Luther's Pride Part 29

Luther returned to his apartment, leaving his father’s office behind with Criella inside. His footsteps were quiet in the grand hallway. He was accustomed to walking silently in the wilderness; the marble floors of his father’s mansion, his mansion, were no challenge. 

Will still slept beside the entrance and didn’t wake when Luther opened the apartment door. He entered, grabbed a fleece blanket from beside the fireplace, and draped it over Will’s shoulders. He covered the young man’s front and let him rest. Luther had no doubt Will would wake at some point during the night, but he proved a heavy sleeper in the early hours of slumber. 

Entering his apartment, Luther heard the snores from their shared bedchamber. He smiled to listen to the lazy, rolling sounds of slumber and remained in the main room. He ate more of the food laid out for them and set a fire in the fireplace. Normally, a lord would summon a servant to do such a thing, but Luther had spent many years on the road. He was no stranger to building his own fire. If anything, it was the fireplace that made it strange. The grand marble mantle and the stone facade were a far cry from the scratched pit of dirt he typically built his fires in. 

Wulfric would probably yell at him later for it, and for some reason, that thought made Luther smile and resolve to build his own fires whenever possible. 

The room contained several chairs before the fireplace, a lounge settee against the wall, and a window seat overlooking the courtyard. The table, covered in food, rested in the chamber's center. The end tables, besides the chairs, held lamps, which added to the mage light from the walls. Luther dimmed the crystals on the wall and activated the lamp by the tall, wing-backed armchair closest to the fireplace. 

He sat in his armchair, the warmth of the fire against him, and read his father’s notes on Annwyn by magelight. The steady glow of the crystal lamp on its small table beside his chair washed over the writing from behind and beside him. The firelight from the fireplace caused the rest of the room to dance in shadows as the steady crackle of logs and kindling created a sonorous ambiance. Luther did his best to not recall the pyres of the dead as he read the handwriting. 

His father’s notes were scattered and disorganized, as Criella had warned him. Still, an underlined note on the fifth page caught his attention. “Father: Uthriel, human. Mother: Unknown.” 

A few pages later, a list of names caught his attention, with the header: “Potential maternal lines:”. Each was a name, followed by a note on their species. Many were human, but the underlined was fey. “Morwenna Le Fey”. Luther stared at the name. 

It stirred something in his memory. A story his father told him when he was a child. Morwenna Le Fey was a fey princess. She came to this world to escape her enemies and hid as a maid working in an orchard. The trees she planted grew apples as sweet as honey and as golden as the sun. The owner of the orchard, a great giant, became a cruel and jealous master. 

Then, one day, a prince came to the giant’s castle and pretended to be sent as a servant. The giant laid challenge after challenge at the prince’s feet, always hoping the prince’s failure would become an excuse to kill the clueless servant. But Morwenna aided the prince so he’d succeed where others failed, until together they tricked the giant, killing him by turning him to stone in a magic cauldron. 

As a child, it was one of Luther’s favorite stories. He’d made his father tell it frequently, and his father always smiled and relented. Luther took a deep breath, imagining the implications of Uthriel being that prince. Annwyn’s father. 

The story ended with the prince taking Morwenna home to his kingdom, where they lived together happily until the end of their days. That was how many stories ended. He ran the story over and over in his head, his attention breaking only when the creak of the bedchamber door made him turn his head. 

Rhosyn stood in the doorway in her nightdress, a white cotton gown that fell against her slender thighs and ended several inches above her knees. The dagger-like neckline was laced together with white string to hold it closed, but the bow had come undone during their rest. It split apart as the laces stretched, threatening to show her small but firm breasts, even as the pastel pink nipples darkened the white cotton. 

Good morning, husband. Rhosyn said, speaking directly into his mind as she had before. Her psychomancy was useful for quiet conversations. 

Good evening, rather. It’s nearly midnight, I think. Luther corrected her. He’d seen the clock in his father’s office and guessed how much time had passed since he’d returned to the apartment. 

Rhosyn smiled softly and walked around to stand between him and the fireplace. Did we do something to anger you or kick you out of bed? I woke to find you’d tricked me with a pillow. 

Luther shook his head. No, I merely wanted to train but got distracted, so I returned to the room with some reading to prepare. 

