her breasts. Her nipples were hard and a deep shade of red. He took the left into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the nub, kneading the other breast in a firm grasp.
She moaned and arched her back, pressing her breasts harder into his face and delighting at the feeling of his stubble against her sensitive flesh. Luke took the cue and bit down gently on her nipple, tugging at it with his teeth and pinching the other at the same time. She let out a long moan and moved her hand down to his hair, pulling at it tightly. He growled and let go of the nipple, used his free hand to uncurl her fingers from his hair and press it back onto the bed above her.
"Do you want to be spanked?" he asked her, "because that's what I'll do if you move your arms again." She giggled and gave him a mischievous wink, before locking her eyes on his and slowly, deliberately, moving her arms. She brought them gently down from above her head and placed them on his broad shoulders. He laughed.
"Fine, if that's how you want to play it." This was something they often did. Him, with his need to control and tame. Her, with her reckless abandon, a need to break rules and be punished. He was used to her ploys to try to goad him into this, knowing the release they both found from it. This time, he needed no goading.
He wrenched himself from her and stood up off the bed. "All fours. Now," he commanded. She quickly scuttled into position. Her large bottom just inches from his body. He reached out his left hand and placed it on the back of her head. "Down," he ordered, applying pressure, and she obediently lowered her head to the bed, arching her back to bring her ass higher into the air.
Luke kept his left hand at the nape of her neck. He held the right up in the air for an agonising few seconds before bringing it soaring down. It smacked against Caroline's ass with force. The sound rang through the room like the crack of a whip and a bright red handprint quickly blossomed upon Caroline. She was jolted forward from the strike and struggled to lift her head from the mattress. Luke quickly let go of his grip on her neck.
"That was... harder than usual," she gasped.
"Yeah, well, I'm not feeling my usual self," he growled, before catching himself. "Shit, Caroline, I'm really sorry." His brows furrowed together as waves of concern rolled over him. This was the second woman tonight he'd now hurt as a result of his passions. He quickly stroked at the mark he'd left on her body, soothing the burning sensation of the smack.
"No, no, it's OK. I just wasn't expecting it," Caroline told him, swivelling round to face him and wincing slightly as her bum touched the bed.
"Doesn't matter. I shouldn't have lost control like that," Luke muttered, lowering his head into his hands. His looked through his fingers and saw her eager, beaming face peering up at him.
"Come here," he told her, and she scooted to the edge of the bed. He gripped his hands around her thighs and lifted her up, spinning round and falling onto the bed with her body clasped against his.
They fell into the mattress with her sitting on his chest. He lifted her up some more and pulled her higher, so that her pussy was level with his face. Luke let go of his grip around her thighs and started to stroke upwards, slowly moving his thumb in circles along her skin. He stopped suddenly, the movement reminding him too much of what he had done earlier to Ivy. Instead, he scraped his nails gently up her legs, causing her to shiver and moan above him.
Luke heard his name leave Caroline's lips and groaned in response. His hands had reached her centre and he could see that she was glistening for him. He moved his arms so that they were encircling her hips and pulled her body down to him, his lips grazing along the soft inside of her thigh.
He ran his tongue along her outer lips, savouring the taste and the way that it made her squirm. He artfully licked his tongue along her slit, stopping at her clit and flicking at it with his tongue. She squealed above him and lowered herself further so that his movements had more pressure to them. He responded by moving his hand and teasing her entrance with two fingers, entering her softness just slightly before pulling out again.
She was moaning uncontrollably and started to rock her hips back and forth against him. He licked and nibbled up and down her pussy, enjoying the feeling of her heat pressed against him. He moved his ministrations back to her clit, circling round and round the tiny bud but never quite coming into contact. She groaned and tried to move herself onto his tongue but he kept her firm with one hand still on her waist.
Then, just as he finally latched his lips back onto her clit, hard, he thrust his fingers inside of her, curling them slightly and stroking at her tight walls. She let out a scream and he could feel her pussy clenching against his fingers, massaging him back. She was already close and he knew how to tip her over the edge.
He applied more pressure with his lips and fingers, moving his head as he did so, luxuriating in the warming sensations, moving her clit with him each time. He started to stroke her faster with his fingers, building the pressure with his mouth and gaining a steady rhythm with the two.
