10-07-2016, 02:15 PM
Resting on the razor edge of risk, she hadn’t expected him to truly cross the final line. Even as she brazenly dared a man who had proven his tenuous self-control to act, he took her by surprise. But she fell into those gentle persuasions willingly; brief reward for the day’s tease, the thrill of the taste of him blanking out the whispered warnings that she should end this before it began. His kiss was slow, explorative; the pressure of his hands firm yet gentle, relished like sunlight after winter. Her mind grew quiet, a blissful peace she savoured, and the soothing lap of waters, whisper of breath and rhythm of heart-beat became a world unto its own. She never doubted her own self-control, but somewhere in that moment restraint began to slip – and she never even noticed the slow build of momentum before it consumed her. She had intended to pull away, but desire burned reason to distant memory, and when he pressed for more she yielded. More than that she pushed up on her toes, trusting the circle of his arms and flat of his chest to keep her balanced as she drew him closer, fatally aware of how she flirted with the danger of losing herself completely. And not caring.
She was neither ignorant nor innocent of where this path led, but his touch chased away the sense of an Accepted and left the passions of a woman. The press of his body against her own sparked something primal. And his lips at her neck finished her. He traced fire across her body, raging intense when she surrendered to saidar’s flame and any hope at control. Lost to the fervour, alive, she explored his body like it was hers to own, delighting in every tremble elicited by palm and fingertips and lips. Saidar revealed everything; the contours of muscle, the texture of scarring. She was merciless until distracted by the slide of his grip, pleasure rippling in waves, magnified. Barely any space between them and it was still too much. Feeling shivered too intense; the travel of his hands, the delicacy of her shift layered tantalisingly thin between them.
Then his hand grazed her thigh. Torn between the thrill of complicity and realisation of a precipice, she fell back.
The waters felt cruelly cool without his heat. Even as she slipped away her body yearned to reunite to his touch, less than an arm-span away. But the serpent ring held her like an anchor. What little breath was left to her refused to coalesce into words, and for long moments she only looked at him - caught in the aftermath of a moment she had lost herself to entirely, and still enraptured of its grasp. The desire written plain on his face did not make it any easier to speak, nor the urges of her own body to draw him closer and erase her hesitation. She wanted him, and she made no secret of it.
“You can’t?”
The faintest shake of her head. It had never occurred to her that he might not know the rules the Tower bound around its women. That he had never realised how Liridia’s every disapproving look at their flirtatious banter was a black mark against Nythadri’s name, not just displeasure at youthful affections. Worse, was the knowledge that she had led him forwards thinking he was aware of the boundaries that edged their game. And that he might hate her for it. She could lie to herself; deny that his opinion had any sway over her, but letting go so thoroughly separated her from the comforting apathy that allowed her to shrug such things off. Lies found no purchase. She cared, and she was desperate for him not to see that she did.
Two choices then; to ice her expression to something impenetrable and drive rejection like a dagger, or to let him see her wavering vulnerabilities and suffer the cost of honesty. And it was rare, so rare, for her to be off balance. The reckless part of her wished he would bridge the gap and take the choice away; soften her with kiss and caress until she forgot everything but him. Light how the desire ached. But she was torn by the consequences that lay out on a black horizon. She had to force herself to remember the things she might lose, only the future fluttered on deceptively ephemeral wings. She’d never been good at walking away.
“Five years, Jai.”
The gentle emphasis did not leave much room for misinterpretation. Not fear, not shyness, just the cold hard snap of rules – and the faintest hint of surprised question, to discover if he had truly not known. “They don’t exactly hand out heartleaf to Accepted.”
