"Young mistress!" The high voice above the sleeping girl's ear sounded so unexpectedly that even a dull pop reached her consciousness later than the words, and the only way she could react to them was to leave her body in repose and open her eyes as soon as possible. Right in front of them were the large, worried eyes of a caring housey. "How do you feel?! Breakfast will be served now, and you..." Oh, she felt great. Her body was tired, but pleasantly tired, and at the same time very light and incredibly sensitive. She could feel the softness and coolness of the bedclothes with every inch of it, and despite the hunger she was feeling because of the mention of time, she didn't want to get out of bed at all. Without finishing, the maid numbed; her mouth, opening more and more, began to compete in size with her eyes, which in turn also grew larger, as if that was possible. The reason for this was that someone abruptly sat up behind 'young mistress' and turned in their direction. The girl barely managed to grab the edge of the blanket so as not to remain naked. "Young master??... Oyyyy."
"What the hell are you doing here? How dare you?! Who gave you permission to enter without asking?!" The young man was enraged, he shouted and glared at the small ungainly creature, trembling and biting her nails in fear, but not daring to leave the room.
"It's me, I'm sorry, I allowed her to do that." Laughing at his anger, undoubtedly caused by embarrassment, the girl held the blanket with one hand, and with the other signaled the elf to hurry off. "Don't get mad at her, she won't do it again, I promise." Another pop. "And she won't tell anyone, don't worry. Besides," the girl bit her lip, but there was no point in hiding it, "your mother knows."
And how could she not tell her, not ask her for help, after what had happened; after all, she had done a stupid thing, unforgivable thing, the kind that many people do in a similar situation. She was burning with shame as she made the confession. As it turned out, the wise woman was on guard all the time and had long since begun to take action, after their night out in the forest. Without the girl's knowledge. And here one could be outraged, but she understood: she lived in her house, at her expense, and in the end, it was thanks to this act that she could now breathe a sigh of relief. After all, it was simply impossible to resist back then. When the unseasonably warm wind stirred up the branches of the trees, and the tracery shadow of the foliage ran over his face, calm, immersed in reading, then dived into the neckline of his shirt not fastened with the top button, slid over his hands holding the book, her only desire was to forget about everything, about the previous experience, about their agreement, not to think about anything, not to be afraid of anything, and to be in the place of this book: in his hands, face to face with him. And it was he who went along with her. Although at some moment she was afraid that he would change his mind. The moment he stopped her hand, which had just unbuckled the belt of his trousers. It turned out that he did this only in order to continue on his own. It was obvious that he wanted it no less, however, he did not rush her, allowing her to achieve comfort at every stage. When the pain was gone and the beginnings of pleasure appeared instead, she dared to turn her face back to him, dared to kiss his lips again, move more freely; then, he realised that he could finally let himself go. Then, they were overwhelmed by emotions; those that had been for a long time rising in their throats, then rolling back, as time after time they subdued them, refusing to share them with each other. Now, the last trickles of them were escaping through their larynx by hot air pushed out by their accelerated hearts.
"How are you?" The guy looked worried.
"I'm good." The girl looked peaceful.
Birds were singing all around, leaves were rustling, tree branches were crackling, the sun was sinking behind the edge of the forest - everything was moving, everything was sounding, everything except for them. Not for long, but it might have seemed like forever.
"Eve?"
"What?"
"You're here. You haven't gone. And you've been staying with me all this time." She understood what he was talking about.
"Hmm... apparently, all I needed was you." Her remark led to a result that was unexpected for both of them, so they stared at each other in surprise.
"I think I want you again."
"I can feel it - you still have me."
"Don't you want to anymore? Didn't you like it?" The young man's face flushed and he chattered in anxiety, but the girl put her finger to his lips.
"I'll do it whenever you want, and as many times as you want."
"Well, this time I want to see you." He was confident again.
"Here?"
"Don't look around."
After making sure that she was following his orders, he pulled her even closer to him and made a movement as if he was going to roll off... what exactly, they were already on the ground?
"Oh," she only had time to cry out as they fell onto the bed in his room. The girl laughed in delight. Magic always delighted her. "Love you," and she kept laughing. On the contrary, he held his breath (this was the first time she had used that word to express her attitude towards him) and waited tensely for her to calm down. "What?"
"You love magic, not me." He got off her and sat down at the foot of the bed, looking at her reproachfully.
Oh, that bipolar thing. She had to do something because the mood was starting to fade, and she didn't need it at all, because she did like it and she did want more. "You're right, I love magic. And you create it for me. Do you know how?" A grin in response; but she continued to look into his eyes with calm confidence. "With your words and silence, with your actions and inaction, with your gaze..." the corner of her lips twitched, "Do you know what I hate? The lack of your gaze on me. It just pisses me off."