He held the book aloft to show it to her. It wasn’t exactly a training manual, but the notes might help him figure out how to perform the other’s arcanas if it were even possible to possess such an ability. Eira had seemed encouraging, which was a good sign, but Luther wouldn’t believe it until he saw it, even if he’d convinced the others it was true.  

I see. Rhosyn said, stepping closer to him and taking the book. She looked into it, closed it, and put it on the table beside his armchair. Luther followed it with his eyes, then looked back to her as she kept moving forward and straddled his lap. 

Luther raised an eyebrow in question. Last night’s combat and the death of her parents had upset Rhosyn and Eira, understandably so. Her eyes still bore the veiny red marks of her crying until her well ran dry. He hadn’t pressed the usual wedding night activities, given the circumstances. But there was no denying the heat that coated his lap as she sank against him. Her warmth roused him, and he stiffened beneath her open thighs in miraculous time. 

You left our marriage bed, on our wedding night, to read? Rhosyn’s voice in his mind sounded amused rather than angry. I’ve looked forward to this night for years, and now the night I hoped for is sullied forever. Every time I remember it, I will remember it as the day my parents died, sacrificing their lives to give me and Eira a fighting chance because we married you.

That seemed harsh but accurate. Luther couldn’t deny that her parents would still be alive if they’d declined to marry him. She looked confused as she studied his face. Luther’s expression bore the sorrow of guilt and failure. 

Don’t misunderstand me. Rhosyn said. I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty for their deaths. Rhosyn gave him a soft, amused smile. My father and my mothers are... were responsible for their own lives and actions. They died as they willed and fought well. No, I’m not reprimanding you for their deaths. I’m angry with you for leaving our bed and leaving me with only sorrowful memories of my wedding night. Should I not also have pleasant ones to give me something to look back on with love? Yet here you sit, abandoning your husbandly duties. Have you no desire for me? Is ours to be a loveless union with no intimacy? Is fucking me really so boring that you’d rather read? 

I wanted to let you sleep. Luther said. I didn’t want to press you for marital fun beyond the ceremony until you were ready. 

Rhosyn took his hand by the wrist and guided it under her nightgown to the space between her legs. The smooth skin of her thigh was delightful against his rough fingers. The heat there ignited against his fingertips, and he stroked her by instinct, curling the callused pad of his fingertip against her puffy, cloud-soft lower lips. Rhosyn closed her eyes and bit her lip, rocking against his hand for emphasis. 

I woke up ready… but found a pillow where my husband should be, and my wives are still sleeping. Rhosyn said. Consider this my invitation to fulfill your duties to me. I’m ready, or will be, if you treat me well. 

Luther grinned at the invitation and took it. He stroked her with his fingers while she rocked against his hand. The pressure of her against his lap stirred him beneath her, and he was ready to remove his trousers but waited. He played with her, making her breathing shift as she bit her lip to remain silent. 

She stared at him with intensity, meeting his eyes in an unyielding plunge into his soul. And there, he saw the difference between her and Eira. Physically, they were identical in every way he’d yet to see. Their behavior and patterns might show differences, but by sight alone, the only difference he’d discerned thus far was their eyes. Her blue-gray irises had paths and patterns as unique to her as a fingerprint, and unless he was mistaken, hers were slightly darker than her sister’s pale-as-ice eyes. 

Her lower lips parted for him, and she dripped against his hand. He swirled his fingertip in tiny circles against her flesh and beckoned her mouth to his with parted lips. She kissed him and closed her eyes, tasting him.

The pair remained as silent as possible, not wishing to wake the others on the other side of the open bedchamber door. Their tongues danced together, and Luther wondered how her dark wine-red lips tasted like wine when it had been so long since their last drink. She moved her right hand to his left shoulder, gripping him firmly while her left hand grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm closer to her, forcing his finger to slip inside her. 

She moaned softly into their kiss, and her eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. Luther… please… 

Her words entered his mind like a whisper, a plea that didn’t break the room's silence. 

Undo my belt. Luther answered her, and Rhosyn reached for his waist. She unbuckled his belt and pulled it aside, unfastening his pants next. 

Luther lifted his hips and pushed his pants past her thighs. 

Rhosyn moved her hand from his wrist to his member and guided herself toward him. She sank onto him. Her opening was hot, wet, and more than ready. Her insides scorched the sides of his cock as he impaled her, and her replaced grip on his shoulder tightened to the brink of pain. 

