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Sometimes Lady Beneviento would be a shadow of herself when she returned from the prolonged weekends spent at the castle meeting with Mother Miranda and the other lords.
She would always return late those evenings, Angie a lifeless heap in her arms. You would receive them at the door, the warm light of the manor spilling gold into the gloom of the night. From there, Lady Beneviento would withdraw into herself, somber and quiet - a cloud of defeat lingering about her, the weight of it seeming to pull her into its orbit.
She had once expressed to you how awful the trips to those meetings made her feel. That she didn't know how to continue with Mother Miranda's mad demands, didn't know how to continue the charade you were all living. You'd find yourself resenting Mother Miranda for it, hating her self-importance, her desire to pretend as if life truly was of any importance to her. In life and in death, we give glory, Mother Miranda. Bullshit.
In any case, you were helpless to pull your lady away from any of it. In the moment, you were a mere human without any power to do more than simply reach back out to your lady, to help ease what you could.
On those dark nights following the meeting, you would always lead her to her room, gently pushing her to sit as you would put her belongings away for her. She attempts to help everytime without fail and you loved to tease her for it. How am I to be a good maid for you, my lady, if you don't let me do my job? Go sit! Though, you're definitely not just a maid to her anymore these days. You're both pretty aware of that but you like the way the implication makes her cheeks color.
She'd even let you cook for her, your skills at the craft nowhere near as finesse as her own but she seemed to enjoy it anyway. When you'd wash the dishes afterwards, her shoulder would brush against yours as she wordlessly dried them beside you. She would listen to your babble that helped to fill the silence she hadn't the energy to. You could always get her to laugh and the sound of it would make you grin like an idiot.
Your evenings would drag on and you'd do what you could, watching with awe as she seemed to always so slowly but surely come back to herself. Her eye would grow less distant and she'd be here , here instead of lost within herself. You found her brave.
Sometimes you would read to her in her workshop, her head in your lap and the shadows cast by the fire flickering prettily over her skin. Those nights you'd have to wake her gently when she fell asleep to the sound of your words. Other times you would rustle through the movies she owned and you'd watch them together. She would inevitably snuggle into your orbit every time, sometimes even falling asleep cuddled under your arm. You'd learned Lady Beneviento was quite the cuddler from these moments. The night would always end with the both of you back in her room regardless of who fell asleep where.
Like right now as you nervously linger in the doorway. You'd just finished reading the next chapter of a book you'd started together and had decided to adjourn to her room. At first, you had simply kept her company on the nights spent within it. You would lay next to her, heart pounding away while you held her snuggly to your chest. Other times, you would talk instead of sleep, long discussions of everything and of nothing. This continued for a while, a routine of her returning from her trips and you doing all that you could to help ease her pains.
And then somehow the two of you would end up kissing into the night instead of any of those much safer things.
You wondered if the lady of the castle sent you here thinking that the only services you'd provide would have been of the trivial sort. Would she sneer at the thought of you carrying more than just Lady Beneviento's trivial burdens, much more than in just the broom and dustpan sense?
Donna begins to peel back the blankets of her bed, movements sure but unhurried as her hand tugs at the fabric. You're tracing the curve of her jaw with your eyes when a slight breeze wanders through the room from a cracked window, playing with the hair falling over her shoulders. She looks tired. She's also the most beautiful person you've ever seen.
Her head tilts in your direction, and she looks at you, catching you in the act of your gaze beginning to wander to the straps of her nightshirt. The plum strings cling lazily to her shoulders, the color pleasantly stark against them.
"Are you coming to bed?"
You're shy to hear that she sounds amused by something, stopping you with a hum of protest when you begin to approach your side of the bed.
"Sit over here with me."
Your heartbeat is lost to a crescendo of its own excitement at the request, at venturing even further into her vicinity when your thoughts are already becoming a whirlwind of her, her, her. She throws you a tiny smile that you find unbearably attractive and your belly flutters in nervous excitement when she reaches a hand out to you, her long fingers wiggling in a silent request. Your face is too warm for something as innocent as allowing her to hold your hand but she's looking at you in a way that brings the heat rising to your cheeks. You can't deny a request from your lady and, well, you would never want to anyway.
