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The Silk Thing

smut. 18+. I’m planning to leave you all hot an wanting so beware. This takes place after @dreamwritesimagines‘ last (i think) chapter of Beautiful & Damned, which you can find on her blog, her masterlist, etc.

thanks to @riviawitch3r for proofing and not virtually punching me when my writing was.. meh. thanks, man, appreciate it.

His hands on her were warm, even with the leather gloves on. She could still feel it seep into her skin, could feel how it affected her. Goosebumps broke out shivers wracking through her body obvious even to someone without the heightened senses of a Witcher. She grimaced at her body's reaction, wished she could have hidden it better, but Geralt didn’t comment.

Instead he backed away, cleared his throat.

“You can get up now, Princess.” He stood, packed away the vial. “I’ll ride out tomorrow to find that wretched witch, put an end to this. She’ll have to explain those signs to me.”

She got up, wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to appear less inappropriate. Then, a thought occurred to her, and she turned toward the man. “Geralt, if the mark’s purpose is to protect me from humans, shouldn’t I be able to touch animals?”

He stopped in his tracks, looked up at her. “Perhaps. But I’d rather not have you walk around and test that theory. “

Those words hit her harder than she liked, the implications behind them were a punch to the gut. “Right. Wouldn’t want the monster to kill any more beings.”

As soon as his brain registered the words, he dropped his satchel and briskly walked over. “Shut up.”

She recoiled, but he cupped her face in the most gentle manner, and tilted her face up.

“Look at me.”

Oh, she did. She couldn’t not.

“You are not a monster. I don’t want you to have another death on your hands, because I think it will break your beautiful heart, princess.”

His eyes lingered on her face, taking in the color of her eyes, the shape of her eyebrows, the swoop of her nose and her lips. Fuck, her lips. Plush, inviting, wet from the way she nervously liked them.

He found it impossible to look away. Absolutely impossible.

“Geralt.”

She watched him watch her, took in the way he tensed, how his massive figure hunched over slightly, and how his nostrils flared, before his eyes were set ablaze.

Maybe people could look at others with desire in their eyes. Maybe Fin was right after all. It made her feel naked, bare. Her temperature rose, her heart sped up, she felt powerful; In a weird way. To think that she could have such an effect on a man like the witcher? On a man who was dangerous, hard to manipulate or influence, experienced and – to be wholly honest – downright hot?

He was a tall glass of water on a stifling summer day.

Geralt shifted, one of his hands changing position, fingers sliding along her cheek to the back of her head, into her hair. She could feel his fingers flexing, pressing harder, letting go, as if he was fighting himself.

And he was. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. They both knew he couldn’t touch her. But hell and every monster in it, did he want to. To kiss those lips, feel her skin under his fingers… It was ripping him apart, it was burning him from the inside out, the need an all-consuming fire in his chest. Her scent was pulling him closer, taunting him, making him imagine how much better she’d smell if it was his own that clung to her.

He groaned, ducked his head. “I wish I didn’t need gloves.”

Her eyes went round, her pretty mouth parted in a surprised gasp. “What?”

A smile stretched his lips, but it looked almost animalistic, like a wolf preying on a deer. Never had it felt so good to be prey, she thought. The hair on her arms stood, shivers rolled down her back, her focus solely on his hands on her.

And then his voice, rough and smokey, but gentle, like thunder and honey mixed into a glass.

“I wish I knew the touch of your hands. I wish I knew the feel of your skin. I bet it’s soft.”

He filled all of her view, all muscle and temptation rolled into a delicious package of billowing linen and a dashing, clean cut black and silver brocade doublet. Whoever picked it for him deserved an award.

He filled all her senses, her lungs filled with his scent; leather, herbs, warm earth like the forest on a warm autumn afternoon, and underlying sweat. It was mouth watering and comforting, and it made her want to find out what he tasted like.

“Geralt-“, she swallowed, tried to focus. “Were you serious? About your heart?”

“Yes.”

One hand left her face, arm wrapped around her waist to pull her closer. She was so fragile in his arms, so pure against his bloodied self.