Her breathing had become laboured and he could hear it catching in her throat. He pulled her clit into his mouth with growing fervour and pressed against it with his tongue, making the tiniest of movements against it, applying pressure at the same time as his fingers thrust back into her. She came explosively, soaking his fingers and shuddering above him. He held her waist as she orgasmed, steadying her against him.
Eventually her shaking stopped, and she rose from him and moved to lie back on the bed. He followed her over and positioned himself between her thighs, his arms either side of her. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him into her but he halted, resisting her desperation.
"She needs to marry!" the Queen said, all but stamping her feet at her husband, growing increasingly impatient at his immoveable mood.
"She will, when she chooses someone suitable," he reassured her, "which I'm sure she will soon. There are some fine men in the kingdom; we just need to present her with the right one."
"It isn't that simple, darling," she whined, moving closer to him.
They were seated on the sofa in their private lounge, breakfast finished. They always spent some time together just after they'd eaten their morning meal, before the day's proceedings ripped them from each other's side. The King, to politics, the Queen to the running of the house and the calculated care of her daughter's future.
"You see, it's not just that we haven't found the right man. It's that she doesn't want a husband at all. She barely understands what it would mean. She's scared, just like I was. But until we force her hand, she'll never make the choice herself and she'll never know what she's missing out on," the Queen said, clasping his hand on her lap, trying to make him see.
"But it's not like she's scared of men, Cara," the King contradicted, "I mean she's been nearly inseparable from Luke since he joined the staff."
"Yes, well, that's a whole other issue..." the Queen said.
"Stop that. I won't hear it again," the King commanded. He adored Luke as if he were a son and trusted him entirely with Ivy, knowing he wanted the best for her.
"I know, I know," the Queen sighed. She'd lost that battle enough times to know not to waste her time pushing it anymore, "But still, darling, having a friend and having a husband are hardly the same thing."
She reached up and stroked his worn face with her delicate finger tips, leaning forward to place a soft kiss upon his lips and giggling at the tickle of his greying moustache on her skin.
"That's true -- you don't get to do that, for one," the King laughed, slipping his arms around the Queens waist. "Where is Ivy, anyway? Isn't she usually down by now?"
The Queen cocked her head and looked up at the clock above the magnificent mantelpiece in the centre of the room.
"You're right, it is quite late for her," the Queen said.
The King stood up from the sofa reluctantly and went to the servant's bell in the corner of the room. He rang it and within moments one of the maids appeared at the door, curtseying to them both.
"Is Ivy coming down soon, do you know?" the Queen asked.
"No miss," the maid replied, "Charlotte said she's feeling ill, miss."
Charlotte was Ivy's maid-servant, a foreboding woman who quite-frankly terrified the Queen, but Ivy was fond of her so the King had requested that they had kept her on.
"Charlotte said that? Well, must be serious then, for Charlotte to agree," the King said, with a wink and a grin to his wife.
"Mmm," the Queen agreed, pursing her lips. "Could you inform her that I'll be up to visit her soon, please?" she asked the maid, who nodded and scuttled away. "I hope she's not doing this just to get out of seeing Lord Finch today."
"Oh, come on now," the King chided, "when has our little Ivy ever been that devious? I'll send a message to him letting him know that she's a bit under the weather and to postpone the meeting until she's feeling better."
"Fine, but we shouldn't postpone it too long. He's not a patient man," the Queen said.
"Well he'll just have to learn to be, especially if he's going to prove himself good enough for Ivy."
The Queen scoffed. "He owns half the kingdom, dear. He's good enough."
"You've already made your mind up about him, haven't you? That's why you're considering forcing Ivy's hand."
"Not forcing, just exerting our parental right. We've been exceptionally soft on her up until this point, and now we have a wonderful young Lord in front of us. Rich, handsome, very well connected. It's the perfect match for her and I, for one, am willing to push her a little harder than usual to ensure that she makes the correct decision."
"It sounds to me like you want to take away that decision entirely."
"Well, maybe we should. This has gone on for far too long, now."
"...I know," the King sighed. "I do know, I just... I don't want to remove her choice entirely."
"She's had choice," the Queen soothed, "and she hasn't taken it. It would be the kindest thing for us to do now, to nudge her in the right direction."
"Alright, alright. As long as it isn't a forceful nudge. She still gets a say in this," the King warned.
"Of course, dear," the Queen said, before planting a quick kiss on his cheek and sweeping out of the room to go and check on their daughter.
