I stand quickly, and she looks up at me, startled. “This has been lovely,” I tell her. “But I need to get back to work.”
And I head back to the castle before she can say another word.
That night, I’m sprawled across my bed, still dressed in the same clothes from our impromptu picnic. I skipped dinner again,and now I stare at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the afternoon. The way Robin smiled when I admitted I hadn’t sat on grass in decades. The passion in her voice when she talked about the children. The moment when she looked at me and said that everyone deserves someone who believes in them.
Even me…
A soft knock at my door breaks through my spiral of thoughts. I sit up, already knowing who it is before I call out, “Come in.”
Robin stands in the doorway wearing a simple cotton nightgown that I picked out for her myself. It should look innocent, but somehow makes my mouth go dry. And her eyes are dark with something unspoken—a question, a need, a decision she’s finally made.
I don’t speak. I can’t trust my voice not to betray the desperate want that’s been building in me for weeks. Instead, I lift my hand slightly—a gesture so small it could be dismissed as nothing, but Robin reads it perfectly.
She steps inside and closes the door behind her with a soft click.
Without a word, she walks towards the bed, pulling off her nightgown and letting it drop to the floor as she approaches. She’s naked underneath, the sway and swell of her breasts mesmerizing me at once.
She slides in beside me, settles herself on the pillow beside me with a smile. No fluttering eyelashes. No coy simper. Just an open invitation.
An offering.
An act of generous submission.
I move over her gently to cover her, aligning our bodies, sliding my thigh between hers, sinking down on top of her in a movement that feels natural. Necessary. And yet different. It might seem like I have control, but we both know that Robin is pulling me this way and that like the moon pulls the tides. I kiss her for a long time, until her legs are trembling around mine and she’s writhing against me.
I slide down a hand to pet her between the legs. She’s slick, swollen, and so, so ready. And I want to give her what she needs.
Give it to her. Not take her power away, not try to control her, not use her with greed and selfishness, but try toearnwhat I really want from her.
I kneel up between her thighs, pushing up her legs with my arms hooked under her knees, so that her pussy spreads wide. I line up so that I can press my cunt down on hers, rubbing up and down the length of her in a slow, slick slide. My hard clit catches hers, and she bucks, a low moan escaping her. It’s such a gorgeous little noise that I have to bend down and kiss her again.
I keep rubbing against her, feeling the hot pulse of her clit and the soaked folds of her pussy, making her squirm around beneath me. She’s so sensitive. So responsive. Every sigh, every noise, makes me want to draw out another, and another.
I keep moving, my body a wave rising and receding over and over against hers. The tension is mounting between us, the pressure rising, the heat growing. Her tits bounce as I increase the rhythm, her nipples hard points, and I lean down to flick one of them with my tongue, catch it softly between my teeth.
I’m in control of the pleasure she’s getting, but there’s no feeling of power, no smug sense of triumph. Only the driving desire tomake her feel good, to make her cry out, to hear her gasping for me.
And when she moans my name, begs me to let her come, it’s no longer against her will. It’s a reciprocal gift.
“Eva, please!”
“Not yet,” I murmur, shifting so my clit slides directly against hers. Her fingers dig into my back as her hips lift, seeking the friction she craves. “Soon. But not yet.”
She whimpers, a beautiful, needy sound that makes me ache. My breath is coming in short pants now, the familiar heat building inside me. I’m so close, and from the way her legs are trembling and her eyes are glazed, she’s right there with me.
“Come for me,” I pant out at last, unable to hold back myself, and she cries out, her body stiffening beneath mine. The orgasm rips through her, and I ride her through it, watching her face twist, desperate and gorgeous at the same time. My own climax rushes through me too fast, almost painful, making me shudder and gasp, and I collapse sideways onto the sheets, breathing hard.
Robin curls up against me, and I find myself wrapping an arm around her instinctively.
This is intimacy. Connection.
And, I realize, as clarity begins to seep in, the kind of vulnerability that could destroy me if she chose to weaponize it.
I should send her back to her room. Should restore the distance between us before this goes any further. Should remember that she’s here temporarily, that this arrangement has an expiration date. We’re almost a third of the way through it now.
Instead, I hold her closer and watch the moonlight paint patterns on the ceiling.
“What are you thinking about?” Robin asks softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my bare chest.