“And I want to heal yours.”

She snorted at that, very unladylike, and reached to grab his hand, mindful of his thin shirt. “No need to, Geralt. It wasn’t broken. It just wasn’t with me anymore.”

She was an open book he wanted to spend the rest of his life reading; studying her every pore, every curve of her body, every thought of her mind. He wanted to caress her, like the soft pages of a well read book, take care of her and keep her safe from wilting and the burn of betrayal. Her face was so open, so vulnerable, it felt like the softest touch of a lover’s hand as she took in every detail of his face, while she waited for his reaction when she added the words that would inevitably lead to their downfall.

“It was with you the whole time.”

And then it was as if a dam had broken. His grip on her tightened immediately, his face fell. He groaned, closed his eyes and tried to stomp down on the urge to just fucking ravish her on the spot. “You can’t just fucking say something like that. Not when I’m not able to touch you like I want, princess. Like you deserve to.”

There was so much fondness and restraint in his voice, her knees grew weak. Geralt pushed back hair that fell into her eyes, tucking it back behind her ear. “I’m not good with being teased, princess.”

How was that little head tilt so adorable? He wasn’t supposed to be adorable, what the hell.

Especially not when he was using that voice like he did. “Even my patience has its limits.”

A thumb traced her lower lip, his eyes burning a path into them.

“Where’s the handkerchief? The silk one?”

She turned her head and nodded towards her vanity. “Over there.”

He let go of her, but his eyes never left her. She was nailed to the spot, unable to move, unable to look away from his stare; didn’t want to.She wanted him to look at her forever, never let go of her, never let her out of his sight, not when it meant to be close to him, so beloved by him, to be safe and protected. He gave her a little nudge, a sharp nod in the vanity’s direction made her move. Who could ever refuse to obey Geralt?

So she did, and almost stumbled over her own feet in her haste. She caught herself though and pretended nothing happened, which made Geralt shake his head with such a soft look in his eyes, it was confusing.

For someone who wasn’t supposed to have feelings, he let her see quite a lot of what he felt. The moment she was within arms reach, he grabbed her and pulled her against him, hand finding her hair again and pulling carefully, gently; getting her head where he wanted it.

The anticipation was so thick, he could taste it. It laid on his taste buds like some of the more potent spices he’d tasted on his journeys, rounded off with the sweet taste of her hopefulness. “Do it again. Let me erase that foul memory, replace it with a new one.”

His face was so close, so. close. “Let me right my wrongs.”

The princess cursed under her breath. So fucking smooth, so obviously adept at sweet-talking the ladies, she couldn’t believe she had fallen for him.

But then she was reminded of his behaviour around her, his kindness, his love for a child that wasn’t even his own. How he loved Jaskier as well, even if he refused to admit it, and she realized she never even had a chance. He was everything she would ever want in a man. He would be the only one she’d ever accept at her side, if she ever got rid of this curse.

She held up the handkerchief, and Geralt didn't waste even a fraction of a second. He seized her around the waist, held her head in place and pressed his lips to hers, the thin fabric the only barrier between life and sure death.

He straightened, lifted his princess off her feet, her front flat against his. She gasped against his lips, and not only because of the sudden change in position, but also because she could feel exactly how much she affected him. It was impossible to miss. It was...sizeable. The Effect.

Hot want flooded her, a sudden wave of sheer, carnal lust. Nothing was more desirable than to have him naked in her bed, have her way with him, make him show her how to handle him, to make him feel good and loved and cherished. The assault of emotions left her breathless.

Geralt grunted against her lips, as the spike in her scent hit him. His body reacted instantly, and his hips bucked against her, just one sharp thrust before he got himself under control. Fuck, was she trying to kill him?

“You know-“ another peck to his lips, kerchief safe between them. “- there’s a silk sheet on my bed.”

Her purposefully innocent tone did nothing to soften this blow.

“Princess-“

His brain was more than eager to deliver visions of what could be, and he grew ever harder, painfully so. He needed to get either out of this situation, or out of these breeches. He’d prefer the later, but there was also a not inconsiderable risk. “Your mother will kill me.”