The King slumped back into the sofa and dropped his head into his hands. He knew his wife well, and with that came the knowledge that once she had set her mind on something there was no force on this earth that could sway her from the path. He just hoped that Ivy wouldn't become swept up and hurt in the inevitable oncoming storm.
*****
Ivy was curled up tightly in one of the grand armchairs in front of her fire place. It had taken her hours to get out of bed that morning, partly due to the late night but mostly due to the twisting feelings she had in her stomach and the tremors she was still experiencing in her limbs.
Her mother had been the one to pull her out of bed eventually, send her on a walk around the castle gardens. It had only served to strengthen the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, the hollowness in her legs, the fluttering of her heart. She had returned to her room gratefully and saw that it had been tidied in her absence and all the books returned to their shelves.
The books hadn't helped.
She was steeling herself for when the sun began to set and Luke would be up to light the fire. She was desperate to talk to him, desperate that he would have some answers. She had tried to explain to the others, her mother, Charlotte, the maids fawning over her, that she was unwell, flustered in some way by something.
Although she had tried to press her symptoms, her mother had dismissed it with a wave of her elegant hand and advised her to take air, to rest, not to read; books being unnecessary excitements, prone to causing excitable fits in young women such as herself. Ivy had tried to explain that this feeling had never come from reading, but the Queen assured her that, following her advice, she would be feeling well soon enough.
But Luke had seen it, seen her body act in strange ways. He would believe her and hopefully he could explain.
As the light began to fade and a chill wind seeped through the windows into her room, she turned her attention to the door. Her heart was thudding fast, waiting for it to open. She just needed to see him, just for a little while, just to talk.
A clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the minutes of her solitude with an aching monotony. With each passing moment the tension built within her, like a loose spring inside her mind tightening and tightening, coiling in on itself until the strain became unbearable.
Ivy sprang from her seat and tossed the blanket that had been around her shoulders onto the floor by her chair. She rang the bell and waited by the door, shuffling from foot to foot, her arm clasped around her waist and her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip furiously.
When the door creaked open Ivy involuntarily took a step back, another lash of adrenaline surging through her at the noise. But instead of Luke, as she had expected, a maid entered.
"Yes, miss?" she asked. Ivy stared at her, mouth slightly agape.
"I was just... erm... it's getting cold. I was wondering when Luke would be up to light the fire," she gestured unnecessarily to the dark, empty grate.
"Oh, of course miss. I think he thought someone else was doing it, but I'll go and fetch him now for you," she said, before curtseying and flitting from the room in search of Luke.
Ivy began to pace, no longer able to even feign stillness. Why would he think someone else would light the fire? Had he organised for it to be someone else's job? She stomped to the window overlooking the hills and wrapped both of her arms around herself, swaying slightly in time with the wind whistling through the window frame.
She had become so entranced in the rocking comfort of her movements to the gentle guidance of the winds melody that she didn't hear the door as it opened and then shut quietly behind her.
"Ivy?" Luke said, a curt tone in his voice -- a formal edge that was not usually there.
Ivy spun on the spot with a start. She would have moved to him but was held still by the look that was blazing from his dark eyes. Something dangerous seemed to be lurking there. It reminded her of a look she had seen once before: it had come from a bull that her father had shot on a hunt, a wounded indignity, but no, more than that, a terrifying will to fight.
Ivy swallowed, trying to think of something to say. She had run through all of this in her head but now she wasn't so sure. Luke was making her tense and all the carefully collected thoughts that she had assembled for the conversation seemed to scatter in an instant. Eventually, she gathered the courage to speak.
"The fire..." Ivy whispered.
"Yes?"
"... it, it hasn't been lit."
"Well, who lit it last night?"
"I'm sorry?" Ivy asked, confused.
"Who lit it last night? I can go and find them and ask them to light it again."
"No... no one lit it last night. I mean, yes, someone did, I did. I lit it," Ivy was stumbling over her words, unsure of herself.
Luke raised an eyebrow very slightly. It was barely noticeable, but Ivy picked up on it.
"You... you thought I asked someone else to light the fire?" she asked. Emboldened slightly, she took a hesitant step forwards, towards him.
His hands were behind his back and he was standing straight and tall until the realisation washed over him that he had been entirely wrong. He nodded silently to her and then cast his eyes to the floor. He brought his hand up and ran his long fingers through his hair, tussling it as he did so.
"I'll do it now," he muttered. He moved to the fire place and quickly began stacking the coal, logs and kindling, running on auto-pilot as his thoughts rushed around his head in a torrent.
