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It was as good a night as any, even though she’d meant to wait.
The inn’s common room thrummed with life, rich with laughter and the exchange of merry jests. There would be no drunken brawls tonight. Everyone was awash in good spirits despite the bitter cold that awaited them. It was safe and warm inside and for the moment, that was all that mattered.
It was even warmer in the locked room down the hall. Quieter as well, the faint echoes of the festivities broken only by soft gasps.
Two figures grappled upright on the bed, the smaller one resplendent in her triumph. The woman had mounted the slender elf with abandon; there could be no argument as to who had come out on top. He’d leaned back slightly to brace one hand against the bed for much-needed support, long legs splayed and bent loosely around her. His fingers and toes curled sporadically as she worked.
She’d meant to wait. She’d meant to do a lot of things.
Evka no longer cared.
She could hardly recall how they had gotten here. The night should have concluded, not begun, with a kiss on the cheek. Their courtship had been cautious: Evka unsure of its prudence, and Antoine doubtful of its possibility. It had all felt so fragile.
It had been fragile, only not in the way she’d feared. One penetrating look, one lingering touch, and the veil between what was and what could be had vanished.
And somehow Evka’s fingers had found their way into his breeches.
C’est la vie, as a certain Orlesian elf had taught her.
Antoine had assisted clumsily at first, his hands tentative on her waist, thrusting upward in a rhythm that was always slightly out of sync. Endearing but inefficient. She’d intensified her own efforts until his had weakened considerably. He was barely managing to stay upright now, letting her hips rock him.
That suited her just fine.
“Faster?” she offered, feeling smug as she watched him undulate beneath her.
“Oui, s'il te plaît,” Antoine groaned. She chuckled at that. She wondered if he had any idea what tongue he was speaking in.
Evka sped up slowly, listening to his breath hitch and stutter with each roll of her hips. She was pleasantly surprised that he’d lasted this long. The plan was to seek relief afterward, maybe show him the ropes for next time.
But this? This was lovely.
Evka had been baffled by the rush of heat inside her when he’d submitted to her ministrations. It was…new. Neither of her previous partners had ever let her hold the reins. They had taken her sex and her size for granted, gallantly leading the charge. She’d never had the chance to wonder if she might enjoy something else.
It turned out that she rather did.
The feeling it had sparked was nearly shameful in its intensity. But if he wasn’t embarrassed—and judging by the look on his face, he was in fact entranced—why should she be? Life was too short for that.
Especially if you were a Grey Warden.
Antoine was murmuring something in Orlesian, the words slurred with desire. His eyelids drooped heavily over dilated pupils.
“Trade tongue,” she said, solely for the satisfaction of issuing a command. She planted a kiss on the pale column of his throat.
He fell silent, his brow creasing. Evka laughed with wicked delight at having wiped an entire language from his mind.
“It feels good,” she suggested.
“Yes,” he gasped gratefully.
“You wanted this,” she declared with an especially pitilous plunge of her hips.
“Yes,” he replied, voice little more than a mewl.
“You would answer ‘yes’ to anything right now, wouldn’t you?” she asked with another husky laugh.
”Yes,” he agreed helplessly a third time.
Useful knowledge for the future. And there would be a future for them, Evka decided fiercely. She would forge a path forward; woe betide the man or darkspawn who stood in her way.
She decided to set a merciless pace despite the burning in her thighs. No more delays—she wanted to break in her boy. And he was hers, had been since the moment they’d met. It wasn’t fate’s fault that they both had cheese wheels for wits.
No matter. Evka had a few ideas on how to compensate for the time they’d lost.
Antoine’s face went slack even as the rest of his body lost its languid calm, every muscle suddenly transformed into stone. He was praying in Orlesian again, whimpering the same words over and over. She would bet ten sovereigns that they translated to “don’t stop.”
As if she could.
He changed his mind suddenly, a hand raised to her hip in supplication. “Evka, wait, s'il te pl—”
“No,” she interrupted, feeling another throb of pleasure as the word left her lips. “Go on.”
“Please,” he begged raggedly.
“That’s an order, recruit,” she breathed with newfound courage. She sank down onto him and clasped his jaw firmly with one hand, tilting his head to nibble on an earlobe.
That did the trick nicely.
Antoine seized up with a tormented sound that defied description, body spasming in time to the warm pulsing between her legs. His breathing ceased as he spilled gradually inside of her, face contorted into a rictus of blissful pain. Evka watched intently, her thumb absentmindedly stroking his cheek.
“Good,” she murmured to herself. A spreading blush on his ears betrayed that Antoine had heard her.
She ached to finish this way as well, original plan be damned. Watching his release had nearly tipped her over the edge. Besides, he was still solid iron inside of her, pleading to be worked. How could her inner blacksmith resist such a temptation? She waited for him to finally suck in a breath before she released his jaw and began moving again.
His breath hissed out immediately.
“Can you hold on for a moment?” she panted, face tense with concentration. “One more moment? You don’t need to do anything, only—”
Antoine nodded vigorously, teeth clenched too tight to allow for speech.
Evka let out a sigh of relief that was nearly a sob before renewing her efforts in earnest. He finally admitted defeat, collapsing back against the bed as she took her pleasure. She braced her hands on his stomach with another grateful sigh.
He stifled a whine, back arching slightly as he dragged his heels through the sheets. Eyes that had been dewy with relief looked near to overflowing now.
“Sorry,” she moaned, dimly aware that his face was scrunched-up in discomfort even as his body held on admirably. She only needed a few seconds. That would be all her heart could handle with the way it was galloping. Stones, she’d been in actual battles that had required less exertion!
“Tu es très belle,” he said in a voice both reassuring and reverent, even as he squirmed.
Another shift of her hips. There, right there. If he could keep from flagging for—
“Just a moment,” she promised again, eyes rolling back.
Antoine grasped her hips suddenly, his grip almost punishing. He forced her downward to stillness as he thrust up, grinding against her in a moment of true ingenuity—and possibly desperation.
Evka silently blasphemed every deity she had ever heard of as she shattered. Poor Andraste got the brunt of it. She vaguely felt Antoine twitching beneath her hands through an almost-swoon, mouth open in a mute scream. She didn’t think she could actually scream if her life depended upon it. It was too much and just enough.
She had only begun to float back down into her body when a hoarse groan cut through the thick haze clouding her mind. She blinked at Antoine as he quivered, his face shocked.
“Look at you…” she trailed off with a breathless laugh. “Another one?”
“Yes, but—too much,” he choked out, bucking feebly in a polite attempt to unseat her.
“My fault,” she grinned sheepishly, wiping her brow with one trembling hand. She dismounted as gracefully as her liquified bones would allow and collapsed at his side. Perhaps she’d be able to stand in a few hours, provided he would let go of her.
As expected, Antoine latched onto her almost immediately, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She smiled as his hair tickled her. For a moment they were silent as their chests heaved unevenly.
“So then, that’s how it’s done,” Evka finally huffed.
Antoine’s laughter had never sounded quite so lovely before.