She loved how pained his voice was, how obvious the struggle with himself was, with his righteousness and the need to protect her. But she wanted this, and if he was willing, nothing would be able to make her regret this. She was done trying to deny herself. And so was Geralt.

“I’d like to see her try.”

She bit her lip, lowered the handkerchief. “If you’re willing to risk it, I won’t regret anything. Not when it involves you.”

Fucking- yes. Fuck yes. He’d make her happy, and if it meant to break his own heart, so be it. Witchers didn’t feel anyway, right?

He shifted, bit at her lip, before rearranging his hands on her, made her wrap her legs around his waist, and walked them over to her bed.

“I am able to walk, you know?”, she chuckled, but didn’t make any attempts to escape his hold.

“Don’t deny me this, princess.” He hitched her a bit higher, pressed a kiss to her covered shoulder. “I have to watch you all day, every day, unable to touch or even talk to you like I want to. Please, don’t deny me this.”

Her heart squeezed, and so did her legs around his waist. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The air left him in a heavy sigh when he sat her down on her mattress. “Undress.”

Her room wasn’t particularly cold, but she was so hot, the air felt cooler than it was. Her nipples pebbled, sensitive to the contrast and the thin nightdress she wore hid nothing at all. His eyes fell to her chest, heaving as she swallowed down any doubts – was he expecting her to be experienced? Did he think she was even worth it? Would he drop her afterwards? –, and he licked his lips. She looked like a present, a sweet surprise wrapped into a fabric so soft and light, it covered her every curve like water, silky and shimmering and hiding nothing.

“You will have to reserve your first night after the curse is lifted for yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

His knees knocked against hers as he bent down, his hands to either side of her and his face close enough to make her fear accidental touch. “Because I will spend all night doing what I can’t right now. I will make you come on my tongue until you have screamed yourself sore, my princess.”

There had to be a wet spot now, good fuck.

Her lungs refused to work, her breathing grew laboured and irregular.

He straightened and started unbuttoning his doublet. When she didn’t move, he nodded at her, his chin stuck out. “I said undress, princess.”

She took a deep breath, the air filling her lungs, providing enough oxygen to clear her head just a bit. “But, Geralt. You wear more layers than me. Don’t you think that’s unfair? Not to mention, what little I am wearing isn’t even closed properly.”

His hands stilled halfway down the line of buttons, his eyes tightened to slits, his nostrils flared and his chest expanded as he took a deep breath. When he let out the previously taken breath, he opened his mouth and licked his lips; then he smiled. “You think? Well, I’ll go first then.”

Doublet about halfway open, his linen underneath not hiding all that much either, he looked like any other noble out there, but with a much better personality. He let his hands fall to his sides, his fingertips skimmed along the waistband of his pants. “I can smell you, princess. I know that you’re practically leaking.”

His hand cupped his groin, a breathy groan and a chuckle fell from his lips. “I know how desperate you are for my touch. How wet you are.”

A forceful stroke up and down, then he went back to the buttons of his doublet. His voice had dropped a couple octaves; it was so heavy in bass, she could feel it vibrate through her chest and down to the apex of her thighs. “And it’s all for me. All mine."

His pupils were blown, the gold of his irises almost gone. He looked like he was about to pounce at her and oh, did she want him to.

The look on his face was a mix of want and awe, desire and adoration; the amount of trust he showed her was breathtaking. It was exhilarating, freeing, terrific. She could be herself with him, and he still wanted her. Wanted her even with her overbearing parents breathing down his back, with her lethal touch, her duties and responsibilities. He still wanted her, still was naked with her. Which- why?

What was in it for him? Why didn’t he just go and fuck someone else in her stead, to get it out of his system, like he had done before?

“Princess.” He had come over, his knees between her legs. He towered over her, bent down to cup her face and get her attention. “Don’t leave me.”

She watched his face, looked for hints of malice or dishonesty, but- all she found was… she couldn’t articulate it. But it made her chest burn, her heart throb and her hips shift, seeking friction, a smidge of relief.