Once he was finished she passed him the box of matches that she had used last night. As she placed them into his hands, their fingers brushed gently and he swallowed hard. He took time lighting the kindling, watching the flames envelop the wood, used the poker to more evenly distribute the coal.
"You did this yourself, last night?" he asked.
"Yes, although not so well as you. And you'd already made up the wood and things, I just had to light it."
He nodded, his mind lost in thought.
"Ivy, could we sit down?"
"Of course," she said, looking a little relieved. She moved warily over to the armchair closest to her, lowering herself into it and bringing her knees up to her chest, her skirt cascading like water down around her. She wrapped her arms around her knees and watched him intently as he moved to take the seat across from her.
He moved with agile purpose, as if sure of where he was going, not just in a room but in the world. His lean limbs reminded her of some sort of graceful swan, she mused. But darker; a black swan, maybe.
Once seated, he leaned forward so that his elbows were on his knees, his fingers steepled with his chin resting upon them. His intense gaze was fixed directly upon her and it flared up that now-familiar tingling sensation, starting in her stomach before sweeping down between her legs.
"You look like you have something you'd like to say, Ivy," he whispered. She nodded.
Ivy took a deep breath and Luke mimicked it without realising, his chest rising and falling in time with her own.
"I'm just so confused, Luke. You see, I think I'm ill."
Luke cocked his head to the side, a worried frown clear upon his face.
"I know you noticed it too. My body, it's acting strangely. Last night. My heart, my legs... they shook. They're still shaking. It's like adrenaline. I've been reading up on it, but it doesn't seem to make sense," it all flowed out in a whisper, a stuttering monologue that Luke had to strain to hear.
Luke sat up slowly, his hands moving to rest on the arms of the chair. The implications of what she was saying were becoming clearer to him. But he had to be sure.
"Since last night?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Since I chased you?"
"Whilst you chased me. Kind of. Once you caught me, I guess."
Luke took a sharp intake of breath, startled by what she was saying, not quite sure if he could believe it. Her words, she made it sound like she didn't know how she had felt, or why she felt it. She made it sound like she didn't know arousal.
He took a moment to consider his words carefully, watching closely for her reaction as he said them, studying her face.
"And when I pushed you against the wall...?" he asked. And there it was. The reminder of that moment caused her cheeks to flare up a beautiful shade of red, her breath came out as a gasp, and a faint whimper escaped her lips.
"Yes, then too. I think I'm ill," she repeated.
Luke swore to himself. She didn't know. How could she not know? She was sheltered, sure, but he had no idea that it was to this extent.
"You know something, don't you?" she said, looking at him intently. He stayed silent, looking back at her, searching her eyes.
"You know something!" Ivy said again, raising her voice.
"Yes, but..."
"What? What do you know!"
"Alright!" he hissed, silencing her. "Alright," he said, softer this time, composing himself. She was just a girl, he realised. For all her learning, for all her intelligence, she was just a girl who had now experienced her first feelings of passion and she didn't even know what it meant.
And if she was just a girl, then he was just a man, and he could teach her.
He scolded himself internally, annoyed at the excitement that had been caused by that thought. But he couldn't deny it, he wanted this. He wanted to be the one to guide her body, show her what it could do, bring her to a point of ecstasy at his hands. And she wanted it too, or rather, her body did. Her mind just hadn't had a chance to catch up. And if it was going to be anyone who would teach her, he wanted it to be him. He knew he would do it properly, gently, in a way that would make her feel safe.
Luke got up slowly from his seat and took a step towards her, keeping his eyes on her face, gauging her reactions. He lowered himself gracefully to his knees in front of her chair.
"Will you let me show you something, Ivy?" he asked, looking up at her, the flames causing shadows to dance around them. She nodded, very softly. He took that as full permission.
Luke reached up to where her feet were, up on the seat of the chair, her knees pressed against her chest. He took hold of her ankles, keeping his grip tender but firm, and used it to lift her feet off the chair and down to rest on the floor in front of his knees.
"How do you feel, Ivy?" he whispered, his eyes still on hers.
"Shaky," she said, and she sounded it. Little puffs of breath were escaping her mouth and she had started to tremble again.
Luke rose up on his knees, placed his hands onto the arms of her chair, his face now above hers slightly, so that she had to tilt her head up to keep eye contact with him.