The young man nervously inhaled the air. The mood was back. The hand dance began, smooth, unhurried, careful; a dance in which he led and she followed; harmonious and thoughtful, discovering, getting rid of all that unnecessary, exposing true feelings and desires, binding souls, weaving bodies, purifying, freeing the mind...
"Will you marry me?"
"Haven't I already done that?"
He touched the locket resting on her chest, the only thing left on her, and for the first time he did not feel the pain associated with this object. "On the very first day," he thought. The clock melodiously marked a quarter of an hour - dinner was going to be in fifteen minutes, they needed to get themselves in order.
Still beside himself at being caught off guard, the young man shot her a worried look and immediately lowered it guiltily. "Actually, my father does too."
It was the girl's turn to blush. Of course he knew. How could he not know? How could one not notice the glances full of delight and happiness that the guy kept casting at her that evening at dinner. And in vain she made signs to him with her eyebrows so that he would remember that they were not alone at the table. And after dinner, the man himself called his son for a conversation. At the same time, she had a conversation with his mother.
"Then what's the matter?"
"The matter is... it's just none of her business, that's the matter."
"Hey," her voice was gentle, soothing, a smile bloomed on her face, and her eyes were laughing, "good morning."
His features softened: the anger was gone, now he remembered the night before, all its details, found them with his eyes on her half-naked body, drawing from memory those lines that were hidden by the blanket, evoked in his fingers the sensation of touching it, and in his body the sensation of her fingers, and lips, and tongue touch, so soft and strong; reproduced in his head, her voice, so quiet and sweet, sounding first somewhere far away, and then, right next to his ear, blowing with warm air and driving him crazy; and in the beginning, when he came into her bedroom without asking, catching her at the moment of leaving the bathroom, when he so brazenly reminded her of her promise, and she, with an expression of superiority on her face, silently took off her robe under which there was nothing; and at the end, when all that was left of their voices was breath, and the movement froze into an embrace, when tranquility descended on them and he asked if he could stay the whole night, and she sighed as if she was thinking the same thing he was as soon as he asked - that he was an incorrigible blockhead, - but looked at him with such affection and kissed him without answering anything; and when he fell asleep, hugging her to him; while all this was happening, he thought it was the happiest night of his life. His eyes cleared. "Good morning."
She had been thinking the same thing all this time, but in the end she became embarrassed. "So what did she say about breakfast, is it served?"
"Are you really hungry already?" He said with disappointment. "Because I wanted to... I thought maybe you would also want to..."
"What?"
"Well... you know..." he raised an eyebrow. "I'll be quick, I promise!"
"Quick?!"
"Don't worry, I know how to get you on the same wavelength as me."
Without waiting for an answer, he reached out to her under the covers and touched his fingers to the right place between her legs. Her body responded instantly, the air flew into her lungs and stuck in them, surprise and fright were reflected on her face. If he thought he was aroused until that moment, he realised that he was mistaken, because now he was shaking with desire. He grabbed her legs, jerked her towards him, bit into her lips and immediately began to move fast with pressure, accelerating, and accelerating. Her moans, which accompanied each such movement, very soon turned into blissful crying. Her neck arched, and her fingers clutched the bars of the headboard. One last cry, and his head fell against her chest. He breathed out the accumulated heat with relief, inhaling back the heat coming from her, feeling her convulsive shuddering under his heavy body. Through the hand covering her face, she saw him raise his head and stare at her in perplexity.
"Don't look at me," she turned away, still covering her face.
"Are you still..."
"Shut up. Don't look at me. Get out from me." She spoke out with each exhalation.
"But why?"
"Because!" Two exhalations, "because it's shameful."
"No... no, it's not. It's... wonderful, you're wonderful. And I want to see you, want to feel you, to know you. Before that incident at the tree, I thought I did know you, but I was wrong. I didn't know you could be like that. You've always been so under control, even when being tender. But in these moments you're different: so passionate, so free. I've never seen you like that before, so I... I can't help but believe... that I won, I beat it... I want to look at you, because you're beautiful, at any time, and especially at such moments. I'm dying to see the way you look at me, your cheeks getting ruddy, your burning lips, to watch the shadows flowing along the curves of your body, your frequent and heavy breathing, and thousands of drops of sweat on your skin..." She took her hand off her forehead and watched as his gaze slid over her belly, breasts, shoulders, so carefully, as if even eyes could damage them. "And I can't wait for the cold to come to see how it will steam against the backdrop of the morning sun..." He closed his eyes with sad joy, or with joyful sadness.
How was it possible, she thought. How was it possible that this generally cowardly boy could so fearlessly talk about such a secret feeling, about the most intimate things (always could, and taught her to do the same); how could a boy, from whose tongue the most disgusting words so often came out, in a minute had been able to turn something that is usually ashamed into something worthy of admiration. Their eyes met.
"I'm so happy you are here, with me."
With a light touch, she ran her fingers over his shoulders and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm so happy to be here, with you. Was it his battle? Was it a battle at all?"