It was all too slow. It took too long. She got up, pulled her legs up onto the bed and knelt, and slapped his hands away. It would be faster if she undid the buttons herself, she was sure. But Geralt didn’t let her. He caught her wrists, quiet chuckle on his lips. “You need gloves.”

Right.

“Your thinnest pair, where is it?”

She nodded towards the small table by the fireplace. Her thinnest pair was next to her stitching work. She used them when Ciri was visiting and wanted her help with her drawings, or when the needle started to hurt her fingers; there was little loss of feeling. She watched him walk over, became aware just how big he was, how out of place he should be - but he wasn’t. He looked right here, in her room, with his clothes in disarray and his hair falling down to his shoulders, with the way he strode through her room, so at ease and comfortable. She swallowed, pushed down the nasty doubts. They had no place here. This was for her and for him, and no one or nothing else.

When he came back, his whole figure radiated confidence, strength, hunger. “Put these on. And then I want you out of that dress.”

He tugged at the thin fabric, eyes hungry on her. “I want to see all of you.”

His voice. Never had she heard any man sound that wrecked talking to her, not for the same reasons anyway. He had her weak in the knees, but she obeyed, eager to please him, and get pleasured herself.

She reached up to open the one button that held her dress together, when her eyes fell on Geralt. He was delicious. The doublet was gone, the shirt’s laces were undone and presented his chest like an artist’s best work. She wanted her hands and lips all over him, she couldn’t wait for this curse to be gone.

He got rid of the rest of his layers, peeled his breeches down those powerful, toned legs. With every inch of skin freed, her mouth grew drier, until she felt short of dehydrated. He was a whole lot of man. Her ogling didn’t seem to bother him one bit.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve never seen anyone like you, you are a mountain of a man. And I can’t wait to be buried under you.”

He choked at her sudden boldness. She watched his abs contract, his shoulders shake. She grew a bit lightheaded at the thought of being with him. He recovered rather quickly though and decided enough was enough.

“Your turn.”

“But I want to look a bit longer.”

Geralt was watching her like a hawk, eyes boring into her, stripping her of every layer of pretence she’d ever pulled on. He stripped her bare, with just a look. She froze, like a rabbit in front of a snake, her body shaking in anticipation. It only got worse when he closed the distance between them.

“I am stripped bare, and you’re still in your nightgown. Who’s unfair now?”

Geralt growled, and bit her shoulder, only to pull away with her dress caught in his teeth. He tugged, and when it didn’t give anymore, he released it, took a couple steps back and crossed his impressive arms in front of his wide chest.

“Now, princess.”

She reached up to undo the one button at her nape, the one that had kept it from slipping off her shoulders. The fabric pooled around her on the bed, still covering her lap, keeping her from his sight. He raised a single eyebrow, and she quickly bunched the fabric in her hands to pull it over her head.

She hadn’t even let go of it, but his hands were already on her; covering her ribcage, thumbs stroking the underside of her breasts, fingers pressing into her skin.

“So soft. I bet you bruise quickly.”

Oh fuck.

He hummed in the back of his throat and stroked down her sides, hands curled around her hips now. “So perfect for me, look at you.”

She could feel his eyes on her, tracing every inch of skin, every hair standing on edge.

“Lie back.”

She turned, crawled further down the bed to drop onto the sheets, but Geralt behind her was groaning, loudly, and suddenly his hands were on her ass. “Ah, fuck.”

He gave her a good squeeze, watched her cunt flutter and weight press back into his hands. “Mhhm.”

One finger went rogue and dipped between her glistening lips, up and down and up again, and then trailing a circle around her clit. “Is that for me? Are you that wet for me?”

She’d dropped to her elbows, back arched and her forehead buried in the crook of her elbow. She nodded anyway, she knew he’d see.

“Fuck, I want to taste you so bad, princess.”

She was blushing, her cunt clenching at his words, and Geralt had to use all of his strength to not just pounce and take her. “No need to be shy. I’m here for you, and only you.”

His finger came back around, circled around her entrance. “They’d have to kill me, if they ever want me to leave you.”