"You'll be ok," he told her, reaching out with his right hand to grasp at her trembling fingers. He took her hand in his and turned it over so that it was palm up. Placing it back against the arm of the chair, he trailed his fingers up her own before reaching the soft skin on her wrist.
He rested his finger there for a moment, marvelling at the feeling of her quickening pulse against his finger tip, the feel of her blood coursing through her veins, so fast. He inwardly groaned at the thought of the warmth, the heat of the place where her blood was rushing to.
As slowly as he could he began to trace delicate circles around the pulse on her wrist, knowing that it would shoot her mind back to when he had done the same just the night before, when she had been pressed against the wall by him. Right on cue she let out a low moan and closed her eyes, her tongue flicking out to lick her dry lips.
"Talk to me, Ivy," he whispered.
"I just feel... tingly, again. Hot. My stomach, it's fluttering."
"Anything else?" he murmured, as reassuringly as possible, hoping to comfort her, make her feel safe enough to let go of her inhibitions.
Ivy blushed, bit her lip and shook her head. So she did know that there was something going on, he mused. If she wasn't willing to mention the heat, the wetness that he knew was spreading between her legs, then some part of her sub-conscious knew.
He could feel himself growing hard, had been trying to battle it but at the look on her face, the beautiful blush on her neck and breasts, it was becoming too much. He took a deep breath to steady himself.
Luke dipped his hand under the hem of her skirt and placed it back on her ankle, keeping his other hand still lightly pressed against her pulse, stopping the swirling of his fingers, wanting to feel each fluttering beat of her heart. Her eyes darted open again and she gazed down at him with heavy lids.
"Just keep breathing," he told her, focusing on keeping his voice low, seductive. "This will feel intense."
"You still haven't told me what's wrong with me," she whispered, the tremor in her voice obvious.
"Oh, Ivy, sweetheart, there is nothing wrong with you."
With that, he ran his hand up her smooth leg, trailing his touch along the sensitive flesh and leaving goose bumps in its wake.
She gasped, her back suddenly arching and her hands clenching tight. He felt her pulse jump and his own heart did the same. She was so sensitive, so responsive, like she'd never been touched. But of course, he realised, she hadn't. Not ever.
He stopped at her knee and wrapped his hand protectively around it, his fingers softly resting against the delicate skin on the back of her thigh.
Ivy let out a low moan and Luke couldn't stop himself from doing the same. He squeezed his eyes shut and bent his head down for a second, giving himself a chance to compose himself. At that one gorgeous sound, it had felt as if his whole world had dropped out of the pit of his stomach. Nothing could compare.
When he could bear it, he gazed back up at her and saw that she was once again looking frightened. This time, he didn't let it dissuade him, knowing that she was only fearing the unknown -- scared of her body's reactions, scared of the intense feelings that had suddenly invaded her previously monotonous life.
"Ivy, look at me," he commanded. She did, instantly, and his heart fluttered.
"I want you to do something, Ivy. I want you to focus on these feelings and embrace them. They are not bad, they are not dangerous. They are good." He thought for a second, remembering her need for facts, for science.
He began to trail his finger back and forth along the skin of her thigh, causing her eyelashes to flutter.
"This is your body's way of telling you something. It's telling you that you want something. Like hunger or thirst."
She nodded, looking at him in earnest now.
"Ivy -- it's happening when I touch you, isn't it?" She nodded again. "When my skin is pressed against yours?"
She didn't move, her eyes were fixated on his lips, her breath becoming increasingly shallow, her pulse racing beneath his finger on her wrist.
"And its building somewhere, isn't it?"
She gasped and bit her lip. He felt a shudder go through her and his cock surged with a rush of blood, aching to have her wrapped around him. But no, this wasn't for him, this was for her.
"It's building, this pressure, this heat, a tingling feeling, building somewhere, correct?" he asked, but he full well knew the answer.
At his words she let out another delicious, soft moan and faintly, so faintly, moved her hips as if to push them towards his hand.
Luke lost it. His hand on her knee gripped tighter, his nails digging into the soft flesh at the back of her thigh. He felt them bite into her, could almost feel the instant imprint, the half-moon shape caused by his nails, his grip. For a moment he was terrified it would startle her but she simply moaned louder and thrust her hips again, stronger this time, almost urgent.
He shouldn't have been surprised. He thought about what had triggered all of this -- him chasing her, pinning her wrists, pushing her body against the wall. These sensations were what had tipped her over -- the force was what allowed her to relent, to allow the rush of feelings, to allow her body to overtake her mind. Because he'd been forceful. Because he'd removed her choice.
