Chapter 56: The Scholar’s Diet
The freezing draft of the second-floor hallway felt entirely insignificant to Callis as he guided Mina out of Room Four.
Mina walked beside him with a newfound, heavy grace. She had meticulously re-fastened the brass buttons of her high-collared wool bodice, but the academic shame that usually dictated her posture had been burned away. She no longer tried to hunch her shoulders to hide her massive breasts; she carried her weight proudly, her wire-rimmed glasses resting neatly on her nose and a radiant, utterly satisfied flush painting her cheeks.
Callis kept his hand resting protectively against the small of her back as they descended the creaking wooden stairs. The deep, marrow-deep exhaustion of the past week had been replaced by a grounded, humming energy. He had serviced the council, he had fought the canopy, but holding the young scholar and pouring his devotion into her had anchored his mind.
They bypassed the rising noise of the evening taproom, pushing through the heavy oak door into the private sanctuary of the kitchen.
The room was sweltering, filled with the rich, savory aroma of roasting mutton and wild garlic. Mara stood at the cutting board, methodically dicing winter roots with a heavy iron cleaver. Near the brick oven, Lysa was pulling a tray of fresh, steaming rolls from the heat.
And slouched at the head of the scarred oak table, nursing a tankard of dark ale, was Yselle.
The forge master still wore her soot-stained canvas trousers and heavy leather boots, having just returned from her shift at the Ash Forge. The moment the door clicked shut, Yselle’s pale eyes snapped toward the threshold. She took in Callis’s relaxed, broad-shouldered stance, and then shifted her predatory gaze directly to her niece.
Yselle set her tankard down on the wood with a sharp thud. A slow, incredibly wicked grin stretched across her scarred face.
"Well, well," Yselle drawled, her rough voice carrying easily over the crackle of the stove. "Look who finally decided to come up for air."
Mina froze near the doorframe, her hands instinctively fluttering toward the skirt of her dress.
"I have to admit, niece," Yselle continued, leaning back in her chair and crossing her muscular arms over her chest. "You have a remarkably strong set of lungs for a girl who spends all day whispering in libraries. The timber in this building is thick, but it is certainly not soundproof."
Callis felt a sudden rush of heat hit the back of his neck. He knew exactly where this was going.
Yselle tilted her head, her pale eyes dancing with ruthless, unapologetic amusement. "I was sitting here trying to enjoy a quiet ale, and suddenly I hear my niece screaming at the top of her lungs, 'Give me more of your cock juice!'"
Lysa gasped, nearly dropping her wooden peel, while Mara simply paused her cleaver, an amused, dark smirk touching the corner of the tavern owner's mouth.
"Aunt Yselle!" Mina squeaked, her face instantly detonating into a nuclear, chaotic crimson. She threw her hands over her burning cheeks, trying desperately to hide behind her fingers.
"I'm just quoting the text, scholar," Yselle laughed, a booming, raucous sound that rattled the ceramic mugs on the table. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the oak planks, completely refusing to let the girl off the hook. "So? Don't keep the hearth in suspense. How was the juice? Did our boy give you a proper, heavy serving?"
Callis stepped seamlessly into the line of fire, shifting his broad frame to partially shield Mina while wrapping a strong, possessive arm around her waist. He pulled her flush against his side, offering her his physical anchor.
"I made sure she didn't leave the room thirsty, Yselle," Callis stated smoothly, his aristocratic baritone laced with a dark, frontier edge.
"Oh, I heard exactly how generous you were," Yselle snorted, pointing a soot-stained finger at him. "But I didn't ask you, Callis. I asked the academic."
Mina peaked through her fingers. Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs, and her entire body was flushed with mortification. But as she felt the solid, unyielding heat of Callis’s arm wrapped around her waist, the academic panic began to recede. She remembered the slow, reverent way he had worshipped her chest, and the heavy, scalding taste of him on her tongue.
She wasn't a joke to these women. She was their sister.
Mina slowly lowered her hands. She pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose, lifting her chin to meet her aunt’s pale, teasing eyes.
"It was..." Mina started, her voice trembling before she forced it into a steady, breathless clarity. "It was very thick, Aunt Yselle. And incredibly hot. I swallowed every single drop."
Yselle’s grin widened into a feral, thoroughly delighted slash. "Good girl. But you didn't just drink from him. I know the creak of that bedframe. Tell your auntie the truth—how did he feel inside that untouched, academic pussy of yours?"
Mina swallowed hard, leaning her weight fully into Callis’s side. The lewdness of the kitchen was intoxicating, stripping away the last of her hesitation.
"He is massive, Aunt Yselle," Mina confessed, her voice dropping into a hushed, awe-struck murmur. She turned her head, looking past her aunt to meet Mara’s dark, commanding gaze. "Mara... when you backed me over this table yesterday morning, when you drove that leather rig deep into my backside... I thought that was the absolute limit of what my body could take. I thought nothing could be thicker than that plug."
Mina looked up at Callis, her brown eyes completely dilated with adoration. "But even the strap wasn't as huge as Callis. When he pushed into me, he is so incredibly thick. He stretched me so wide I thought I would tear, but he was so slow... I felt every single heavy vein on him. He filled me up entirely. It felt like I was being split in half by pure, living iron."
The kitchen went dead silent for a fraction of a second.
Then, Yselle threw her head back and roared with laughter, slamming her heavy palm flat against the tabletop in absolute, triumphant approval. "Yes! Hah! I told you, Mara! I told you the boy packs iron like a seasoned fighter!"
Lysa giggled wildly, setting the hot rolls down on the counter and pressing her hands against her own flushed cheeks. "It is entirely true," the baker sighed dreamily, a deeply sated, domestic fondness in her voice. "He leaves you feeling beautifully, wonderfully stretched out for hours afterward."
Mara simply stood at the cutting board, shaking her head. A rich, throaty chuckle rumbled in her chest as she wiped down her cleaver.
"Are you critiquing the circumference of my equipment, scholar?" Mara scolded dryly, though her dark eyes were shining with intense, maternal pride. She gestured toward the empty wooden chairs with her blade. "You are a terrible influence on her, Yselle. Sit down, both of you. You've clearly burned a staggering amount of calories this afternoon, and the academic needs proper solid food if she's going to keep swallowing our mercenary's rations."
Mina’s face burned anew at Mara’s deadpan commentary, but a massive, radiant smile broke across her lips. Callis chuckled, the heavy tension leaving his bruised shoulders completely. He dropped a soft kiss to the top of Mina's dark hair before pulling out a wooden chair for her.
As they settled around the scarred oak table, surrounded by the smell of roasting meat and the boisterous, unfiltered laughter of the women who claimed them, Callis felt the winter chill completely vanish. The Green March was freezing, and the Lantern Ward was treacherous, but here, in the crude, honest heat of the kitchen, they were perfectly fed.