Taking stock of the lookout stations beyond the doorway, I scanned the enclave’s gnarled branches and vibrant leaves next. Such a contrast of bewitching colors and ominous darkness. Such sensory overload.
My psyche failed to keep up with this onslaught. The whispering winds. The density in the atmosphere. The bristling of every leaf, the restless splash of the creek, and the prickling across my nape.
This forest observed us. With its ancient architecture and grim legends about nature, this enclave mystified the denizens of Autumn. Wars had been fought here, the scent of blood buried deep in the soil. Eventually, peace and unity had been achieved, along with a diversity of residents.
Weddings. Burials. Feasts. Rituals.
Like a faint whiff, I felt the remnants of these events, as I had in the catacombs of The Phantom Wild with Jeryn and Flare.
Ostensibly, this place had accepted the hooligan, as well as Nicu. My liege hadn’t noticed, but while touring the enclave, a gale had brushed his dark hair like a caress. Thus, he would be protected here, the notion easing my soul.
As for Aspen, I sensed no foreboding or agenda directed toward her. Nor to myself.
Lyrik surveyed the bloody scabs and dirt streaks across Nicu’s countenance and led us to our respective bathing chambers, each with a tub centered in a hut of parquet wood. A faucet rose from the floor, connecting to a pipe running down the tree and into the creek. When operated, water gushed into the basin.
Lyrik added droplets from a decanter, and the tub’s pool simmered with heat, steam rising from the surface. Thinking of Aspen’s words in The Pumpkin Wood, I resisted the urge to guard Nicu’s chamber first before partaking myself. To a degree, my liege understood his challenges and thus chose the bathing cabin beside my own. He would be fine.
Instructing myself not to hover, I tossed Lyrik a warning glare. I saw the way this man studied Nicu and did not care for the implication, which could lean manipulative or opportunistic. When it came to Royals, either possibility was feasible.
But where Nicu went, I would not stray far behind. In which case, I’d spill Lyrik’s entrails before he got within spitting distance of the Royal Son.
To say nothing of what I would do if that motherfucker set his fiendish sights on Aspen.
I left Nicu to his privacy and sunk into my own whirlpool with a deep groan. Extending my arms, I rested my head against the ledge. Suds lapped at my muscles, and heat sloshed against my naked flesh.
Yet such luxuries following days of travel failed to purge my thoughts. A depraved corner of my brain blocked out all sense of propriety in favor of unholy visions.
Aspen bathing. Aspen naked.
Foliage lacing her skin. Rivulets caressing down her throat. Steam laminating her open thighs. Water licking the seam of her womanhood… her pussy.
Even before that, in the tree hollow when she spread herself for my hand and came around my fingers. The grind of her cunt. The drenched tightness. The unshaven contours of her pussy, the silken lips nestled in my palm, how wetly she clutched my knuckles, dripping to my fucking wrist. That pert little clit, inflated and hot to the touch.
The velvety texture of such erotic words on my mouth, how naturally they scraped from my wanton throat. The savory taste of her climax on my fingers.
Her cries of pleasure. Her gaping mouth.
Autumn be my savior. Seasons be my guide.
Beneath the whirlpool’s surface, my disgraceful cock stood erect, the sweep of the water enlarging my crown. I seized the tub, gripping so hard it became precarious. But better to snap a knuckle than to fist my dick and pump myself dry.
Know your place. Don’t get attached.
The kiss had been a rite of passage. Making Aspen come all over my hand had been a spiritual experience. But anything more would be my undoing.
My balls toughened, and blood swarmed the head of my cock. With a hiss, I rose from the bath, droplets sliding down my limbs, the eventide chill no match for this affliction.
Outside the cabin, Lyrik had deposited spare clothes from the enclave’s former residents. Although dating back to a bygone era, the preserved garments looked and smelled fresh. Theensemble fit, the shirt and ankle-length coat woven of midnight thread, the hose of an identical dye.
Dressed and armed, I found Nicu communing with Aspen on an overhead terrace with curved banquettes embedded along the border. As flames engulfed a central fire pit, the pair leaned against the railing with their backs to me, their shoulders bumping as they whispered.
When I emerged, Aspen stiffened. Her head careened over her shoulder, those eyes stumbling over my new attire, which halted whatever thoughts had occupied her.
Perdition. I felt that gaze through every stitch of material, a state of affairs further complicating my perpetual erection.
Under the cloak, a fetching pewter dress with ivory trim clasped her body. Soft yet steely. So damn alluring. The vision depleted me of air, my lungs wrestling for oxygen, and my fingers growing restless.
Earlier, our horses had been fed and settled in a stable. Discovering a third equine in residence made me ponder how Lyrik afforded the creature, as well as the ingredients for his illegal hobby. Presumably, this male drove a hard bargain for the cocktails he brewed.