There was something of her customary bleak humour there, but not much. She was not a bastion for Tower rules – she would never have stepped through his Gate is she were - but pragmatism was a line even she was hesitant to cross when all the consequences rested on her shoulders. Light. If she touched him now she wondered if he would recoil. The memory of Imaad’s acid tightened in her chest; the words he had spat the seconds before she had slapped him. She had never dealt well with rejection, and cushioned herself for its blow. Saidar circled her still, though only because she could not bear to lose heat and light at the same time. Anger, frustration, hostility? She didn’t know what to expect from him, but neither did she baulk from his reaction. Her pale eyes were piercing, striking in moonlight. Translucent honesty, if he cared to look. So much more she could say to make him understand, but she had never been one to cower behind the defence of words. Even at risk of misinterpretation. He would either understand, or he wouldn’t.
She was neither ignorant nor innocent of where this path led, but his touch chased away the sense of an Accepted and left the passions of a woman. The press of his body against her own sparked something primal. And his lips at her neck finished her. He traced fire across her body, raging intense when she surrendered to saidar’s flame and any hope at control. Lost to the fervour, alive, she explored his body like it was hers to own, delighting in every tremble elicited by palm and fingertips and lips. Saidar revealed everything; the contours of muscle, the texture of scarring. She was merciless until distracted by the slide of his grip, pleasure rippling in waves, magnified. Barely any space between them and it was still too much. Feeling shivered too intense; the travel of his hands, the delicacy of her shift layered tantalisingly thin between them.
Then his hand grazed her thigh. Torn between the thrill of complicity and realisation of a precipice, she fell back.
The waters felt cruelly cool without his heat. Even as she slipped away her body yearned to reunite to his touch, less than an arm-span away. But the serpent ring held her like an anchor. What little breath was left to her refused to coalesce into words, and for long moments she only looked at him - caught in the aftermath of a moment she had lost herself to entirely, and still enraptured of its grasp. The desire written plain on his face did not make it any easier to speak, nor the urges of her own body to draw him closer and erase her hesitation. She wanted him, and she made no secret of it.
“You can’t?”
The faintest shake of her head. It had never occurred to her that he might not know the rules the Tower bound around its women. That he had never realised how Liridia’s every disapproving look at their flirtatious banter was a black mark against Nythadri’s name, not just displeasure at youthful affections. Worse, was the knowledge that she had led him forwards thinking he was aware of the boundaries that edged their game. And that he might hate her for it. She could lie to herself; deny that his opinion had any sway over her, but letting go so thoroughly separated her from the comforting apathy that allowed her to shrug such things off. Lies found no purchase. She cared, and she was desperate for him not to see that she did.
Two choices then; to ice her expression to something impenetrable and drive rejection like a dagger, or to let him see her wavering vulnerabilities and suffer the cost of honesty. And it was rare, so rare, for her to be off balance. The reckless part of her wished he would bridge the gap and take the choice away; soften her with kiss and caress until she forgot everything but him. Light how the desire ached. But she was torn by the consequences that lay out on a black horizon. She had to force herself to remember the things she might lose, only the future fluttered on deceptively ephemeral wings. She’d never been good at walking away.
“Five years, Jai.”
The gentle emphasis did not leave much room for misinterpretation. Not fear, not shyness, just the cold hard snap of rules – and the faintest hint of surprised question, to discover if he had truly not known. “They don’t exactly hand out heartleaf to Accepted.”
There was something of her customary bleak humour there, but not much. She was not a bastion for Tower rules – she would never have stepped through his Gate is she were - but pragmatism was a line even she was hesitant to cross when all the consequences rested on her shoulders. Light. If she touched him now she wondered if he would recoil. The memory of Imaad’s acid tightened in her chest; the words he had spat the seconds before she had slapped him. She had never dealt well with rejection, and cushioned herself for its blow. Saidar circled her still, though only because she could not bear to lose heat and light at the same time. Anger, frustration, hostility? She didn’t know what to expect from him, but neither did she baulk from his reaction. Her pale eyes were piercing, striking in moonlight. Translucent honesty, if he cared to look. So much more she could say to make him understand, but she had never been one to cower behind the defence of words. Even at risk of misinterpretation. He would either understand, or he wouldn’t.