By the Light of the Moon

by Blake, Laila

  Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she wrinkled her nose at him, leaning against the frame of her door. She could have shaken her head or tried to chastely refuse, but she didn’t want to and neither would it have worked. In fact, the way he knew things about her nobody else knew made her tingle again.

  “So you’ve waited … at the top of the stairs?” she asked back, her own shy little smirk on her face.

  “Only for a little while,” he whispered back. Finally, he reached out and touched her cheek. Only the very tips of his fingers connected with her skin, brushing over her cheek and down to her lips where they rested for a long moment.

  “I missed you,” he informed her quietly. She could see the tiny motion of his flaring nostrils when he sucked in a deep breath of her. She took a tiny, gasping one herself and blushed. She was excited; he could smell it and she could read it on his face.

  “You took a bath,” he guessed correctly and she brushed her lips along his finger to free them for speech.

  “So did you.” She hadn’t smelled it, but she could see it in his hair, the way it fell and the way he seemed to have rubbed it dry. In that instant, she imagined him there, bare, running a towel over his chest and up over his hair. Exhaling a shallow breath, her eyes went out of focus for a moment and when she looked at his eyes again, he was smirking a little.

  “What were you thinking about?” he asked. He was gentle and soft, but at the same time there was something in his voice that made it utterly impossible for her to refuse or lie or simply not answer.

  “You,” she exhaled without hesitation and he let his hand cup her cheek, warm and strong.

  “It’s dangerous here,” he reminded her after a long moment of simply looking at each other, filling up on the sight of the other. Moira nodded, and looked up and down the corridor. Then she bit her bottom lip.

  “What if … ?” she started, not quite sure she could finish that sentence.

  “Yes?” he asked. From the look on his face, Moira thought he knew exactly what she was thinking; didn’t he always, one way or another?

  “My room.” She hardly said it at all, her lips moved, but hardly any sound escaped them. He understood though; it was enough. “It’s … private. Nobody will … nobody will come in. It’s … ” she faltered and he saved her from continuing her explanation by leaning over and kissing her forehead. With her face against his neck, she inhaled and could smell him so strongly, she uttered a tiny sound of pleasure. Hearing it, Owain gently pushed her back into her room, walking backward, never changing the distance of their bodies.

  She could feel her feet find ground behind her, then heard Owain kicking the door shut and smiling down at her. His hand was still on her cheek but hardly anything else had moved; not her hand on his chest, not the way his thumb rested just under her lips on the precipice of her chin.

  “There are lamps here, too,” he finally spoke, not much louder but with added warmth. “So that I can see you when I kiss you.”

  A little dizzy at that statement, Moira inhaled an audible breath. Her fingers tightened in his shirt and she realized that for the first time, he wasn’t wearing protective chest gear. It was just a woolen shirt and underneath was his bare skin. The idea made her head swim. And then he kissed her and the only way she knew her knees hadn’t given in was the fact that she hadn’t collapsed on the ground.

  It felt more like floating, a feet or two in the air as their tongues moved against each other. They knew each other’s rhythms now, knew the way their tongues moved. Moira moaned against his lips, the vibration tickled both of them enough to open their eyes and smile at each other.

  When she felt her bed against the back of her knees, it was a surprise. Had she been walking backward again? Had he? She blushed, knew she had to stop this, knew she should direct him to the fire and into a chair. They could talk and get to know each other more; the bed wasn’t a good idea. And yet her fingers were still tugging at his shirt until he took hold of it and simply lifted it off over his head.

  Moira stared, opened mouthed. Her face was pink and glowing and she couldn’t stop looking.

  He wasn’t packed with muscles, but they were finely outlined under his pale, moon-kissed skin. There was hair around the top of his chest, curling a little against the lighter skin and thinning toward his stomach until it was just a slim line that went down to his navel. She swallowed hard and still her mouth was open.

  “You … ” she whispered, finally tearing her eyes back up to his face to find him grinning warmly.

  “Yes, Momo?” he asked.

  “You’re beautiful … ”

  He just smiled in reply, shaking his head a little before he tilted up her face and kissed her again. This time, when her fingers landed on his chest, it was hair she felt, not wool. It was wiry and soft at the same time and his skin was so warm, as though there was a furnace burning inside of him, like a fever.

  • • •

  “We run a little warmer than you,” he exhaled when their lips parted and smiled down at her. Suddenly, she looked so young to him with her sparkling eyes wide open; both nervous and needy. She was beautiful and she could never be his. Stolen moments were all they had. Stolen kisses, stolen nights she would never spend with her future husband. He was a thief and he knew it, but he had been called worse. Much worse. For her, he would gladly turn thief a hundred times.

  Carefully, he brushed the tips of his fingers along the embroidery of her neckline. He didn’t yet touch her skin, but she shivered anyway, her neck and chest erupting in tiny little bumps that made him smile.

  “You are beautiful,” he corrected her belatedly; almost too engrossed by the small expanse of skin and the possibilities it held to try for more. He wanted to frame her and hold her that way forever; in her room, almost against her bed, the flowery curtain behind her flaming hair and her eyes — so green, in the candlelight, just for a moment, it looked like they were glowing.

