by Piper Rayne
“It feels so good, Gawen,” Rosaline cried. “I can’t—I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” I growled, though I was having trouble fathoming it myself. All my life, I’d been waiting for this moment, hoping someday I would get to lie with a woman, and now that it was happening, it was so much more than I’d ever expected. “Get down here and kiss me,” I ordered, and she immediately bent, her tongue giving me sloppy, hungry kisses.
The new angle gave me room to jut my huge manhood up into her tight little slit, and as I pumped into her, I could feel her backside jiggling. So much woman, though she was still only nineteen-years-old.
And she was staying. Rosaline was staying here in the forest with me.
She was practically part of the forest—her magic awakened, it seemed the trees were not going to let her go so easily.
I was not going to let her go so easily.
And if she stayed, part of me realized, I might be able to do this with her again.
“Don’t stop kissing me,” Rosaline told me fiercely, and she started grinding into me, rubbing furiously, working herself up to another release. “Never stop. Never stop kissing me—”
“Forever,” I whispered the word into her mouth, and she whimpered in return.
I could feel my release coming—my back pulling taut, my hips aggressively driving my cock into her.
Her pussy spasmed around me, and she moaned as she found her pleasure, her entire body vibrating.
And I was coaxed to my own finish. I couldn’t bear it any longer.
The storm within me burst forth, and I buried my cock into her hot slit, letting my release fill her. I gasped her name once, and she lifted her head to look at me as I finished.
Wonder in her eyes, exhaustion too, but satisfaction.
My pleasure peaked, then subsided. Rosaline gave me one final kiss, her lips swollen, and said, almost drowsily, “Gawen? I’m not going back.”
I kissed the top of her head, feeling my seed leak out of her folds and onto my middle. My hand brushed her wild hair away from my sweaty face. “Good,” I told her. “Stay here.”
Rosaline paused, then added, almost hesitantly, “With you?”
My lips curled up into a smile. “Yes. With me.”
Rosaline snuggled her gorgeous, rosy body against me, her breathing growing even, and soon she was lightly dozing, and I was beaming with happiness.
Rosaline was here, in my arms.
She was the one I’d been waiting for—she was the one who was going to protect the Fair Forest, far better than I ever could with my measly training.
She was the one that I’d been waiting for personally—a companion, the second half of my heart, the woman I wanted to spar with and tease and make love to for the rest of my days.
She was here, and she was never going back.
And I was never letting her go.
Chapter Eleven
Rosaline
He was perfect.
My wild man, my mystic.
I traced the roundness of Gawen’s shoulder with my finger, running down to the creases of his well-sculpted abdomen. I’d given myself to him—not just my body, but my soul.
My heart.
I smiled as he sighed in his sleep, shifting slightly in the bed so his arm was perfectly nestled beneath the crook of my neck.
I had given myself to the beast, just as Mortas had demanded.
I rolled over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling of Gawen’s hut. The beams were well cut, shaped and built by Gawen himself, as was the stone hearth, the long table and chairs, the hut itself. Gawen’s hands probably built this very bed.
I thought of the homes back in Fairfront—it felt like it had been a lifetime since the village elders escorted me to the edge of the forest and tied me to the birch tree, even though it had only been a few days.
Mortas had been so eager to get rid of me, and at the time I had been so convinced that it was because I was a thorn in his side—never believing in his ridiculous rituals, speaking out against his stupid and damaging prophecies.
Gawen was the real deal. I fully believed he was capable of magic, and I knew now that magic existed. I had felt it in my bones.
But what Mortas did? That was manipulation. That was stage magic. Fear-mongering. And I thought he had suggested getting rid of the loud-mouthed, rebellious virgin farm girl who had argued against his ideas in the village meetings so he could rule Fairfront in peace.
But now I thought perhaps there was another motive.
