Luther's Pride Part 6

Cerebrion’s library was a sanctum to him. Luther remembered the library in the old tower, two floors he was seldom permitted to enter. The uppermost, his father’s private study, was a sacred place of written words and ancient manuscripts. He wasn’t sure what to expect when Criella opened the doors to the mansion’s library, but he expected her to open them carefully. They’d snuck in plenty of times as children. 

Criella opened the doors without ceremony or hesitation, as if they wouldn’t get in trouble for trespassing. 

It took Luther a few moments at the threshold to adjust his expectations. 

The large, open, and multi-storied room was the size of a grand ballroom. Rows of shelves divided the room with one central aisle between them and two spiral staircases on either side in the center. The second floor was a balcony with more shelves beyond it, and in the center, several tables covered with piles of books, maps, parchments, and papers. 

“I see he abandoned having a desk in favor of… every table he could find?” Luther asked. 

He admired the crystal lights illuminating the enclosed room, where sunlight couldn’t damage the papers. The dry, familiar smell of paper and ink washed over him. It smelled like his father, and for a moment, Luther almost expected the severe elven man to step out from behind a shelf and berate him for being there. 

“Your father was a man with several projects running. He kept things separate by keeping them on different tables.” Criella explained. 

“Which table corresponds to which project?” Luther asked. 

“I have no idea.” Criella sighed. She moved through the tables, perusing their contents as she went. 

Luther stopped at the first one and lifted a heavy leather-bound tome off a dry piece of paper whose corner he’d spotted. A list of names sat upon it, some crossed out. None of the names were people he recognized or remembered meeting in the queue he’d just greeted. 

“What projects was my father working on?” Luther asked. 

“The artificer crystals was one.” Criella answered. “And you already know of his obsession with finding the fey lord’s tomb.” She continued. “Then, of course, there’s the businesses of the town, several civic improvements he wanted to implement in the valley, and…” She held up a stack of loose papers in triumph, “correspondence with other local lords, many of whom made courtship or betrothal offers.” 

“You want me to marry someone my father rejected?” Luther asked. 

Criella huffed. “Your father rejected every one. He wasn’t interested after your mother died, but you need a wife. I would prefer one with a powerful Acrana who can keep Banan from killing you. It's a place to start.” 

“What about you?” Luther asked. He was watching Criella, but she was too busy reading through the correspondence and didn’t lift her eyes when she answered. 

“What about me?” She asked. Her pointed devil’s tail swished through the air behind her. That was an early sign of annoyance that confused Luther. He hadn’t thought she’d be annoyed by his suggestion. They had a history, after all. 

“What if I marry you?” Luther asked. “Do you have a powerful arcana?” 

“No.” Criella responded flatly. “My specialty would not help you from getting killed.” 

“What is your specialty, anyway?” Luther asked. “You never said.” 

Criella looked up at him and sighed. She stepped to her left and vanished as if moving behind a curtain. Luther jumped when her voice came from directly behind him. “I can step through the veil.” She said suddenly. 

“That would seem extremely useful!” Luther said louder than he meant to. 

“Maybe if I had any skill with a sword or fighting, sure.” Criella shrugged. “But I’m a solicitor, and using it can be draining. I can only jump short distances, usually where I can see, and there’s a whole list of problems with it.” She said. “But it’s a handy knack when I want to scare people with something other than my face.” She opened her mouth to show off her sharp canines and then closed her jaw in a smile. 

“What if I wanted you to marry me anyway? Not to fight, but-” 

Criella cut Luther off with a chop of her hand. “I’m an Asmodean.” She reminded him as if he didn’t have eyes. “We’re generally frowned upon by society. I’d only invite more challenges from nobles who take offense to my inclusion in your title.” 

“But-” Luther started. 

“Look.” Criella sighed. She looked up at Luther and stopped momentarily, softening when their eyes met but steeling herself, going into a conversation she’d obviously predicted. “We were young, and for what it’s worth, I’m glad we had what we did, but it’s been years, Luther, and things are different now. You are Lord of Raefendale. I am your law advocate. You are my employer now, nothing more.” 

