She couldn't count for the mood she was in, the mischief and warmth tingling that ran up and down her. Perhaps it was that dinner was dull this evening, with many having returned with the spring weather to their fields, the bards taken off to the newly opened paths. Or just that he looked so handsome tonight, the gold in his hair glimmering off his red hair like fire, his eyes bright and warm that she loved so much when they roamed her under him.
But now they were engaged in conversation with the man beside him. Talking about one battle or another, or the trade expected with the new crops. Something dreadfully important, undoubtedly. But it was the last thing on her mind. Her ear half turned to the company on her side, listening to the woman next to her tell her about the new projects they were expected to need to make.
Gilia hummed, as her hand moved, sliding under the table to his knee as she kept her face turned away.
Just like their wedding night, comes the memory, when he had guided her fingers to his thigh. For now she gives an affirmed squeeze of connection, as she talks, he talks.
But then - innocent as it was, it drifts, bolder than she was on her wedding night by half, as it roams up his leg more pointedly. Still nothing changes, nothing to be seen on her expression as it goes further and further.
To curl so gently, yet so blatantly around the shape of his cock in his hose. Feeling him out, splaying her fingers just so, that she could brush her thumb back and forth in slow languid movements. Teasing circles around the tip, yet she gave nothing away but her pleasant calm expression. Wasn't she just known for it, after all? Long practised to a neutral calm her people were known for. Yet she learned well how he liked to be touched, not too much, nothing to make him choke on his mouthfuls.
For now, anyway.
That when she does hear that first little surprise, her gaze turn back in a practised concern.
"Everything well, my husband?" Sweet as the honey she once licked from his fingers.
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But now they were engaged in conversation with the man beside him. Talking about one battle or another, or the trade expected with the new crops. Something dreadfully important, undoubtedly. But it was the last thing on her mind. Her ear half turned to the company on her side, listening to the woman next to her tell her about the new projects they were expected to need to make.
Gilia hummed, as her hand moved, sliding under the table to his knee as she kept her face turned away.
Just like their wedding night, comes the memory, when he had guided her fingers to his thigh. For now she gives an affirmed squeeze of connection, as she talks, he talks.
But then - innocent as it was, it drifts, bolder than she was on her wedding night by half, as it roams up his leg more pointedly. Still nothing changes, nothing to be seen on her expression as it goes further and further.
To curl so gently, yet so blatantly around the shape of his cock in his hose. Feeling him out, splaying her fingers just so, that she could brush her thumb back and forth in slow languid movements. Teasing circles around the tip, yet she gave nothing away but her pleasant calm expression. Wasn't she just known for it, after all? Long practised to a neutral calm her people were known for. Yet she learned well how he liked to be touched, not too much, nothing to make him choke on his mouthfuls.
For now, anyway.
That when she does hear that first little surprise, her gaze turn back in a practised concern.
"Everything well, my husband?" Sweet as the honey she once licked from his fingers.
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