He stopped his thoughts before they rushed too far ahead to images that would tip him over. He still needed to go slow; he still needed to show her.
He allowed the movements of her hips to guide him. She was rolling them softly now, the movements obviously giving her some of the release she needed from the pressure. With each tilt and roll of her hips, he let his hand slide up a little higher.
He was using all his conscious energy on stopping himself from trembling -- she was shaking enough for the both of them. He could feel her thigh muscles tensing and quaking beneath his touch, her pulse was racing and her whole body seemed to be coiled tightly. She was still looking at him; her mouth parted, her lips full and red, matching the colour of her hair.
He was almost at her pussy now; her moans were getting more frequent, in time with the movement of her hips and his hand. He could feel the damp heat enveloping his fingers and clenched the tips into the dewy skin at the top of her thighs, just below her mound. She practically convulsed and threw her head back for a second before bringing her gaze back to him and staring, wide eyed.
He removed his fingers from the pulse on her wrist; confident that there was no way it would be slowing down now. With his now free hand he began to raise the hem of her skirt. She stilled for a moment but he kept kneading her thigh, allowing his nails to lightly bite into her flesh.
"Keep looking at me," he told her.
He raised her skirt up and over her legs, pushing it up to her waist and suddenly stopped breathing. The sight before him was beyond his wildest dreams, her milky pale thighs, so slender, with their powerful muscles trembling at his touch. His own hand, his skin darker, more tanned. The redness, blending the two -- the spots where he'd latched onto her. Her panties, white, with a distinctly darker patch. A wet patch, confirming it all, as if he needed it confirmed.
He quickly looked back up at her, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable under his gaze. Instead, he looked into her eyes, watched the trembling of her lips. He reached up with both hands and placed them on her hips, just above her panty line. With his thumbs he traced back and forth along that line, every now and then allowing his thumb to go underneath the soft fabric.
"Lift your hips for me, Ivy," and without a pause, she did.
He took the moment instantly, not wanting to give her a chance to question or second-guess. He laced his fingers through the elastic and pulled down. Her panties slid down her smooth skin easily. He pulled them down her thighs, past her knees, all the way down to her feet, before he whipped them off entirely.
She was now nude beneath her skirts and he gave them both a second to calm, to adjust. The scent of her arousal was palpable to him now and his mouth ached with a desire to latch onto her clit, to kiss and lick and suck until she was writhing for him.
Instead, he brought his hands back up to rest on her now-still hips.
"Are you ok?" he asked.
She nodded, and he exhaled softly, running his thumbs up and down her hips bones, causing another shudder to course through her.
"Part your legs."
This was important. He wanted her to want this -- to be in a state where she trusted him, was open with him. He didn't doubt for a second that he would need to take the control back as soon as she acquiesced, she wouldn't be able to handle it otherwise, but the first step needed to be hers.
For an agonising moment, she didn't move. He forced himself not to move either. His thumbs stilled, his hands now simply resting gently on her skin, no teasing or stroking. His gaze never left hers, his breathing calm and regular, his face intent on conveying that she was safe and could trust him.
"I can't," she whispered.
He studied her face. She didn't seem scared, and it wasn't quite embarrassment, but there was definitely a reserve there, hidden behind her eyes.
"Do you want me to do it?"
She nodded, and that was enough for him. He ran his hands down the inside of her thighs, which were pressed together, until he reached her knees. Still looking into her eyes, he stroked his fingers down in between her legs and gripped. He gently pushed them open. She whimpered slightly but didn't resist, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip.
He kept going until her legs were spread as far as the chair would allow. He watched as the cold air reached her pussy and she moaned softly. He ran his hands firmly up her thighs, allowed his thumbs to dig into her skin slightly, massaging her with his movements.
In one fluid movement he had reached the apex of her legs and she groaned with a loud intensity, her eyes closing for a moment.
"Remember to keep breathing," he told her, watching her face carefully.
She nodded down at him. His left hand moved higher, just moments now from her heat. He kept his fingers there, at the point where her thighs became her pelvis, and reached out his thumb slowly. He grazed it along her moist slit and she jumped, crying out instantly. He'd been prepared for that, his other hand held her down tightly.
"Breathe, Ivy," he warned, and she gasped for air.
