AUTHOR'S NOTE: Dedicated to the amazing readers who took time rating, commenting, and sending feedbacks on Courting Daphne, and to those who generously added me or any of my stories to their favourite list. Thank you very much for the support. My love goes to you always, SF.
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The silence of the night was broken by soft, childish giggles accompanied by gentle sounds of bare feet walking on lush carpet. Then, there was the silent chuckle of a man, muted at once by a pair of soft lips from which came a contented sigh.
On the other side of the door where the man and the woman leaned, wide-eyed ladies-in-waiting stared at one other, frozen in their seats around the gaming table.
"Are you sure you're not drunk?" Leander asked as he pulled the woman close to his body.
Daphne pouted and lightly pinched his side. "I didn't even get to drink what I wanted. Besides, why should I ever want to get drunk, huh?"
"Three reasons," Leander whispered, kissing the part of her neck closest to her ear. "One, you're home again after three years." He ignored Daphne's groan of exasperation, continuing, "Two, the war against Elgeshore is over, with the crown of victory resting on the heads of Thersalians. And, three..."
"And three what?" the lady asked when he said nothing more.
The general broke into a grin and gave her a peck on the cheek. "You're with me."
Daphne once again giggled, pressing her body close to that of Leander. "You cite very good reasons to drown myself in wine, but a proper lady doesn't drink too much alcohol, especially when the party she's attending is a celebration of men."
"Don't tell me that you're going to start saying that a proper lady drags a man away from his comrades so that she can have fun with him inside her bedchamber?" a chuckling Leander teased.
The lady, too, chuckled softly, before winding her arms around his neck. "A proper lady doesn't do that, but I'm hardly a proper lady. Or, at least, I don't plan to be one tonight."
Their mouths met. Both hungrily devoured the other. As if nothing else in the world mattered. As if there were no scandalized ladies trying hard to ignore the noises they were making behind closed doors.
As their passions began running high, Daphne decided to finally open the door, dragging Leander inside. The room outside her private bedchamber was in total darkness, but she knew that her ladies-in-waiting were all awake, possibly sitting around an unfinished game of cards. They were, thankfully, all smart enough to blow out the candles and pretend that they were not witnesses to their mistress's scandalous behaviour.
As if Daphne cared. Three years of not living in her father's house meant that she did not even know half of the women serving her. She had wanted the same bunch of ladies who served her before, but most of them politely declined and offered their daughters instead. Daphne, of course, took the younger girls in. There could be no better companions than silly girls who could be frightened into silence by one glare.
In stark contrast to the previous room, the inner chamber was illuminated by numerous lanterns hung on the walls. It seemed that nobody has forgotten Daphne's dislike of darkness. Even after three years...
But the lady was not interested in such sentimental thoughts right now. Her attention was focused only on the general who brought her back to her father: Leander Van Halen of the Army of the Black Wolves -- celebrated general, distinguished warrior: her protector, her lover.
Not a word passed between them, but they were already moving in harmony. It was as though their bodies shared a secret language of passion and desire: mouths claiming possession of every inch of their partner's skin; hands busily stripping away pieces of clothing on their way; breaths meeting and mixing, feeding the fire that was slowly consuming their souls.
Once both of them were fully naked, Daphne pulled Leander to the bed. Her first night back home, and she wanted to spend it in his arms. She had thought of it for days; nobody could have stopped her from sneaking Leander into her room so that they could make love all night. Not even the Duke of Wildercross, her own father.
Locked in each other's arms, they started rolling on the bed. Neither one wanted to give the other the distinguished position of being on top.
"Oh, Leander, be a gentleman!" Daphne murmured against the general's lips as he rolled on top of her.
"I am, as always, your loyal servant, my lady," Leander replied, chuckling. "I will indeed be gentle with you tonight."
Daphne softly laughed. It had been almost three months since they were last together; how could he promise to be gentle? But she was not insane enough to doubt her lover's promise. She, of all people, knew that Leander always did as he said he would.
As Daphne began using her hands to stroke the muscular male body she knew and loved, Leander pried her legs apart. His hands settled themselves on her thighs, stroking gently. Daphne caught her breath. She needed no further stimulation down there. Even without the foreplay, she knew she was more than ready. After seeing him again, touching him again at the end of the three months they were apart, who would not be?
If she has had her way, she would forget about foreplay and get down to business as soon as they were in bed together. Leander's tool has been hard for as long as she has been wet. Clearly, his cock was eagerly waiting to be buried inside her warm hole; there could not have been any complaints if she had impaled herself on it and not prolong the wait.
But Leander did not want her to lead tonight. And, quite maddeningly, he did not want to take her as quickly as possible. Not that she would object to his chosen path. In truth, she was looking forward to feeling the magic of his touch again before she surrendered her whole self.
So, with eyes closed, she took pleasure in his touch. There was no better way to feel how much he respected her than when he was making love to her gently. He held her and caressed her as if she was a rare porcelain vase, too fragile to hold with reckless abandon, too precious to break.
He would drive her crazy, she knew. Maybe he already had. Daphne could still remember a time when she considered the norms of propriety every time she would say or do something. The memory seemed to come from a very distant past, striking a nearly-nonexistent cord that would sooner or later fade into nothingness.
His caresses and kisses were driving her madder to have him inside. Her breaths were starting to come in gasps, and she all but grabbed Leander's cock and lead it into its waiting destination.
Just when she was certain she'd die of not being one with him, her prayer was answered. She felt him easing his cock into her, gently stretching the opening of her wet core. Her body let him in without difficulty, as her hole was practically flooded with lubricating juices.
"Open your eyes, little one," Leander whispered. "Savour the moment."
His invitation was accepted, and as Daphne did as he advised, she felt the most tremendous feeling of satisfaction slowly engulfing her. Suddenly, she was more aware than ever of the gift Fate had delivered to her door right after endless restless nights of worrying for Leander while he was fighting in the battlefield. Leander was here, for real, staring into her eyes while they made sweet, passionate love. Here with her: alive, breathing, loving. She was almost overwhelmed.
She pulled his face down to hers and planted a kiss on his mouth. He tasted of the wine he had been drinking before she dragged him away -- the best wine that could ever be found in this part of the world: fine, smooth, intoxicating. She pushed her tongue deep into his mouth to further acquaint herself with the taste, not merely of the wine, but also of him.
Leander's tongue met hers, swiftly changing the pace of her exploration. With deliberate gentleness, he played, arousing her even more. Daphne groaned, arching her back so that her hips pushed upward to meet his gentle strokes. But Leander placed his hands on her hips, restraining her movements.
"I want to enjoy you," he murmured against her lips before she could even complain. "Slowly..."
