Chapter 8: You should calm down, daughter
Her strength matched his, a woman who led with the same resolve in love as she did in her village, and Jaenor gave himself to it.
Jaenor gripped her thighs, his fingers kneading her taut thighs, and the moans and grunts filled the room, and they were lost in their own passion of lust.
The hours blurred, the night a tapestry of heat and motion, their bodies moving in sync. In that moment, nothing else existed except for the two of them, consumed by desire and lost in each other’s touch. The night seemed to stretch on endlessly, their connection deepening with every shared breath and caress.
Valara’s confidence was intoxicating, her every touch a spark that fuelled Jaenor’s desire.
They took a brief break and continued the session.
They returned to the main room as the fire died to embers, collapsing onto a thick woollen rug, a quilt pulled hastily from a chest to shield them from the cooling air. Their connection was fierce and unyielding, a storm that left them both breathless and sated, yet unwilling to part.
Valara had her hands wrapped around Jaenor, like she possessed him. She owned him.
She didn’t care about anything else in that moment.
"Jaenor, you had given me years worth of pleasure in just one night." Valara pressed her lips against his.
They were lying on the rug, and it was also wrapped around their bodies, their naked bodies caressed under the rug.
"I’m glad you led me here tonight." Jaenor returned to the kiss; she bit his lip while moving back.
Valara’s fingers traced idle patterns on Jaenor’s chest, her breath warm against his shoulder. "You’re a force, Jaenor Ol’Rakkinor," she murmured, her voice husky with exhaustion and satisfaction. "Like a storm over the Frostvale."