Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries

chapter Three



Outside the storm raged, rattling the shutters, sending blasts of cold through the gaps between them. Awakening with Delae’s soft, sweetly scented body against his was a delight. Dorovan found it wasn’t just her hair that glowed so warmly but her body, too. She was like a small banked fire that radiated heat. Gently drawing her against him - he nestled himself between her smooth thighs and sleepily stroked her, cupping the full globes of her breasts in his hands. She was delightful as she shivered to awareness - her body heating for him in quite another way, growing tantalizingly damp.

Delae found herself aching to be filled and then Dorovan’s hand slid down her belly to comb through the tight curls between her thighs.

It was breathtaking as he touched her - coaxed her body to fire and then to flame at the very moment he entered her. A soft cry burst from her as he drove deeply into her.

Almost desperately, Delae pressed back - the heat inside her a demand which needed to be answered.

She was so wet and so very warm and she’d so needed to be filled.

Her soft cry fired Dorovan’s blood and he answered it, touching her lightly, caressing her until her body hummed, until she tightened around him again as he thrust inside her.

He felt her body tremble and he was lost, exploding inside her, filling her in quite another way.

Delae had never felt so sated, so thoroughly eased. She smiled and sighed.

In all her years, in that moment she knew true happiness for the first time, a peace and a joy that had always been denied her.

More than content, Dorovan drew her against him, still inside her and quite pleased to be there. He opened his eyes.

Now there was time for details.

Her bedchamber was like her, small, warm and welcoming. There were touches of Delae here, dried sweet herbs in a bowl on the mantel that lent their scent to the room. Simple but brightly dyed draperies the color of sunset covered the windows, a small tapestry hung from on a wall.

There was a sword behind her door. A simple but serviceable enough weapon.

Studying it, puzzled, he asked with a nod of his head toward it, “Why do you have a sword behind your door?”

With a small shrug, she said, “We live far from aid and there’s no one else. So it’s there… in case.”

Delae didn’t mention it was there for other reasons, that one was enough.

Lifting one elegant eyebrow, he asked - not unkindly, “Do you know how to use it?”

Bemused, she looked at him in question.

“I’m Swordmaster for my Enclave,” he said, “among other things.”

She took a breath and smiled. “Ah.” She eyed him. “Will you teach me to use it better then?”

Dorovan smiled, pleased. There were much worse ways to spend a day in the storm.

“Yes.”

It suited him too, that she would know how to defend herself properly.

“After breakfast,” she said, delighted and ran on light bare feet to the door to peek around it and call, “Petra?”

“Yes, lady?” A distant voice answered.

“Breakfast in the great hall, please?” Delae asked. “I would ask to have Dorovan join me.”

She well knew it was best if no one remarked that Dorovan had spent the night in her bed, therefore the subterfuge. Elves didn’t lie with the women of men, or so it was said. Intensely aware of his presence behind her, she couldn’t deny the thrill that went through her to know he was indeed there.

“Yes, Lady,” came the reply.

She was naked and completely unconcerned with it to Dorovan’s delight. Her body was lovely to look upon unclothed. She only drew on her nightdress and robe to breakfast in, her thick bouncy red hair bound back with a tie.

Reaching out, Dorovan pulled the tie free to plunge his hands into the thick mass of it.

“I like it free,” he said.

A little startled, she looked up at him. No one else ever had.

Her throat inexplicably tight, she said, “All right.”

On the issue of shoes though, she wouldn’t bend, refusing to put any on no matter how cold the floors might be.

The day outside was as gloomy and forbidding as Dorovan had feared. The wind rattled at the shutters and guttered the fire.

Within though - with candles and the firelight to chase away the darkness and the worst of the chill and Delae’s bright hair another spark of brilliance - it was almost cozy.

Breakfast was simple but good as well, oatmeal with dried fruit and nuts, with more of the thick rough bread.

“All right,” he said. “To begin, we’ll use the fireplace poker.”

“Why?” she asked. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Very gently, he said, “Because you would be very unhappy to find my blood all over your floor. There is nothing as dangerous as a beginner. They do unexpected things.”

Just at the idea, her face blanched. “I would be very unhappy. Perhaps it would be good if we barred the other doors, also?”

He nodded.

It was no sacrifice to Delae to bar the door to the west wing of the quadrangle. . Petra and Hallis were likely cozied up in their own little room beside the fire. Her new guests in the east were likely still recovering from the ordeal during the night. She'd never felt so well rested and so well, so alive, in all her memory.

She went to get the poker.

Coming to stand behind her, gently, kindly, Dorovan changed her hold on it.