  Finally, she leaned forward, until her cheek came to rest against his chest. She was cool in comparison, so soft and wholly alive. After a moment, in which the gesture touched him so much it almost hurt, he wrapped his strong arms around her, squeezed her against him tightly. He could feel her lungs expanding and contracting against the grip, with just a hint of resistance. Her breath, her life in his arms. In that moment, he knew more than ever before that he wanted to hold her and keep her safe for the rest of his life.

  Moira could feel her heart beating in her chest, hard and fast. Everything was new, the way his hand glided down her side to rest on the curve of her hip to the way her body leaned into it when he pulled her closer. She could feel him everywhere, almost head to toe and for a moment, everything went still. All her life, she had shied away from something that seemed to be the answer to every question she’d ever had. Touch.

  • • •

  “Owain … ” she finally gasped. She could feel a hardness in his trousers, pushing against her lower stomach and suddenly, the little nub between her legs started to pulse. It made her breathing audible and caused her eyes to close as she leaned her head back.

  His hand cupped her rear, and then pulled her hard and fast against his hardness. His other hand started to fumble with the string of her dress in her back. She was about to help him when he exhaled an inhuman growl and she felt something ripping. He pulled the dress down over her shoulders. It didn’t quite fit but he made it work. Only when something tore again did he snap out of it, looking down at her pale shoulders and the swell of her breasts. Letting go of the fabric, it slid down further, snagging at her broad hips. Her undergarments were fresh and creamy, but for the moment, they just breathed and stared at each other.

  “You’re mine, aren’t you?” he exhaled, still with that wolfish raw quality to his voice. “My Momo, my wild one, my beautiful girl.”

  She nodded, onc
e at first but then again and again. “And … and you’re mine,” she stammered.

  “I’m yours.”

  • • •

  Her eyes filled with tears then and she leaned against his chest. Her lips landed on his sternum. She kissed him. It was an experiment at first but his skin was so warm and soft against her lips and she liked the way his curly chest-hair tickled her cheeks. More kisses followed and she grew more adventurous, rubbing her nose against his skin, tasting it, filling herself up on him.

  There, she could hear his heartbeat; could almost feel it through the layers of flesh and bone. She could feel every breath he took and the way they caught in his throat when he exhaled another low groan.

  “Momo … ” he exhaled, and suddenly, his hand was in her hair, pulling her head back to crush his lips on hers, begging, teasing, demanding she’d meet him stroke for stroke.

  Somehow, when the kiss broke, her undergarment lay on the floor, torn clean down the middle. She was panting and so was he and for a long moment, they stared at each other, knowing fully what they were about to do. His eyes seemed to be asking more than permission. He loved her and she loved him, but they both knew this would only lead to pain. It didn’t matter. Not then. Maybe not ever.

  He kissed her again, his lips found her cheek, her jaw and the soft little spot behind her ear. Here, he growled again, licking at her neck, then biting, nibbling, licking again. Moira felt the wolf, too. He was there with them, as desperate for touch and union as they both were.

  Owain looked almost embarrassed when he pulled back. His eyes shone silver with the wolf growing stronger inside of him. He couldn’t have continued his exploration without doubling over and in the end, he smiled, lifted her into his arms and gently laid her down on the bed, her dress still bunched around her waist.

  For a few breaths, all he did was look down at her. Her milky breasts, an expanse of pale freckles, pink nipples hard and begging for his mouth.

  “So beautiful,” he echoed. There was something about her skin that was like nothing he had ever seen before. Maybe it was the candlelight or flickering fire, maybe it was simply that he loved her and could hardly contain the wolf from jumping out at her, but it seemed almost translucent. It seemed to glow, just a little — his Momo.

  Finally, he set one knee on the edge of the bed, their eyes met for a long moment and he reached out, circling one nipple with his fingertips. The skin contracted even more and Moira gasped in a way that was almost as exciting as her touch to him.

  Moira’s eyes closed and each breath was hard work, not painful but constricted with desire. She knew a similar feeling from becoming panicky but at the same time, it wasn’t similar at all. It was as different as it was possible to be. Here, she was lying on her bed, her whole body seemed to tense with the tingling sensation that ran through every vein.

  “Owain … ” she whispered and he raised his eyes to her face with a careful smile.

  “I know,” he answered. For a moment she could see the distinct outline of his cheekbones and his jaw as his face tensed. “I can’t do this to you, right? You’re human.”

  She swallowed and when he read the lack of understanding in her eyes, his smile grew warmer.

  “It’s different for us. We enjoy each other’s company freely. Touch and smells and tenderness are something we experiment with when we are young. But you’re human. You never have.”

  Moira blushed but nodded then. “Never … ” she whispered and then bit down on her fleshy bottom lip. “You’re the first I … the first man who kissed me, too.”

