Perhaps I just never want to run from you. I belong with you, to you.You sit on the bed, beside me, drinking in my spread form. For a moment, you can't decide to touch, taste or just hold me. So you just watch the subtle and steady rise and fall of my chest. My body covered by a thin film of sweat, glistens under the steady streams of sunlight through the window. Even with eyes shut so tight, the raw power of your gaze courses through me, momentarily anchoring all thoughts. This is how a God beholds his queen.You dip your index fingertip into the glass of cold water on the side table. Hundreds of condensed droplets of water turn into rivulets on the surface of the glass, the water evaporating too quickly from the small puddle below. The wet fingertip runs over my lips, barely moistening them. Drawing a line down over my chin to my neck, you wet your finger again. It teases around and about, coming to rest between my breasts. A soft moan escapes my lips as you lean forward, your wet. Her touch had been, and still was, so sensual.“No,” he said, matching her seriousness. “That’s just what’s supposed to happen. Don’t worry.”“Oh.” She didn’t press him, and he didn’t elaborate.When she felt she was done, Malkyn passed him a cloth to dry himself with and began to loosen her stays, turning away from him until only her shift remained. Leo averted his eyes out of respect for her, sensing her uneasiness at the prospect of being seen by him, and looked away until she had lowered herself into the bath. He, too, could not resist a small glance, and was rewarded with an eyeful of her breasts. They were firm yet soft-looking, the size of apples, tipped with small pink nipples.He looked away quickly, fighting back the wave of arousal and fetching himself some clothing. “When will the stew be ready?” He asked Malkyn.“It won’t be long now,” she replied. “We can eat as soon as I’m done washing.”She was brief, yet thorough, her chestnut-coloured locks darkened by the water, and soon.
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