Her hand meets with yours as you approach, her fingers sliding between your own and tugging you closer. She sits you in front of her and you almost jump at the feeling of her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. You're being embarrassingly skittish about it all and you hope she doesn't comment on it.
"Can I braid your hair?"
You blink in surprise. She wanted to braid your hair? You've been asked many times by family, by friends, to braid your hair. You didn't understand the desire considering it was a hassle for you to deal with yourself but the idea of Donna playing with your hair is something you decide you like. You're relieved that she's behind you and not witness to the color creeping further into your face.
You don't really trust yourself to refrain from rambling as you often do when you're nervous so you simply nod and throw a reassuring smile at her over your shoulder. Her hands linger against your skin before they start to card through your hair and you begin to realize your mistake.
She brushes out your hair with her fingers and with each draw of her hands, her nails scratch pleasantly at your scalp until eventually they're whispering at the skin of your neck as she completes each braid. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her touch.
You've resigned yourself to worrying if your breathing is too loud when she slows her ministrations and you feel her hands caress the curve of where your neck meets your shoulders. She rubs at the traces of tiny bumps there. Your breathing definitely gets louder when warmth further encompasses you. Her arms wrap around your waist and you're being pulled flush against her. Her breasts press into your back and you feel hopelessly at a loss for what to do.
"Are you cold, mia cara?"
How did you explain you weren't cold but that it was her touch that was causing you to react so? You feel the desire to turn and face her despite your bashfulness.
When the sensation of her mouth pressing against your neck registers in your brain, the only thing you can do is inhale sharply. Your lady slowly drags her lips over her chosen spot, brushing over fading gooseflesh and causing more to erupt along the path of her intentions.
You tilt your head almost subconsciously, baring more of your neck to her. Her lips feel good against your skin and you feel slight embarrassment at your obvious responses to her attention. Flame ignites inside of you when you feel a smile mingling with her kisses. And then you do turn around in her arms.
Until now, the two of you had only exchanged small, hurried kisses in the quietest and darkest parts of the evening. It had been you who'd kissed your lady first, unable to stop yourself from pressing your lips to hers in a moment of adoration. You can still hear the surprised breath that fluttered against your lips and you're struck with the desire now to taste that inhale again.
She doesn't meet your gaze right away but leans into your touch and you're caught breathless in the same way you always are when you look at her for longer than two seconds. Her hair is a shadow against her pale shoulders and you entertain the idea of being the one to ask her to braid next time. You reach out to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear as an excuse to run your fingers along it, lingering there before sliding those fingers down the length of her jaw to softly cup her cheek. Her skin is hot against your fingertips and you draw your thumb in marvelling circles along her cheekbones.
You lean forward and place a firm kiss to the beginnings of her scarring, the tendrils of her growth tickling against your eyelids. She exhales breathily at this and you pull back to meet with the surprise of her eye finally catching your own.
Your skin runs hot with the thrill her dark stare stirs within you, knowledge of her desire and of your own, that you want her - that you think you might just be courageous enough to take what you want. It spreads the blooming flowers in your chest until they're unfurling their warmth below instead.
A flush is darkening the pale skin of Donna's face and you find yourself leaning in to watch it closer. As you do, you catch her gaze dipping down toward your lips. The air feels tense in a way you don't struggle very hard to coin a name to, the gravity in which you're compelled to kiss her.
Her full lips are parting as you lean ever closer and in the silence of the moment, you hear her suck in another quiet breath.
She kisses you first and her lips are almost sloppy in their urgency to slide against yours. They're cooler than yours and her breath is so sweet that you can't help yourself, sucking her bottom lip between your own. When she quietly gasps, her soft lips parting slightly, you don't resist tracing the opening of them with your tongue. A delighted shiver coasts up your spine.