He placed his thumb on her again with slightly more force, massaging her lips and sliding up and down her slit, dipping into her wetness and allowing her to get used to the sensations. Once her breathing had become more regular he slipped his other arm around her waist, grasping firmly.
In one motion, he used his arm around her waist to pull her whole body forwards in the chair, sliding her right to the edge where he was waiting. At the same moment, he angled his thumb so that as her body moved forwards, he would slide into her, slowly but with conviction and so that at the first moment of entry her body was pressed against his.
She cried out, arching so much he was worried for a moment that she may break. Her arms instantly rose and wrapped round his neck. Her pussy was insanely tight. His thumb almost burned at the intense warmth of her, his hand already coated in her juices.
He was careful not to move his hand, his thumb, any part of his body. She gasped and mewled, clasped against him. His cock throbbed painfully but he controlled himself, willing his body to stay entirely still. Eventually she relaxed, her gasps coming slower and her shaking subsiding. He used the moment to pull her off the chair entirely with the arm wrapped around her waist. He spun them around together and twisted so that he could lay her down on the floor.
She looked achingly beautiful; flushed and panting. Her skirts were still above her hips and he could see his hand pressed against her, his thumb buried inside her. He groaned and lowered himself down slowly, hovering just above her lips.
"I am going to make you feel so good," he groaned, unable to stop himself.
He dropped his head down completely and covered her lips with his. At the contact she raised her hips up, pressing his thumb harder into her. He groaned into her mouth and licked his tongue against her closed lips.
"Open for me," he growled, and she gasped, allowing his tongue access into her mouth. He licked his tongue against the tip of hers, in slow languorous movements. She began to move her own against his, mimicking his movement. In time to her tongue, he began to swirl his thumb inside of her, causing a guttural moan to rise from her throat and her hips to begin to move in earnest.
He withdrew his thumb and she mewled. He stifled a grin and quickly replaced it with his finger, applying pressure to thrust it into her smooth, tight opening. She screamed and he quickly covered her mouth with his again, catching the noise. He began licking and biting at her lips as she shuddered beneath him, her breasts heaving against his chest.
He began to thrust his finger back and forth inside of her, raising himself up a little so that he could watch her face, her reactions. Her lips were parted in what looked like ecstasy, a high blush upon her cheeks and beads of sweat collecting at her temples. He curled his finger slightly to rub against the top of her walls, beneath her clit, and her eyes fluttered shut, her brows scrunching together, her moans getting louder.
He knew she was close. He could feel her walls getting tighter and tighter, grasping at his finger, pulling him in.
"Ivy," he whispered, his voice strained. She looked up at him. "Do you know what an orgasm is?"
She shook her head, still gasping for breath, still rolling her hips against his hand.
"You're about to," he told her. "It's going to feel scary, it's going to be intense, but I promise you will love it. I promise." He nodded slowly at her, watching her comprehend what he was saying.
"Do you feel that building feeling? The tingling?" he asked. She nodded.
"Follow that feeling."
He watched her shut her eyes and drop her head to the side, her face being warmed by the fire. He leant down and kissed her neck, licking slowly up, feeling the fast pulse of her blood coursing lust through her veins. She cried out and raised her hips and he moved his thumb to her clit but stopped himself. She would be too sensitive, it would be too much.
And so he placed his thumb just to the side, knowing that the movement there would be enough to create the friction she would need to tip her over. He was entirely right. She flicked her face back up to look at him, shock twisting her features into something between pleasure and pain.
"Let it happen," he told her, applying more pressure, moving his thumb slowly, thrusting in and out of her.
"Oooh," she whimpered, straining her neck, tensing every muscle in her body.
He cried out with lust, twining his fingers through her thick hair, urging her on. Her whimpers were getting louder and louder, and he nodded softly at her, letting her know it was ok. Her head fell back and she moaned, clenching her fists at the same time as the walls of her pussy clamped down around his finger. Her breasts were heaving and he became transfixed with the desire to loosen her bodice, let her feel the cool air on her skin. Her back arched and she screamed out, he could feel her walls clamping down on him, could sense the orgasm ripping through her body.
He slowed his movements but kept stroking her, letting her ride it out until her moans turned to whimpers, her head shaking back and forth softly. He stilled and slowly pulled out of her. Her muscles relaxed and she slumped to the floor.
He quickly lay down next to her, pulling her soft body into the warmth of his own. He cradled her head against his shoulder, kissing her forehead, her temple, her lips. Stroking her hair away from her face, he gazed down into her eyes, still darkened with lust.