Perhaps the Fair Forest had been calling for me all along. How many times had I walked up and down the fence that kept Fairfront safe from the forest? How many times had I stared into the woods, wondering what creatures and wonders were watching me from the trees?
Mortas had sent me in as a virgin sacrifice for the beast.
Instead, I had truly found my place in the world; I chuckled to myself at the irony. Perhaps I should thank Mortas. He was partly responsible for the happiness I now felt.
Carefully, so as not to wake up my sleeping beast, I maneuvered out of bed and pulled the quilt up to his chest, tucking him in. I pulled his tunic over my body and walked across the hut to his kitchen.
It was well stocked. Dried herbs were tied to a ribbon stretching across the window; copper pots and pans were stacked in the corner of the counter, and a huge basin served as a sink. Baskets of onions, potatoes, carrots, and other root vegetables fresh from Gawen’s garden lined the floor.
Pushing up my sleeves, I fetched water from the well and filled the basin, then scrubbed vegetables and chopped them up, dumping them into a large cauldron-esque pot.
Outside, the late afternoon sun was almost lazy as it penetrated the canopy, coming down between the branches in golden shards. A fox, passing through the underbrush, peeked up at me, his black ears twitching, and then went on his way.
I lit a fire in the pit and set the cauldron on top of the flames, then took a seat on the bench outside the hut, bringing my legs up beneath me so I could wash the streaks of blood from my thighs.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Gawen appeared in the doorway, wearing only his pants, and the sight of the concern in his brown eyes, ringed in hazel, lit by the forest’s glow, sent a shiver licking down my spine.
“Not at all,” I assured him. “At least, not in a way that was unbearable.” I had been surprised at how little pain I had felt during my first time with a man—the pressure inside as he took my maidenhead had only added to my pleasure.
“Good.” Gawen kissed my forehead as he padded out the door on bare feet, taking a seat next to me on the bench. “Smells delicious,” he said of the stew I had started in the cauldron.
I inhaled the scent of thyme and potatoes, and at that moment the forest breeze blew through the leaves. Each one rustled, each one whispering, and though I still couldn’t hear exactly what it was saying, my skin tingled and my hair seemed to stand on end.
This was the forest talking.
Whispering to me.
Gawen cocked his head, closing his eyes until the breeze blew through. He glanced at me, and a rueful smile stretched on his lips. He squeezed the top of my leg affectionately, leaning forward to kiss the tip of my nose. “Don’t worry,” he told me, reading my expression. “You’ll learn to speak the forest’s language soon enough.”
“How?” I realized I was sounding like a petulant child, but I couldn’t help myself. “How will I learn? You had a master who trained you—I have no such resource.”
“Of course you do.” Gawen chuckled, reaching forward to stir the potatoes before they stuck to the bottom of the cauldron. “After dinner, we’ll go for an evening stroll, and I’ll give you a primer.”
“You’ll teach me?” I draped an arm around him, turning the top half of my body so my breasts pressed against his chest, and I looked up at him from beneath my eyelashes. “You’ll show me how to wield my magic? How can I ever repay you?” My lips grazed his, and for a secon
d I thought I had him. I could feel his body stiffen, his mouth opening.
He pulled away with a swift exhale, taking my hand in his before I could touch his loins through his pants. “Let’s eat first,” he instructed, “and then I’ll take you around the periphery. I need to check the spells—you can help.”
“And after?” I raised my eyebrows. We had just made love within the hour, but already I was hungry for more. I couldn’t get enough of Gawen—his mouth between my legs, his hard cock in my hands. We had successfully bedded each other once; I was desperate to repeat our experiment and see if it was as enjoyable the second time as it was the first. I had a hunch it would be.
Gawen leaned forward, touching his forehead against mine. “And after, we’ll come back to the hut and light a fire.”
His words made my chest flutter. Never before had I had a man looked at me like this, with such adoration. Never before had I truly felt this safe.
Never before had I felt like I belonged.