You're certain that later you'll feel awkwardly shy over the possessive way you push your tongue further into her mouth, plumbing the inside of her cheeks and tracing her teeth. But you've never wanted something more than to taste every single part of her in this moment. Your hands are burying themselves into her hair and hers move to your face, trembling and trying to tug you closer. You think you might combust when she sucks your tongue further into her mouth and a whimper escapes from you.
You feel insatiably greedy when you've barely even taken enough time to pull back for breath before you're beginning to kiss down her chin, moving your lips in lingering kisses until they've found themselves pressed to her neck. The kisses you place there are indulgent and slow; you take your time tasting the very spots you've secretly daydreamed about marking.
When you sink your teeth into your lady's skin, licking the red flesh apologetically, she gasps loudly. Donna's hips buck beneath you and you're so taken with it, with the sound of her and the way her hips are beginning to roll as if they've a mind of their own. You want more. Lust seers your belly and your own hips roll into hers, another needy sound bubbling up from both of you.
Donna's hands lower to your shoulders and she's suddenly pushing you back until you're pressed into the bed. You want to bemoan the loss when your lips separate from her neck, the sound wet between you. She hovers over you, placing her hands beside your head and leaning in until you both once more share the same air. Her hair hangs around the both of you, a dark curtain spilling night onto the sheets. You want to tell her how pretty she is but it's her who speaks first. She's looking at you in a more predatory way than you've ever seen from the woman.
"You always take such good care of me, el mia tesoro," her breath is shallow and fans out against your lips, her own pressing a quick kiss to your ruddy cheek.
Her eye is a smokey halo of gray around a sea of black, pupil a dark pool of flickering candlelight. One of her hands lowers, fingertips tracing the hem of your nightgown, skirting underneath the fabric to tease the sensitive skin of your thighs.
"Let me be the one who takes care of you."
Donna pulls back and you gnaw at your lip, faced with the sight of her slowly hiking up your nightgown, revealing your panties and the soft skin of your belly. She looks completely enamoured with the sight before her and smooths her palm up the length of your hip to lie it flat against your stomach.
She rubs soft circles, your abdomen tensing under her touch when she lightly drags her nails down the length of your tummy. She lingers here for a bit, seemingly taking you in before withdrawing her hand. An exhale shakes itself from you when her hand instead lays itself at your chest. Her fingers hesitate beneath the nightgown resting under your breasts. You could turn to ashes at the intense look she's fixing you with, hungrily taking you in as if she's memorizing every inch of revealed skin. Her eye darts to your face and whatever she must see written there on the too-hot skin of your cheeks must be enough because she pushes your nightgown even higher, until it's bunched up at your collarbones.
You feel exposed to her in a way that makes you ache between your legs. Your thighs press together at how she's looking at your bare chest, appreciation darkening her eye even further. It makes you desperately want her hands on you and you hastily grab at them, your hazy brain willing you to drag them to your chest. Her cheeks flush prettily and a sound of need peaks in the back of your throat when she eagerly palms your breasts, her hands squeezing lightly.
The sound of you seems to spur Donna onward and one of her hands leaves your chest to brace herself next to your head. Leaning over you, she makes you forget how to breathe again when she speaks into your ear, her voice low and husky.
"Such a charming little sound," her words are hot in your ear and your hips squirm. "Will you make more for me?"
Your face burns and you don't know how to respond to her request. You needn't have worried though because she lowers her head to press a deliberate kiss against your neck at the same time that she pinches your nipple between her fingers. A strained gasp is the sound rewarded to her this time and you're finding yourself being devoured by her lips next.
Her tongue licks its way into your mouth, Donna unconcerned with any pretenses, especially not when her thigh slots between your legs and rips a groan from you when it presses there. Youcan feel how wet you are and you can't help but rub yourself against her offered leg, Donna pressing herself harder against you when you enthusiastically respond.
You're sharing your breaths when she kisses her way back and forth between your mouth and up to your ear and all so she can whisper filthy things within. You never would have taken Donna as the type but her words make you throb against her thigh as she encourages you onward. She's tightly gripping your rocking hips and guiding them against her leg. Your panties are doing nothing to detract from the sopping smear your sex is begining to leave behind. It feels so abhorrently good and you want to hide your face in her neck at the sounds that are coming from you.