“You’re learning something as a grown woman that children in the Enclaves learn when they are just old enough to take such instruction,” Dorovan said. “They too start with blunt weapons.”

He taught her very basic moves, stripping off his tunic as it became too warm in the room from their exertions. Delae, still in her nightdress, had already cast off the hampering robe.

To his pleasure she was an apt student and he was more than quick enough when she did make a mistake to check the poker before it did him any harm. He was a good teacher, never making her feel foolish.

“Very good,” he said, although he was having difficulty concentrating now and then for the distraction of the sway of her breasts beneath the thin, well-worn material of her nightdress, for the flash of her leg beneath the skirts and for the swirl of her fiery hair. “Now, pay attention.”

Taking up his shortsword, he walked through the motions of the strike he wanted her to make.

Watching him, Delae had to make an effort to keep her attention on him. It was difficult to concentrate sometimes, for the beauty of his body as he moved distracted her - the sight of his muscles flexing and tightening. Both of them were sweating with exertion and his skin gleamed with it - the scent of him was rich in the air.

Her body heated and tightened.

“I’m sorry, Dorovan,” she said, distracted and fighting it, “please show me again.”

He caught both the gleam and diversion in her eyes, but he also saw her effort to concentrate.

The thought that his body sidetracked her had its pleasures.

She took the position he wanted as he took up both swords and when he nodded she came at him, the ‘sword’ flashing in the correct sequence.

It was maddening to watch, her lustrous hair swirled and bounced over her slender shoulders.

With one swift move Dorovan sheathed his swords and ducked beneath the poker to catch her around the waist, driving her back against the wall.

There was no effective move Delae could use to counter him that wouldn’t hurt him and then she found she didn’t want to. The poker clattered to the floor as he tugged the neck of her nightdress down to her waist to devour her breasts. His hands raced over her slick skin as her own skimmed up over his ribs.

In an instant her hands were buried in the long, silky length of his hair as he feasted on her, each tug and pull of his mouth sending a rush of heat through her.

To Dorovan she tasted of salt and Delae. She gasped, her hands in his hair as he devoured her, her nipple between his lips, against his tongue. It was hard in an instant. As was he.

Desperate to have her he drew the nightdress up, slid his hand between her thighs to find her hot, damp and so tight. He slid his fingers inside her and she moaned.

“Please, Dorovan,” she cried.

Need was a bright flash of heat and passion.

In one smooth motion he lowered her to the floor as her thighs opened to him and he took her there, plunging into her as her hips pumped to take him, soft cries of pleasure escaping her as she arched and writhed beneath him. Each motion only fired him more as she clung to him, pulsed around him. He came with a cry and his seed poured into her as she followed him into exaltation.

Both of them were laughing as he looked down at her and she looked up at him, careful not to laugh so hard he left her.

“The pommel of a sword here, here or here,” he said, softly, indicating the top of his head, the shoulders and then back of his neck, “will incapacitate anyone who tries such a move.”

“Ah,” she said, her eyes lighting up as she wriggled a little underneath him.

“That,” he said, clearing his throat, “will drive your instructor mad.”

She was clearly delighted at the idea.

It was as if she were a virgin and he was lessoning her not just in swordplay, but the pleasures of the body. Dorovan was more than glad to be her teacher in both. Though she didn’t know it, the joining of their friend of the heart bond had shown him much - what he didn’t see, he surmised. She might as well have been a widow for how she lived.

Looking at the threadbare carpets, her simple and much patched clothing, he knew what she struggled with daily and railed against the fate that had set her there…and blessed it for what they could give each other.

Supper was as simple as all the meals had been, a thick stew supplemented with cheese and wine.

Afterward, he helped her fill the bath with water from the great oaken cask filled from the cistern on the roof over the kitchens and heated by the fire there.

It seemed to Delae that she couldn’t get enough of him. She was like a child with a new toy. He was such a delight to play with and she was so grateful for it. She was fascinated with him – with touching him – her gaze going to his face and back again as she stroked and played with him.

These moments alone were enough.

Curled in the bath, they explored each other slowly.

Dorovan couldn’t find it in himself to complain. If he taught her pleasure, she taught him delight. Until he couldn’t stand it and grasped her hands to still them, and she rose from the water to sink down on him, taking him deeply inside, riding him. Her tongue traced the sensitive curve of his ear and he moaned. Sucking, nibbling and biting, she drove him wild until he fastened his mouth on her breast. She came suddenly and fiercely, her hips bucking and he filled her, erupting into her as his hands dropped to her waist to keep her firmly impaled.