Chapter Twelve
Gawen
Our meal was simple but fulfilling. I hadn’t realized how much energy love-making required, but my body was starving, ravenous.
Gods, she was sexy.
I had just had her, but already I was salivating for the next time I could taste her skin and feel her tight wetness around my cock. My flesh was spongy and bruised now, after my immense orgasm, but all it would take to be ready for a second round was this, to stare at Rosaline’s glorious body, wrapped in my bedsheets, as she leaned across my table to grab the salt.
“What?” she said with a modest blush, but I could see in her eyes that she knew exactly what I was thinking.
She could see the lust radiating from my face, the way I was having difficulty keeping my tongue in my mouth like a rabid animal—I couldn’t help it. I was so desperate for her. I’d had a taste, and I couldn’t get enough.
“You’re beautiful,” I told her.
Rosaline sat at the table with the makings for a soda bread, letting the bedsheet fall so a single well-sculpted leg was visible to me. She watched me, flirtatiously, looking up from underneath her eyelashes, and I growled.
“Careful,” I said, “or I’ll knock this table over just to get to you, and then what would happen to our bread?”
Rosaline relented, turning her focus back on the dough so we could eat—we were both starving, ravenous, so fucking again would have to wait at least until we were both recharged.
But as she put together a simple dough and I began chopping fresh-pulled carrots with my knife, I glanced around the hut, thinking of all the places I wanted to have her.
On my bed again, yes, but also on the rug, near the hearth, outside under the stars, on this very table…
I wanted to eat her delicious pussy, feast on it until she nearly passed out with pleasure.
But for now I would feed her a decent meal and count down the moments until I could have her again.
We made a simple meal—soda bread, which Rosaline cooked in a skillet in my wood-burning stove, and a stew of barley, potatoes, carrots, and rabbit. A few sprigs of thyme and some honey gave it some depth; I took a bite after Rosaline seasoned it with her own surprising concoction of salt and shaved garlic and declared it perfection.
“I’d like to have you cooking for me,” I told her. “You know your way around the kitchen.”
“I’d like that,” she mused. Everything she did, she made into a ritual; reaching for butter, grinding a bit of cinnamon to sprinkle on her bread.
She caught my eye and smiled, but I noticed her expression seemed far away, deep in thought—she looked concerned.
“What is it, love?” I asked, finding her hands and lacing my fingers in them.
“I just… I don’t even know where to start with all of this. With … magic.” The word seemed difficult for her to intone; I patiently waited for her to continue.
“When I close my eyes,” she said, demonstrating, her own rose-petal eyelids closing gently, “I can feel it—something surging within me, a power simmering beneath my skin. But I don’t even know how to try to access it.” She fluttered her eyes open, finding me. “Where did you start?”
“Simple spells.” I shrugged as I sipped my milk. “Levitation. Transformation. Things like that, with rocks and feathers and water. But then again, I never had the raw talent that you do. Perhaps your powers know it would be wasted on such small spells.”
Rosaline dipped her head down. “I’m not—I don’t…” she stammered, and I lifted up her chin with my hand.
“You are a rare talent,” I confirmed. “I’ve never seen anything like it—I can feel your power radiating from you like warmth from a fire.”
Rosaline’s cheeks burned pink, but she seemed pleased. I planted a kiss on her forehead. “Your power needs to be wielded, but it’s there. It’s like … the smallest of sparks. Once we contain them and feed it properly, it will be a roaring fire, and nothing will douse it.”
We resumed eating again, Rosaline sopping up the last of her stew’s juices with the crust of her bread. “I just can’t believe that I, of all people, am capable of such things. I’m a simple farm girl still, in my mind. I never thought I would be… I never thought I would be…”
“…The one the forest has been waiting for all these years.” I knew it in my bones as I said it—I knew she was the one who would protect these woods. I knew she was the one that my master, so long ago, had told me to wait for, and I went quiet, thinking about how I’d nearly given up hope.