Luther visibly flinched from the verbal slap her practiced words laid across his ego. He took a deep breath, unwilling to argue about it. He couldn’t claim that he loved her as he once did. He’d gone, after all. Now he was back, and she was right. They were both different people. She was right, but that didn’t mean she had to continue being right. Luther knew they could make a new start and rediscover each other. He didn’t care about her heritage, and he didn’t think she should either, but that was a conversation for another time. 

“Criella.” Luther said softly. He stepped forward. 

Criella watched him move. She was resolute, unwilling to step back even as he stood before her and took her hands. 

“Cree.” He said. 

Criella’s tail swished gently above the floor, not in annoyance but in soft surprise. He hadn’t called her that since before he left. The sound of it from his lips was full of memories. Fun, games, coming of age together, his twentieth birthday, her twentieth birthday, their first kiss, their first and only time. 

“Don’t call me that.” Criella snapped. 

Surprise slashed across Luther’s face, but he pushed through. “Cree.” He said again. 

“I told you-” Criella started but stopped as Luther put his finger on her lips. “We can’t.” She protested. 

“Why?” Luther asked. “Is it illegal?” 

“No.” Criella said when Luther removed his finger from her lips. “Not officially, but marrying me would hurt your chances of marrying well. Not everyone is so accepting. It’s bad enough you’re half fey.” 

“What’s wrong with being half-fey?” Luther asked, surprised. “People liked my father, didn’t they?” 

“Liked and feared.” Criella pointed out. “And nothing’s wrong with being half-fey. You know that. I know that, but some nobles in this kingdom…” 

Luther waited for her to continue when her voice trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish the sentence. Some nobles weren’t as inclusive as others when it came to others. Raefendale was in the rural part of the kingdom, at the border to the outlands. It was a mix of diverse people and resentful elites. 

Luther sighed. “People are more accepting in the cities.”

“Challenge a prince then, and you can move back to the city.” Criella suggested. “In the meantime, you must rule the lands you’ve been given.” 

“Can’t we just forget about all that for a moment and… reconnect?” Luther asked, stepping in front of Criella. 

Criella lifted her chin to look into his eyes, and the corner of her mouth ticked up in a smile as her lips pressed together. “It’s not very devout of you to suggest such things, my lord.” 

Luther sighed. “I tried being devout once.” He shrugged. “It was boring.” 

Criella laughed. “One could say it’s improper for you to abuse your position over me this way. You could force me to do things my office would not supply.” 

“I suppose I could.” Luther said, but he didn’t move. “But I don’t want to do that. If you don’t want me, I’ll take that wound and respect your wishes, but if you want me…” Luther offered her his hand. 

She glanced at his palm, then his lips, then his eyes once more. Her quarter-smile spread across her lips, showing her white, slightly sharp teeth. “I missed you.” Criella admitted. “More than you know.” 

“I missed you too.” Luther replied. 

“If we do this…” Criella glanced around, her eyes glowing with magic for a moment to ensure they were alone. No one else was in the library, and the doors had shut behind them. She raised her hand and twisted it, using some magic to lock the door. “We must be discreet.” 

“If you insist on discretion-” 

“I do.” Criella interrupted him. “For you, it would be nothing more than the typical impetuous lust of men. Scandalous but forgivable in light of your standing, wealth, and position. For me, I could lose my situation. I could go hungry and homeless, shunned by all, and branded a harlot by the assembly.” 

“I would never allow that to happen.” Luther said, assured. “But if you’d rather we didn’t, I understand.” He lowered his hand, but Criella caught it, stroking his palm with her thumb. 

“I just want you to understand the risk.” Criella said. “We are unmarried, unbound, and you know what the assembly teaches about unbound sex.” 

“I can bind you if you wish.” Luther offered, lifting a leather string from the table beside them that had bound up an old, weathered journal. 