It drives a sharp stake of desire through you when it brings to mind what sort of other sounds she would make and you're slipping your hand beneath the waistband of her shorts before you can stop yourself. Hips buck against your hand when your fingers slip past curls into soft and wet heat, your fingertips slipping between her folds with ease.
A stuttered sound trips from Donna's lips, the breath of it puffing into your ear. She bares her hips down, rocking herself against your fingers. It's the most erotic thing you've ever experienced as you touch her softly, your entire hand growing wet with your movements to feel more of her.
She breathes another sound of pleasure into your ear that makes you shiver when she follows it up by burying her face snuggly into your neck.
"You feel so good," Donna gasps into the crook of your shoulder and you whine in response.
You play at her entrance, teasing the wet hole with curiosity. It hypnotizes you how hot she is around your exploring fngers. Her thigh slots hard against your sex again as her hips attempt to follow the movements of your fingers. Your back arches with gratification, the pressure of her pressing sweetly where your rolling hips need it most.
She's molten around you when Donna finally manages to sink herself onto your finger and you begin to come against her thigh with the feeling of her around you, the next shuddering rock of your hips sending you over the edge. Her own hips begin to fuck your hand with more enthusiasm and you roll sloppily against Donna's thigh, the sounds she's making only serving to push you even further over the edge before she gasps out words against your neck.
"Come for me, sweet girl."
You're a lighthouse in the sea of the crashing waves of your climax, her name a chant on your lips. The waves warm you, filling you up completely before they recede and leave you vacantly limp. When you do come back to yourself, Donna is still rutting wetly against your hand. Her breaths are shallow and wanting, moist against the sweaty skin of your neck. You think she must be close to her own small death, her movements growing wilder.
Breathlessly, you stretch her with another finger, curling both of them deeper, and watch her come undone on them. Her hips pin you to the bed and a moan tumbles out of her, cloying and saccharine. She goes taught against you before trembling into a collapse upon you and you find yourself pressing kisses against her sweaty temple.
When she stirs again once more, a deep sigh leaves her that you think sounds fairly content. She snuggles closer to you, tucking her head beneath your chin. Your heart blooms with the action, speeding up with the strength of your affections and a bit of disbelief that you two just slept together.
You're both still catching your breath when she raises herself up to hover over your rapidly rising and falling chest. Her eye lazily opens to meet with yours and you slip your hand out of her shorts.Your fingers glisten in the light when you bring them between the two of you. You wonder what she tastes like but before you can further contemplate bringing your hand to your mouth, Donna cups your cheek.
You forget about your fingers entirely when you meet her gaze again. The amount of adoration in her eye leaves your lungs bereft, the intensity of it filling you with warmth as if she were rays of the sun. You nuzzle your cheek into her palm and she leans down to place a kiss against your ear.
"I don't deserve you," she says, "yet you are mine anyway."
"You deserve the entire world, my lady," you murmur back to her, "and I could never be anyone else's. Would never want to be anyone else's."
When she pulls back, you see the cute quirk to her lips before they part and she smiles fully. The way she's looking down at you makes you feel like you're the sun. You lean up to kiss her again where she eagerly welcomes you.
When you both finally grow tired enough to part, your lips swollen and your bodies heavy, Donna settles against you and places one last kiss to your cheek. You wrap yourself around her and feel a bit like you're the luckiest girl alive. You stay like that for a while before she whispers a sleepy goodnight to you and a few words in Italian that you don't make out.
Tugging Donna closer as you drift off, you dont think you would trade this for any other life, even one where it was not in so frequent danger. Not unless the offer came with a reclusive and kind dollmaker, of course. Because really, it's her you wouldn't trade for anything - anyone - else. You've had each other through everything, though truly she'd had you since the moment she'd spoken a single word to you, and you don't think that the world looks so terribly bleak when Donna Beneviento is by your side.
Maybe she'd even agree to pancakes for breakfast again.