|Maella Abbey (maella_abbey) wrote,|
@ 2008-04-07 21:56:00
There were nights - not many, certainly, but enough for it to become habit - when the local inn was large enough and their money free enough that they all slept in separate rooms, rather than sharing or bedding down in the common room. Those nights, Cristo stayed his usual caution enough to leave his door unlocked.
It always opened, in the silent hours, admitting cat-soft footsteps and warm flesh that smelled like sun and spice.
She came to his bed, surefooted even in the dark. Her mouth caught his, took what it wanted, what he would give willingly. Her hands - strong, deft, and he could forgive them their softness - set his skin afire, stroked him to hardness then release, guided his mouth to her breasts, her cunt. She demanded her own pleasure with a force he could willingly yield to.
She stayed until they were both sated, held him until his breathing eased, then departed in the same darkness which masked her arrival. Cristo was never sorry when she left.
If she was gone before dawn, he could pretend it had been another in his bed.