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You are sitting in the library, nestled into an armchair that is just big enough for the two of you. Gale rests beside you, frowning into an ancient tome. Your legs are draped over his, your tongue peeking out the side of your mouth as you read. The scent of sandalwood and book dust swirls around you. You feel a sudden tingling on your skin. You glance up.
Gale is watching you, his gaze full and bright. The intensity of it makes you faintly self-conscious.
“What?” Your hand flies to your cheeks, your hair.
Gale’s laugh is a warm bath.
“Nothing, my love. I’m just feasting my eyes, now that there’s nothing to stop me.”
After all this time, you still feel a flutter in your belly, a shyness, when he looks at you like this. When he does not look away. You smile at him.
“I still remember how flustered you used to get if I caught you looking at me.”
“Ah, yes.” Gale chuckles. “The early days of longing and budding love. The stolen glances, the lingering looks. The magic of words unspoken.”
A grey-brown strand falls over his eye. You brush it back, tucking it behind his ear. He kisses your palm before it drifts away.
“Mind you, it wasn't just nerves and awkwardness on my part. I truly had to exert all my efforts to control my excitement. The orb would have wiped out an entire city, or maybe more, depending on what kind of look you’d given me…”
You arch an eyebrow. “I don’t think I realised the extent of your excitement, or the threat it posed.”
He is stroking your leg under your skirt, up and down, gently grazing your flesh. Your skin prickles at his touch.
“Indeed. You drove me to distraction at every turn. Thank the gods for my disciplined mind.”
There is a familiar glint in his eye. A heat begins to quiver through you. You hold his gaze.
“Your mind must have been more disciplined than mine.”
You watch as his brown eyes darken and mist. The flame inside you flares at the hoarseness of his voice.
“How so?”
Gale loves words. Sometimes, your words alone can bring him to the brink of ecstasy, for touch to push him over it. He can read your thoughts at any time if he wants to. You have let him on occasion, with delicious results. But usually, he prefers the words you choose when you tell him. And you know, from the hitch in his breath and the curl of his lips, that that is what he wants now.
“Well.”
You bite your lip. You pause, savouring the spark that is gathering between you.
“I used to think about you, when I was lying in my tent at night.”
That flash in his eyes. That sideways lift of his moist lips. His fingers are drifting up your thighs, flickering with yearning. Your eyelids flutter.
“Did you?”
You nod. A throbbing has begun inside you, and will not be ignored. It grows with the intensity of his stare as he watches your every movement, hanging on your every breath. It burns with what you are about to tell him and show him.
“Night after night.”
Your hands move down to the hem of your skirt. You gather it up, lifting it further to rest above your waist. His hands linger on your bare legs as you draw away from him slightly to sit back. A frown creases his brow, as if he cannot bear your withdrawal. But you keep your eyes fixed on his.
“I thought about the things I wanted you to do to me.”
You are not coy as you slide off your lace panties. They cling to you with the beginnings of your desire. It does not escape his notice. His lips are parted, his eyes blown wide as he watches you. There is a yearning ache that makes you tremble as you widen your legs to face him. Slowly, you snake your fingers downwards.
“That made me so wet, I had to touch myself.”
You lick at the pad of your middle finger, so that it is moist with your spit. You press it into the damp warmth between your thighs. He sucks in a sharp breath, and you watch his tongue running over his lips as you stretch your slick folds to find your swelling centre.
“Like this.”
It does not take long to find it. You shudder when you touch yourself, drawing small and eager circles around the pulsing edges of your clit. Your legs shake as the thick sounds of your wetness fill the air. You push into yourself more and more, moaning as you struggle to keep your eyes on his. Each time your vision wrenches shut, he utters a soft groan which surges through you.
You want him on you. You cannot wait much longer.
“What did you want me to do to you?”
His voice is low and husky, the brown of his eyes almost black. Your reply is a plea, your fingers a frenzy of wetness.
“I wanted your tongue all over me.”
He leans forward, mercifully, desperately. He slides his tongue inside your waiting mouth, over the fullness of your lips, against the girth of your twisting tongue. You cannot get enough of his bittersweet taste. You are ravenous, gulping and gasping and lapping, and when his greedy mouth leaves yours, you want to follow. But before you can, he is trailing his tongue across your cheek, flicking at your earlobe, licking at its edge.
“Like this?” he pants into your ear.
You whine as he sucks at your earlobe with wild fervour, barely stifling his moans. The outline of his cock bulging against his breeches is almost too much to bear. You flinch as your clit threatens to erupt. Your fingers stop moving.
He notices immediately. His hand leaps down to press against yours. Your hips buckle. You bite your lip to muffle a wail.
“Don’t stop,” he breathes.
You cannot keep going much longer. You look at him, begging. The grin that plays on his lips sends you grinding into his hand once more, desperate for relief. He grimaces, and you can see that he, too, is straining to burst.
“What else did you think about?”
He undoes the clasp on your shirt without effort. But even that fleeting moment of waiting is torture. You flesh is aflame as he glides his tongue down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, around your breast. When he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, you cry out. It is so stiff, so hard, and when he wraps his tongue around it and flicks at it, you throw your head back in a silent scream.
“Tell me,” he whispers, your nipple still in his mouth.
You shudder at the burst of air on its tip. The fact that you can still form words is a miracle to you.
“I wondered…”
You writhe as he licks at the darkness around your nipple, the delicate underside of your breast. Your clit aches under your shaking fingers. It is a battle to continue.
“I wondered,” you murmur between halting breaths. “If you were in your tent, touching yourself as you thought of me.”
He looks up at you, flushed and dilated. And you see that this is the final straw for him. The words that have brought him to the brink. You are wet, so wet, as he unfastens his breeches. His lithe fingers flutter as fast as you have ever seen them. His veined, pulsing cock springs free as he edges onto the floor in front of you. You do not have time to grasp hold of it, but your dismay is short lived.
You gasp he hitches your trembling legs over his shoulders, pulling your ass towards him with a grunt. Your hands weave themselves into his hair, dishevelled with passion. He looks at you with a blind, unbridled hunger.
“This is what I think about when I touch myself,” he rasps.
He plunges his face between your thighs. As his tongue swipes at your clit with swift, smooth whirls, you collapse backwards in spasms. Your back arches, your toes curl. Each circle of his tongue brings you nearer and nearer to the excruciating edge.
You can tell that he is taking his time, listening and feeling for the corner that will be the end of you. And when he has found it, you realise that both of you are groaning. You suddenly have a frantic need to see his face. You lean up on your elbows, and it is then that you see him, jerking with the movements of his own pleasure as he laps and sucks at the centre of your fire.
The peak of ecstasy takes you. You dive over the edge, letting out a whimper so loud that you are sure half of Waterdeep can hear. You roll your hips into his mouth and clench your calves around his shoulders as you ride out the crest of the wave. In your haze, you are aware of the frenetic lurching of his frame, a long moan that rumbles out of him in spurts. And then he is still.
It takes you both a moment to come back to yourselves. You are still panting when he returns to his place beside you. You had thought the flames inside you would be doused, at least for a while. But you quiver at the sight of the moisture on his beard, the thick streaks on his breeches as he pulls them up over his cock, still half-hard and gleaming.
He meets your gaze with a knowing smile. When he wraps his arm around you, you cuddle into him. You soak up the smell of his sweat, musk and pleasure mingled with your own. He is silent as you plant gentle kisses on his forehead, his nose, his cheek. And then he sighs.
“I’d say we both have remarkably disciplined minds.”
You clasp his hand and laugh.