  “I know.” There was sadness in his tone and his eyes, but something else as well. “You’re so beautiful. I am not sure how to stay away from you, you know?” They both tried to chuckle but then their eyes met and they stopped. Swallowing hard, Moira pulled her arm over her exposed breasts and blinked.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” he asked, eyeing her motion for a long moment before his eyes met hers again. He finally gave in and sat down next to her on the bed, his feet still on the ground so that he had to turn his torso around to face her.

  “Why is this so hard?”

  Shrugging, Owain touched the knuckles of her hand, the one that was spread over the swell of her breast. Her loose gowns had hidden them well, the splendor of her twin mounds.

  “Few things are easy. Especially not things that matter.”

  • • •

  Seeing the sadness, the sudden distance in his eyes, Moira sat up and scooted down until her knees could rest against his back and her cheek onto his shoulder.

  “You’re sad,” she murmured.

  “I am, Momo … ” Touching her hair, his lips found her forehead and she could see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he swallowed. “I don’t want to be without you. The very idea that just because I can’t ever step in front of your father and ask for your hand in marriage is … it makes me sad, little one.”

  His naked shoulder was still warm and she kissed it, leaning her nose against it, too, nuzzling and feeling the distance they were failing to erect between them.

  “I’m yours, you know? Marriage or no. Future or no. You’re the only one I’ll ever … I ever … you keep them still. All the voices and all the things in my head. You keep them still.”

  “You’re doing the same for me, Momo.” He spoke so low, she looked up both in surprise and to convince herself that she had heard him right.

  “You have … things in your head, too?”

  “Something like that.” He exhaled through his nose, nostrils shivering under the expelled air. He had started to wrap her hair into a ring around his finger and then smiled sadly, tugging just a little until she tilted her head and he could kiss her again. Slow at first, but growing and growing in depth.

  When he finally turned around, he tugged his trousers down and kicked off his shoes. Tugging down the rest of her dress and undergarments, he fully joined her on the bed and she curled against him, there on the sheets. He radiated heat and still he was convinced that through some miracle, she radiated light; his beautiful Momo.

  He didn’t speak again. He didn’t ask and she didn’t stop him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tightly, not ready to let him go. Her breasts pressed against his chest and still they were kissing, heating each other until neither of them could breathe easily and his hand was cupping at a cheek of her rear. It made her gasp and moan when he grabbed harder, pulling at it so that the cheeks parted and she could feel a breeze touching her creamy, wet flower. Another moan, and her wide eyes landed on his, silvery brown and alive in the candlelight.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he finally asked after all, forcing the words out one by one, quiet and raw.

  Shaking her head was the only sign she was capable of as the torrent of new feelings invaded her body and her mind. He helped her open her legs and rest her thigh against his hip so that he could reach between them, careful fingers outlining the slippery, swollen edges of her labia, spreading her wetness without truly intruding.

  “Breathe, little Momo,” he reminded her with a smile when she just stared at him, mouth open wide without any sound escaping. Almost instantly, she coughed the rest of air out of her lungs and smiled at him, wide-eyed and wondering.

  And then he slipped his fingers between the twin folds of skin and fire, dragging the moisture down from her entrance up to the little numb that tended to pulsate sometimes and which she had touched that day after their first kiss. She inhaled again with a loud gasp — the feeling didn’t compare to anything in the world. Her lips moved as though she was trying to say something but no sound escaped her throat, just little whimpers when he started to circle the nub, slowly at first until her eyes rolled back and her mouth stood wide open — and then he kissed her again. It was hard this time, hard an
d demanding. In the corner of his eyes, he could see her hands flailing on the sheets, grasping and letting go, grasping and letting go.

  Carefully, he lifted his hand off the sheet, where he had been supporting his weight. Pressing two fingers against her swollen nub, he found her hand, interlocked their fingers and gently moved it high up over her head, stretching her body a little as he smiled down at her.

  “So beautiful,” he exhaled and found her other hand and moved it where the first was still waiting. Encircling both of her finely boned wrists and holding them down above her head, he started to move his fingers again, faster now and pressing against it with more force until he had to kiss her again to quell her loud moans.

  It was when her hips started to wriggle and her feet to kick in the air that he moved them again to make her whine aloud, in protest and plead all at once. Instead, he moved it to her entrance, slipping a finger past the ring of skin. She was so wet, she almost sucked him in, gasping and shuddering against his mouth while he pressed his large erection against her thigh.

  One finger soon became two, testing, gently loosening her tight opening. Owain had large hands, calloused from years and years of handling weapons and Moira could feel every crevasse, every pore and line on his harder skin, rubbing inside of her and making her want to die or explode or come to some kind of conclusion while at the same time, never, never stopping.

  When he pushed deeper, he found a small obstruction. Carefully, he inspected it, pushing against it, trying to widen the opening while she moaned under him. The responsibility struck him, almost scared him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this, certainly never to a human girl — woman, he reminded himself. But what woman had never shared pleasure with a man? He blinked and then pressed his eyes shut for a long time. He knew human customs; if anyone found out about this, she would be ruined; her whole family would be. And yet, he couldn’t stop. Not when he wanted her so much, needed her; not when she was lying there, begging him to go on with every gasping breath and every moaning exhale.