Chapter 32: Leliana

She thought she would lose her mind; he’d played with her body, driving her mad with teasing licks and touches for what felt like hours, until she couldn’t take it anymore. He’d reclaimed her free hand, so she could do nothing but wriggle and pant under his talented lips and fingers.

“Nathaniel, please!” she gasped, and finally – finally! – she felt his hand creeping lower, across her smooth stomach to the gap between her thighs. He paused to stroke over her mound, stirring the hairs there and leaving her panting for more. And then his mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard, as he began stroking her lower lips. She bucked, surprised and aroused by how skilled he was, drawing out her pleasure effortlessly.

He hissed through his teeth when he finally dipped his fingers into her soaked folds, and she might have been embarrassed by how wet she was if it hadn’t been entirely his fault. Instead she squirmed, alternately trying to press herself against his questing fingers and trying to free her hand to take care of the burning need herself. He hushed her, taking her lips in a passionate kiss, stroking her cleft more firmly now, teasing against her opening.

She mewled into his mouth when he stopped, withdrawing his clever fingers and his soft lips. “Wha-?” she whined, reaching for him even as he lurched to his knees beside her.

“I need to taste you,” he soothed, and she felt something deep inside her clench deliciously at the thought. His tone was low and husky in a way she’d never heard before, and it sent shivers down her spine. She was too aroused to be self-conscious as he settled down between her thighs, his breath warm against her crease.

And then his mouth was on her, and she lost whatever train of thought she might have been following. She became nothing but a bundle of sensation, thrusting her hips up towards the pressure of his lips and tongue. He pulled one of her legs over his shoulder, pressing the other up towards her chest to open her to his questing mouth, and she cried out as his tongue swept from her opening to her aching pearl. She didn’t even notice when her fingers clenched in his hair to urge him on.

He groaned and licked her again, before stiffening his tongue and plunging it deep inside her. It was too much and not enough at the same time, and she thrashed and ground herself against his face desperately. He tasted her almost leisurely, switching between the deep strokes she craved and the soft, tentative licks that just inflamed her more. When she whimpered and tried to pull him closer, he just pinned her hips and held her while he continued his deliberate exploration. She closed her eyes and threw her head back with a muttered curse, forced to just endure the rising pleasure.

She gasped when she felt one finger slide inside her, quickly joined by a second; they pumped into her gently but persistently as his tongue stroked over her pearl more intently. When she felt his lips wrap around the firm bud and suck, she arched and stiffened, crying out as she thrashed and came undone.

He continued to lick and stroke her as her orgasm faded, wringing several devastating aftershocks from her overwrought body. When she finally went limp, she felt him gently extricate himself from her tangled limbs and crawl up beside her. She could taste herself on his lips when he kissed her, and she moaned, helplessly aroused but too wrung out to do much about it. Somehow, he’d shucked his trousers during the transition, and she could feel his hard length against her hip.

“I won’t ask who I should thank for that,” she sighed, and smiled when she heard him chuff a laugh in the dark. “If this is my punishment for tickling, I think you may have made a mistake, yes?”

He kissed her again, and she lost herself in the feeling of his tongue teasing hers, his hand back on her breast, fingers tweaking her nipple softly. He shifted over her and settled between her thighs, and she flexed her hips and pulled him closer, her heels resting against the backs of his thighs, his length nudging against her damp folds.

“That’s not your punishment,” he whispered, and then before she knew what was happening, he’d turned, pulling her with him and reversing their positions so she sat astride him, resting her hands on his shoulders.

Unwilling to wait any longer, she adjusted her position until she could sink down and take him in to the root, his erection stretching her delightfully. He let out a long, tortured moan, and she’d have giggled if it hadn’t felt so good, so necessary.

It had been far, far too long.