“Are you alright, dove? Did I hurt you?”
Her lungs began to inflate on their own once more as he checked her over with clinical concern, despite her assurance that she was fine, even though she wasn’t sure that was entirely true. “Do you want to take a hot bath? Are you sure you don’t want food?”
The room still spun as she lifted her head from his shoulder, although perhaps not as badly as it had done a few minutes earlier. “What...what are you going to do?”
His slim eyebrow raised, the dim light of the room making the silver bands there glow. “It’s the middle of the night, Silva. I’m going to bed.”
“Bed sounds good,” she whispered.
The bathroom across the hall was similarly all white, gleaming subway tiles with an ornate antique mirror above the pedestal sink. Silva brushed her teeth, cupping her hand beneath the tap to drink several mouthfuls of the cold water before she hesitantly tiptoed back to the now dark bedroom. Although his teeth gleamed in the moonlight, the smile he gave her was less sharp, softer than what she’d seen from him previously, which she returned with a tremulous smile of her own when he patted the turned-down side of the bed.
Her eyes swept the room when he turned her to unzip her dress, despite the fact that she could have easily pulled it over her head. A large, antique bureau was on the wall across from the bed, with a twin on the wall beside her, Elvish in provenance and very well cared for. The tables on either side of the big bed were similarly styled Elvish antiques, while the bed itself was completely modern, sleek and black, piled high with the fluffy bedding, and she was unable to hold in a little sigh of contentment when he pulled her into the white cocoon beside him. She had grown up in a privileged, insular world and recognized luxury when it was in front of her; these were high thread-count sheets of the best quality, the duvet was filled with fluffy down. She didn’t understand how a bartender could afford such finery, but nothing about this weekend had made a particularly great deal of sense.
“Are you sure you’re not hungry? Three a.m. colcannon to stick to your bones? I’m a very good cook, I’ll have you know.”
She laughed as he pulled her to his side, tucking the duvet around them. “No, I’m good.” Her head seemed to fit perfectly against the center of his chest, and her breath caught when she felt his lips press lightly to her forehead as his arm settled around her. The long line of his body pressed to hers, warm and solid; the arm he’d folded over her was heavy and secure. She realized she’d be saying goodbye tomorrow, and wasn’t able to articulate to herself why the thought upset her as much as it did.
“Sweet dreams, little dove. I wish I could tell you it won’t be an early morning, but the Sunday breakfast crowd is madness.”
Silva snuggled against him, pushing down the sob she felt brewing in her chest when he tangled his fingers into her hair. He smelled like sandalwood and freedom, and she wondered if she would ever get to know what that was.
♥♥♥
Part 03
♥ The Morning After ♥
The big bed was impossibly comfortable.
Ris jumped as her alarm sounded, buzzing her phone across the nightstand beside her. It had been the middle of the night when she’d staggered back to the resort, peeling off her dress and dropping into bed naked, unable to hold her head up for another moment. The bonfire had been...an experience. She was not sure it was one she’d ever want to repeat, but she could say that she’d done it and had gotten exactly what she’d come looking for.
The orc who’d invited her had taken her kneeling in the thick grass, rutting her like an animal, the exact sort of mindless fucking she’d been expecting all weekend. When the orc who had been watching appreciatively had approached her from the front, smearing the glistening tip of his cock across her lips, Ris had opened her mouth welcomingly, imaging a swirling black line cutting through ‘spit-roasted by orcs’ on her sexual bucket list.
The one in the front had been rougher than she’d anticipated. Darkness had closed in on her several times, her airway completely constricted by his thick length, but he’d pulled back each time and she’d wheezed in a lungful of air, drool running down her chest, just before he’d pushed his way into her mouth once more. When the orc behind her orgasmed with a shudder, the thick cock had left her mouth, switching sides to fuck into her from behind, until he too had finished.
She’d been taken again by an ochre-skinned orc with huge tusks and a clan tattoo covering his broad back, pounding into her on the edge of a picnic table, yowling his climax into the sky. The first orc, the one who’d invited her, had already recovered from his peak and had moved on to another girl at that point, an ecstatic harpy. Ris could see her feathered shoulders bouncing as she was held aloft in huge, green arms, and turned away, not needing to see or do anymore. She’d had the experience she’d been seeking, and that was good enough. If she’s stayed any longer, she might have sustained an injury, and she’d already felt well-used at that point.
She’d only come twice, she’d realized as she located her dress at the base of a bush, slowly walking through the condom wrapper-strewn grass on shaky legs. The little downtown was dark as she teetered through, her ankles wobbling on the cobblestones, past the little bistro, past the soap maker and the apiarist, past the black-bricked building where the handsome orc had been shouting on the sidewalk. She wondered what Lurielle had gotten up to, dressed as nice as she had been. Silva had, as usual, looked like she’d stepped from the pages of Better Elves Weekly, in a prim white dress and a tulip pink scarf knotted at her neck. She’d probably spent the night in the resort lobby, charming the bellhops and retiring by nine.
She’d dropped into bed in a heap, unconscious as soon as her head hit the pillow. Now the light streamed through her windows, and Ris rolled over with a groan. She was sore, she was probably bruised, and felt as if she could sleep for a week. Despite that, she pulled herself from the bed. They would need to check out soon, and unlike her friends, her belongings had not been kept neatly in her bag.
“Ladies, I’m going to jump in the shower, ‘kay?”
Silence greeted her as she stepped from her room, wrapping a towel around her long, slender frame. “Luri? Silva?”
Silva’s already-packed quilted bag sat on the end of her still-made bed, and a check to Lurielle’s room showed a similarly unslept in bed. She was the only one who’d made it back to the room the previous night.
“Un-fucking-believable...”
♥♥♥
The big bed was impossibly comfortable.
Silva stirred, wrinkling her nose as something tickled her, snuggling deeper into her fluffy pillow. She felt as though she were floating in a sea of softness, enveloped between the crisp, cool sheets and thick duvet. She'd wondered about the heavy weight of the bedclothes last night, but she'd been too sleepy, too emotional and heavy after their bacchanal, and far too comfortable in his arms to question it. It wasn't until later, when she'd carefully extracted herself to tiptoe to the bathroom, that she'd felt the arctic gust of air through the vents, raising goosebumps on her arms. Sliding back under the covers with him had been a relief, worming her way back into his embrace. He’d rolled to his side once she’d left the warmth of his arms, but they’d come back around her as soon as she pressed to his front, her nose against his throat and his knee pushing through her legs until they were a tightly pressed tangle of limbs.
Something grazed her nose again, and she twitched, burying her face in the pillow with a whimper. Beside her, Tate chuckled. "Time to rise and shine, dove."
"It's too early," she moaned into the smooth, white cotton. The room was dim with grey, early morning haze, and she felt as though she could easily sleep for hours more.