Criella eyed the string and jerked her head at him, making a rude gesture with the horns that curled back from her forehead. At least, a rude gesture among Asmodeans. “You know what I mean.” She said instead. 

“I know.” Luther said. “But in my defense, I asked you to marry me first, and if it’s a condition of any sexual relations between us for you, I’ll gladly summon a priestess.” 

“So I can die with you when Banan comes for your title?” Criella scoffed. “No thank you.” 

Luther knew she was teasing him, but that insult almost hurt. She undercut its sting by curling her tail around his leg and squeezing his thigh. She placed her hand on his hip and the other on his chest, closing the distance between them and kissing him. 

The kiss was soft, comfortable, familiar, and, best of all, slow. It was a long, slow, lingering kiss. Every second improved the taste of her lips, and Luther didn’t bother to count them. Their lips pressed together, and Luther put his arms around her, pulling her close to him, their bodies against each other. 

Their hands wandered, refamiliarizing themselves with each other, pushing through all the years apart between them. Hesitation slowed their hands but quickened their hearts with every inch of palm upon their outer clothes. Luther’s black garments were soft and comfortable to the touch; the press against his skin, warmed by her hands, relaxed him. Criella’s clothes were coarser, her cinched corset forbidding his desires to feel her yielding flesh beneath his fingers. 

Criella broke the kiss, but only to pull his collar aside so she could kiss his neck. 

Luther gasped as her hot breath spilled against his throat, her tongue sweeping, her lips pulling at the muscles beneath his skin. 

“You taste better than I remembered.” Criella spoke softly beside his ear. “And I’ve often remembered our night together.” 

“So have I.” Luther told her. “You’ve been my companion on many lonely nights.” 

Criella smiled wickedly and undid the tie of her corset. The slack was immediately noticeable as it pulled the front away from her body as her breasts pushed back against it, and she undid an internal clasp in the front, opening it to reveal the shirt beneath it. Her crimson skin contrasted nicely with the darker shades of professional brown, but the more she uncovered, the less professional she looked. She shed her responsibilities with each garment and freed herself to pleasure when she let the black blouse beneath her corset. 

She left the trousers on, and the long nail at the end of her index finger curled up Luther’s abdomen toward the buttons of his doublet, which he obligingly unfastened. 

Criella’s breasts were full and heavy, and they rose sharply with her breath as Luther threw off his shirt to reveal his abdomen, muscled from the road, wiry from scarce food, and scarred with lessons learned along his sides, back, and front. Minor nicks and cuts scarred over in darker lines that marred his pale flesh, but Criella did not turn away from him. She lowered her lips to his chest and kissed the scar line near the center of his chest. 

Luther brought his hand to her breast, covering her hard ebony nipple with his palm and groping the underside with his strong fingers, eliciting a gasp from Criella. 

Luther kissed her neck, and she lifted her head to give him access, exhaling to the ceiling as he took his time exploring her body and eliciting pleasure from every press of himself against her. Criella rolled her hips gently against him, her body’s heat warming his front and pressing a bead of sweat onto his brow. 

“Do you have a sheath?” Criella asked. 

Luther froze. 

Creilla laughed, a derisive laugh that mocked him and his suddenly fearful expression as it turned to annoyance. 

“I have one.” She told him. “I…” 

“You hoped this might happen.” Luther surmised. 

“I thought it might be best to be prepared.” Criella said though she did not argue against his deduction. 

Luther resumed kissing her neck, and she gasped, bringing her hand against his chest lower until it found the waist of his trousers. She unfastened his belt, and then her hand turned over and slid down, reaching into his pants. Luther stiffened as her grasping hand found its prize, but he kept kissing her as she pulled and gently stroked him, her long fingernails pricked gently at the underside of his cock. 

“Are you still a gentle and caring lover?” Criella asked softly. “Or have you learned to wield this sword?” 

