[The story so far: Simon Kettridge is a fantasy writer transported to the world of his novels. Necromanata is an evil necromancer threatening the realm with destruction. Leyna is the serving maid and resident courtesan at the inn where Simon finds himself staying – the Nestled Goose. She also happens to be Necromanata's daughter. While trying to write a series of letters to people who might stop Necromanata's plot, Simon falls in love with Leyna, but gets himself kicked out of the Nestled Goose because his letters bring a couple of dangerous individuals and consequent strife to the inn. He also learns who she is, and that her mother may have been buried with a magical object that could destroy the arch-mage. To find the mother's final resting place, they need the help of a nature wizard, Yilma Greenwarden. Once Yilma has been sent for, Leyna sets Simon up in the hayloft of the stables, where the two of them finally consummate their relationship.]
"I half didn't think this was ever going to happen," Leyna said quietly, toying with the hair on my chest as we lay beneath rough woolen blankets and let the sweat from our recent sex dry.
"Really?" I asked. "I've been dying to get you in bed since maybe the second or third time I talked to you."
She laughed, her blue eyes sparkling in the lamplight. "No, sillybear. I've intended on fucking you even longer than that. I was talking about ... this."
Her hand took mine and lifted it, turned it, pressed it to her sternum between her breasts. I felt her breathing more than her heartbeat, but the intended message pulsed through me loud and clear.
"I've had a toss or two or twenty for fun and for lust," she went on, "and I've sixpenced out my cunt more times than I'd care to tally up. But I haven't been made love to till just now. Not right and proper – not so that phrase is really true."
A quiver snuck through me, made my arms around her draw tighter and my cock inside her rouse a fraction from its soft, spent state. Leyna felt it, I'm sure, and it broadened and sweetened her smile. But she said nothing. Somewhere in the stalls below, a horse or mule shifted and scuffed a hoof. Crickets chirred outside, so that the night felt alive and large and yet also quiescent – as though suspended just for us, in reverence.
And where a month ago I would have said I'd made love to plenty of women, now I found myself less sure that any of the others qualified.
"Are you surprised?" she asked.
"A little," I said, bringing a hand up to her shoulder to caress it. "You're so beautiful and lively and clever and talented –"
"And well-bosomed!"
"– and well-bosomed ..." I cleared my throat. "You must have had men falling all over themselves in love with you for years."
She shrugged. "I suppose. But Burgham scares off the locals, and it's a right rare one passing through that I don't make pay. A fellow or two has caught my eye now and again. Only the more genteel ones hesitate to woo a slattern, and the less genteel ones ... well, what would I want with them, except their coins or a prong-brought dose of Ofara's loin-quake?"
"I take it I'm on the more genteel end of things?"
"You're in the middle," she said vivaciously. "Kind and well-mannered but not afraid of where your manhood might take you when it's got its –" Her hips gave a glorious wiggle. "– blood up."
"Don't distract me," I scowled. "I'm not done telling you how amazing you are yet."
Leaning down, she kissed me. Then, leaning farther, she nibbled at an earlobe and whispered, "Why don't you tell me from on top of me?"
"Um ..."
"Roll me over and make love to me again, Simon. Now I've had it done to me once, I find I have an appetite for it."
How was I to resist that? And even if I wanted to, once she began the motion, I had to rotate with her or the space would open between us and I'd slip out and we would be apart.
Can't have that, can we?
So with a graceful turn and shift that took both of us moving
just
right, I wound up atop her, with her arms and legs wrapped around me, breasts to my chest, lips seeking mine and melding to them adoringly. The crickets and the horse huffs and the stable smells and hay-scent of our bed should have made a coarse atmosphere for such a tender moment. But instead, they set off the elegant fullness of my lover's figure, the perfect gold of her hair, the absolute devotion with which she moved in time with me, responsive and warm and, in that moment, everything I could want.
"Ahhh," she sighed, breaking our kiss while her fingers threaded their way through my hair and her eyes drank in each corner and curve of my face. Lower, she rocked her hips needfully, pulling me deeper with the hook of her heels, plying wet bliss all along the hard, buried beam of my cock. "You're a thing of joy, do you know?"
"I'm ... starting to," I panted. Each thrust plunged my cock into a new depth of ecstasy and brought a quick breath from her, or a twitch of her chin, or a faint, involuntary tremor in her lower lip. "I don't know how you do it ... but you make me feel ..."
"Oh!" Her back arched and her shoulders trembled. "Oh, Simon, what? What do I make you feel?"
Intoxicated.
Orgasmic.
Giddy.
Blessed. Beloved. Worthy.
I gazed at her, my mouth open, struck mute by the roiling sexual delight of her cunt. The word was there, ready to come out, but too odd and startling for my head to get control of the apparatus of speech.
She clutched me tight, her whole body moving in waves to milk my shaft to the utter pinnacle of swollen rigidity.
"Uhh ..." she gasped. "Uh, what? Hmnnhh – nng – what, Simon – what ... oooh ... do you ... hn- hn- h-ahhh ... feeeel ...?"
Watching the spasms take hold and shake her, I felt truth surging up out of my throat and my balls at the same instant. Helplessly, I dropped my mouth to her ear and plunged my cock as deep in as it would go and let loose and groaned it:
"Mated."
"Oh, sweet Saint Eldivara!!!"
If the whole town didn't hear her cry out in heedless ecstasy, then at the very least everyone inside the Nestled Goose must have. Her voice exploded passion as my dick flung blissful gouts of divinity up into her, surges and flows of lava-hot seed that sought her core as if to interweave us beyond the possibility of detachment. When the pleasure dimmed from blinding to merely euphoric, I heard enough shiftings and stirrings below our hayloft to think we'd woken every creature in the stables.
Leyna gave a few more trembles and squeaks before settling into limp contentment with a sigh. We breathed together for a bit, exhaling in turns so that her belly drifted lower as my chest expanded, then swelled as the air left my lungs. Her eyes came open a few minutes into it, exploring my face, speaking in visual regard.
I kissed her.
"Mmm, Simon," she said with another long breath. "I could see and feel that you meant it, when you said it. Do you still? Or was it sex, galing you out of this world into that one where everything feels like love?"
Smoothing her hair with the backs of my fingers, I contemplated it.
Mated.