Yes… Rhosyn whispered in her mind. This… I’ve wanted this. Rhosyn’s expression turned to a blissful smirk. She gently kissed him again, sweeping her lips against his, pulling away like the tide, and surging forward once more. She poured her passion into the kiss, swirling her tongue against his and holding his cheek. 

Are you ready, Rhosyn? Luther asked. 

Rhosyn’s confusion entered his mind without words. A question mark, more than a question. 

Luther pumped his hips in answer, and Rhosyn’s eyes flared. She’d been sitting on his dick, but the idea of riding him hadn’t occurred to her. She enjoyed the feeling of him in her, filling her, and the pressure against her clit as she sat on him. Motion, however limited, stoked her fire in an entirely new way. 

Oh, yes. Rhosyn whispered. Take me, my lord. 

Luther smiled, almost laughing, restraining his amusement in case it trickled along their mind-to-mind link. You’re the one on top, Rhosyn. You set the rhythm, and we’ll dance to it together.

Rhosyn didn’t understand, but after a few hesitant trial movements, she worked out his meaning. The awkwardness melted away with the flood of her pleasure. 

Luther tightened his grip on the armchair. He struggled against her nightgown, sliding it from her arms and shoving it to her waist. Her petite breasts broke into view with a bounce as she raised and lowered herself against his lap. He squeezed one in his hand, and she gave a high, pleasant whimper that broke their silence. 

Several minutes passed of steady riding, heavy breathing, squeezing, groping, kissing, and pleasant love-making between them. Every bounce of her body on his lap drove her pleasure forward. Each thrust from his hips on her descent pushed him deeper inside her. His touches became steady caresses, pushing her pleasure forward from her breasts, which flushed rose pink with desire. 

Her red lips kissed him with a passion that threatened to ignite his shirt in flames. He wanted to catch fire, to vent some release of the lust building in his body to her. Meanwhile, she wanted the same and made her desire to explode with him clear with every moment. 

Luther slid his hand between them, rubbing her just above where they joined with his thumb. Rhosyn crumbled above him, driving her forehead into his shoulder hard enough to cause pain, but he pushed through it. She bit him, chomping down with teeth that caused him to angrily thrust forward in response. The sudden surge of passion, the mingling of pain and pleasure, drove them both over the edge. 

Rhosyn clung to him as she came, shaking with exertion and glistening with sweet, salty sweat. Luther’s brow was damp from the exertion, and he stretched his neck as she kissed the place where she’d bitten him. It hadn’t been strong enough to break the skin, but the fading ache of her love bite had left the soft dents of her teeth in his skin. 

His orgasm surged from him as blast after blast left him weak with pleasure. He took a deep breath, refilling his lungs with life and reinflating his withered husk of a body. 

“Sorry.” Rhosyn whispered aloud. Her voice sounded frail and unsteady compared to the voice of her mind. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

Luther smiled softly. He reached for her mind with his and answered her there, rather than risk his deeper voice carrying into the bedchamber and waking their spouses. You didn’t hurt me, Rhosyn. I’m fine. I enjoyed it. You’re very good at this.

Rhosyn looked at him in surprise but smiled. You’re not just saying that? 

Of course not. Luther said, speaking to her mind.

She nuzzled against his neck, resting her head on his shoulder and curling against him. The position was awkward but pleasant enough in their current state. Still, it didn’t last long. 

Luther shifted, and although Rhosyn didn’t want to move, she did eventually. She slid from him, standing between his chair and the fire. Luther stood, shed his clothes, and walked to the lounge chair against the wall. He lifted it, surprising Rhosyn with his strength. She watched him carry it, her eyes on his muscles as he placed it closer to the fireplace. 

He added logs to the fire and placed a sheet at the foot of the settee. He lifted the covering and slid beneath it, holding it aloft for Rhosyn to join him. 

Rhosyn took her cue and laid on top of him beside the fire. Her head rested on his chest, and her legs slid between his. Their feet hung over the edge, and the sheet draped over them. She fell asleep moments later, but Luther was too awake.

He reached behind them, picking up the book. Luther read his father’s writing by firelight until the fire grew too dim. The overbearing warmth that kept him awake faded into a comfortable glow. Then he, too, fell asleep and didn’t wake until morning.