Luther scoffed. “Do you not want a gentle lover? Do you not want me to kneel between your legs and enter you slowly, rocking you gently into oblivion?” 

Criella kissed his neck. “No.” She answered. “I want you to knock everything off this table behind me, slam me down on it, and break it beneath me.” 

Luther laughed and did his best to oblige. He scattered the papers, books, and envelopes on the table with a sweep of his arm. Criella gasped in surprise at his following through but only glanced at the papers strewn about the floor as she lowered her pants and hopped up to the table. 

Instead of sheathing himself in her, however, Luther knelt in front of the table and kissed his way up her thigh. He began at her calves, alternating between her legs, kissing inch by inch as he made his way closer. 

Criella watched him, propped on her elbows. She rolled her eyes at the display but did her best to control her breathing as he approached his prize. 

Luther caressed her with his lips first. Then his tongue slid past his lips and into her, where he found her wet and waiting. 

Criella tilted her head back, looking upside down at the fireplace behind them as she savored the shivers Luther sent through her body. Her hands gripped the table's edge, and her nails stuck into the wood. Her tail, trapped beneath her, slid to the side and wrapped over Luther’s shoulder, joining the gentle pressing on his back with her calves. 

Luther wrapped his arms under her thighs so his fingers gripped her hips, pulling her legs wider. Her nectar was sweet, and her scent bridged the gap in his memory between now and their last time together. He’d been inexperienced then, but he’d learned much in his travels by way of talk. Not all of it was true, he’d find, but as he recalled advice from some of the men and women he’d met, he learned who was knowledgeable and who was a liar. 

Criella would have thanked those sages if she knew them. His tongue twisted and twirled against her in electric jolts of pleasure. Every indentation of her crimson flesh from his fingers was intentional and ecstatic. She closed her eyes and reveled in the stoking fire spreading through her until she felt ready to burst. 

She felt the onslaught coming on and warned Luther by shaking her head. 

“Wait.” Criella gasped. 

Luther raised an eyebrow and paused between her legs, looking up to make eye contact as she looked down at him. The sight of his lips, a breath away from her most intimate flesh, was nearly enough to push her over the edge. 

“Fuck me.” Criella reached for him and pulled him to his feet. 

Luther took her guidance and stood between her legs. She pulled him in by squeezing her calves behind him and holding fast as he notched himself and then entered her with one swift plunge. 

Criella’s eyes rolled. She arched her back and lifted slightly from the table. 

Luther’s thumb reached between her legs as his hand rested on top of her, holding her down while he sawed in and out from his standing position. His thumb swept and curled over her clit, and all too soon, she found herself crashing over the edge. 

She squeezed Luther and held fast, her body convulsing, her scream silent as she held it in with everything she had so as not to alert the servants. The sight of her silent cry and the waves of shaking muscles in her drew Luther’s explosion from him. Her nails scratched the underside of the table over its edge, and her toes curled into talons. She fell back against the table with a sudden drop of exhaustion. 

Luther bent over her, his hands on either side of her breasts, under her arms, to support himself. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” Criella asked. 

“Here and there.” Luther shrugged. “More there than here, I suppose.” 

Criella’s face fell into a smile as she relaxed. “Your wives will be lucky women.” 

Luther’s smile was tight, but he didn’t argue. They remained like that for a while, with Luther standing at the side of the table and leaning over her, her legs now loosely wrapped around the back of his thighs. 

Luther stepped back and pulled out of her. She didn’t protest or try to hold him close. She was still recovering, and her legs weren’t long enough for her feet to reach the floor as she lay on the table. 

“I uh…” Luther hesitated as he started getting his clothes together. The sight of Criella, beautiful, sexy, a bit devilish, and exhausted, was almost enough to get his blood pumping again, but she moved and covered her breasts with her arm. 

Criella took a deep breath, and her smile faded as she sat up. “Don’t worry. I’ll take precautions. We wouldn’t want to upset some of your more religious tenants with an Asmodean child running about.” 

Luther shrugged and proffered her clothes.