"You're fucking perfect, you know that?" he asked her. Her eyes widened as he swore and he chuckled.
"Never mind," he whispered, "just rest."
She quickly nuzzled into him, her small hand placed on his stomach, stroking absentmindedly. He resisted the lust that this caused in him, not wanting to push her, not wanting to take it any further tonight. He closed his eyes and listened to the crackling of the fire, focused on the smell of Ivy that now permeated his clothing, felt the heat of her body pressed against his. Once he could hear her breathing shallow and felt her completely relax, he knew that she was asleep. He allowed himself to drift off, a smile upon his lips, a warm contentment seeping through him, a feeling that he hadn't felt in such a long time.
It wasn't long before he forced himself to wake. He didn't even want to imagine the reactions it would cause for someone to find him and Ivy together in the morning, curled up like this. Reluctantly, he untangled his legs from hers. She was sleeping deeply and merely rolled over, shivering slightly at the sudden absence of his body heat.
He slipped her arms under her slender body and lifted her up off the ground. Moving slowly, he carried her over to her four-poster bed. He laid her down on the sheets and hesitated for a moment. She was still fully dressed and he was unsure of the right thing to do. On one hand, it seemed ludicrous that, after what they'd just done, he'd be prude about undressing her. However, he hadn't seen her naked and if he was completely honest he wasn't sure he could handle it in a gentlemanly manner, having not actually found release himself.
Resigned, he merely lifted her up slightly to pull the sheets down and then lay them over her, her head resting against the pillow, her auburn hair spread out fanned out around her. She looked like something from a Fairy Tale.
He paused, lost in thought. He'd assumed she had Fairy Tales, romance books, but the events of this evening led him to believe otherwise. He realised that the thought didn't really surprise him. The King being so protective over her, it made sense that he wouldn't allow anything even close to a bawdy book to enter her innocent hands.
This made up his mind for him. He leant down and planted a chaste kiss upon her lips before exiting the room as quietly as he could. Once the door was closed softly behind him, he moved as silently as possible down the hallway, down the stairs, and out of the castle doors.
He rode quickly down the long road that lead to the village. It registered only slightly in his mind that he seemed to be riding so fast in an effort to stop his thoughts from catching up with him. He didn't want to consider the future -- the longer lasting repercussions of what had just happened. It wasn't so much Ivy, but himself that may be adversely affected by this night.
He reached his house and quickly unlocked the door, racing up the stairs to his bookcase. He scanned the titles quickly, looking for the right book. Eventually he found it and quickly pulled it from the shelf. He flicked through it, making sure it was suitable, reminding himself of the plot. Satisfied, he pocketed it, it being only small, and raced back down to his horse, tied up outside.
Setting into a quick gallop once again, he raced back to the castle. Getting back in at this time would be risky. People would be accustomed to the sound of people leaving late at night but not coming in. He moved as cautiously as he could, tying his horse up outside the gates. He didn't want to risk disturbing the other horses.
She was still lying as he had left her, a serene glow seemed to be illuminating her face but he chided himself for having such a romanticized thought. She's just a girl, he reminded himself. But he couldn't help picturing her as some sort of magical being, a fairy or nymph, with her flaming red hair and pale, white skin.
He softly sneaked over to her dresser, easily finding a pen and some paper. He scrawled a note and slipped it into the first page of the book, ensuring that some of the paper poked out of the top where she would notice it.
He made his way to her bedside and gently lifted the corner of her pillow. She sighed softly and he stilled, waiting for her to settle again. It only took a moment before she was breathing deeply once more. He took the opportunity and slipped the book under the corner of the pillow where she was sure to find it in the morning.
With his mission complete, he backed away from her slowly. He wanted to take in the sight of her, the smell, wanting to emblazon the moment in his memory. His Ivy, he thought, before scolding himself at the words. Getting attached would get him nowhere, he told himself.
With that, he turned softly on his heel and padded out of the room, as quietly as he had entered. He quickly tripped down the stairs and out of the castle doors. He strode confidently now to his horse outside of the gates, sure that no one would find it odd for him to be leaving at this time if they were to see him -- his duties often kept him at the castle late.
He untied his horse and leapt up into the saddle agilely. This time he allowed himself to trot slowly along the road to home, only now permitting the full weight of his thoughts to cascade down around him. Only now did he let himself fully consider just what it was he had done.
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