I’d been so worried that I would never be enough, and alone, I was not enough. I knew this. Alone, I was not powerful enough to keep this forest alive forever.
But with Rosaline here…
I grabbed her hand and pressed my lips to it, wishing I could transfer all of my strength to her, all of my resolve. I wished she could know, with just my touch, how I adored her, how I had longed for her.
“Rosaline,” I whispered, my chest bristling, “I have waited for you for a long, long time.”
Something glowed in her eyes just then, a light that seemed to shine into my very heart. She lifted my hand and kissed it with her pillowy pink lips, and my cock throbbed. I wanted her. Body, mind, and soul. I wanted her.
And if she wanted me too, then I would never let her go.
I would do anything and everything required to keep her safe, to keep her protected, and to keep her happy.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosaline
After dinner, Gawen cleaned up the fire pit and set the cauldron to soak, then found me some decent clothing.
“The forest can get chilly after dark,” he warned. “I want to make sure you don’t get too cold again. Not when hypothermia almost claimed your life after your dip in the pond.”
“But then we can’t stave off my hypothermia in your bed again,” I pretended to complain, and Gawen responded by tugging me toward him for a long, lusty kiss.
“Then put on these clothes so I can strip them off you later,” he said, and I obliged. I liked the feel of his leggings and tunic on me. I liked being able to smell him, his musk. I liked the idea that maybe my scent would wear off onto his clothes, and soon it would be hard to tell whose scent was whose.
Hand in hand, we wandered into the Fair Forest. I let Gawen guide me past fallen trees coated in fuzzy green moss, complex root systems that provided warrens for rabbits, sunny glens and dappled springs and trees that looked like hunched old ladies.
As we walked, Gawen narrated, and I found looking at the forest through his eyes to be exhilarating.
“See here?” Gawen pointed down to a set of tracks in the dirt. “A mother fox walked through here not long ago.”
“Yes! I saw her outside your hut.”
“Now, put your hand here.” Gawen and I both knelt, and he gently pressed my fingers into the dirt beside the tiny padded footprints. “Close your eyes. Where is the fox going? What do you hear?”
I breathed in deeply, letting the
rustling of the leaves around me blend into a melody. Beneath my fingers, the dirt was surprisingly soft, chilled, refreshing on a tired mother fox’s paws. On a sunny day such as this, the underbrush would provide decent shade for critters with fur.
And then I saw it.
In my mind, triggered by the sound of the forest’s whispers, I could see the mother fox, a dead pigeon in her mouth, carrying her kill up to a fox hole beneath a cedar, where three hungry kits purred at the sight of their supper.
“She’s bringing home food for her babies,” I told Gawen. “She’s … not far from here. Maybe half a mile.”
“Good.” He pecked my cheek with a proud smile, and we kept walking.
As the sun sank below the tree line and the light shifted, Gawen pointed out more evidence of the Fair Forest’s cycle of life—insects bored into one section of a tree, killing its branch, which had fallen down to provide a sanctuary for a family of pheasants nesting in the shade. Wildflowers sprouted around the roots of a pine, which were devoured by the deer, which were then devoured by the wolves—if not for these apex predators, Gawen explained, the deer would overrun the woods, and all the flowers would be gobbled up before they had a chance to bloom.
“It’s more beautiful than I could ever have dreamed of,” I whispered as a majestic stag crossed before us, his antlers draped with lichens, his hooves light in the soil.
“As are you.” Gawen lifted my hand to his, kissing it, and then leaned in to kiss my mouth, pressing me against the trunk of a massive oak tree, desire in his eyes.
I inhaled as he moved down to my neck, alternating between kissing and nipping, bringing chills to the surface of my skin, but then the breeze blew.
Leaves rustled.
I straightened, my eyes widening as I listened.
“An intruder,” I said, repeating what the forest had whispered. “Near the village. The old birch tree.”