At that she looked up. “Oh, my mother- fuck, Geralt. She’ll try, you know-” his finger pushed at her entrance, just the slightest bit and she broke off into a low moan, sentence completely forgotten.

“Mhm. Let her.”

His finger left her, and he gently pushed at her hip. “On your back.” She flopped down and over, none of her usual grace evident. She was a mess, and they hadn’t even started. Geralt threw the sheet over her, watched it slowly settle onto her, hiding her body, but also accentuating it. It was similar to her nightgown, but so much better. She drove him wild, absolutely animalistic. He crawled over her, lowered himself between her legs, hip to hip, core against wanting core. She let out a deep, satisfied sigh and pressed up, up, up against him. He loved her responsiveness, loved that she showed what she wanted, no fear, no distrust. He bowed his head, watched where he rubbed against her, only kept from skin by the thin piece of fabric. He was mesmerized by the sight, his dick against the bright silk, her dampness soaking through, giving him a sample of what’s to come, of what he was missing. Her gloved hands reached out to him, cupped his face, thumbs stroked over his cheekbones, a sweet smile on her face. Geralt watched her, catalogued every reaction, every little change on her beautiful face, how she pressed against him, how her hips moved with his, how her hands fluttered as she let them slide down his neck to his shoulders. She was a shining beacon of hope and love and everything he never thought he could have, and it hurt to look at her, but he had to; to remember her, to recall her face when he was alone and cold, without her touch, without her soft words in his ears, without her pulse drumming with abandon. How did he deserve this? He never left more than blood and gore in his wake, never gave more than he had to, never did anything just because. She was so good, so much better than him, so pure. She deserved someone who could love her with all his heart, and give her all she wanted and and could ever wish for. He wasn’t able to do that, he knew it, he- “Hey,” her fingers found his face once again. Her voice was soft, breathy, angelic. “Don’t leave me here like this, Geralt.” His heart clenched in his chest. Of course she knew. He smiled softly, couldn’t believe she let him close enough to even touch her, but this. “Forgive me.” He moved again, let his cock slide along her core, tease her through the sheet. She keened, raised her arms above her head and held onto the pillow, in an effort to reduce the risk of accidental touching. The change in position stretched her body, raised her breasts against the silk, pulling in his attention. “Oh, princess.” It wasn’t more than a low growl, a very soft one, but by the heavens. It made her wetter, her juices gushing out of her like she’d never experienced before. The growl grew louder, deeper, rumbled through his chest. His head lowered, his hands slid along her ribcage, around, under her to meet at her back and raise her torso towards his mouth. The sheet was now pulled taut around her, her nipples presented like fruits on a silver platter, ripe and hard, calling to him like wrapped candy. She sighed his name, when his lips found her right breast, closed around her nipple, rolled it between his teeth, carefully, teasingly. “Ah, shit-” then a soft moan when he flatted his tongue against the bud, gave a broad lick before giving her left breast the same attentions. She was going to ascend to heaven, how could she not with how heavenly this felt? His hips against hers, his cock hot and heavy at the apex of her thighs, the soaked silk a rather nice touch to it, providing another layer of friction; she needed more. Her toes prickled, her stomach tightened, and she bucked up against Geralt, who let out a breathless laugh, surprised by her sudden, well, rebellion. “Shh, princess.” He sat back up, reached for her as he went away. “Come here.” He laid back against her bed’s headboard, in all his naked glory, strong and taunt muscle, sparse hair and those seductive golden eyes locked onto her. It was as if they were connected by a string of yarn, where he went, she followed. He bunched the sheet in his hand, pulled. She watched his bicep bunch, his strong fingers bury into the fabric and she wished to be the one touched like that, with his fingers buried in her, stroking her to completion. But Geralt had other plans. He spread it over his lap, made sure they were safe. “I want you on top.” “What?” She sat there, legs crossed and her hands on her thighs. He’d interrupted her in the process of closing in on him, but his words froze her right where she was. His cock twitched, tented the silk. She looked amazing like that. Disheveled, needy, flushed, her hair a birds nest, falling around her in a fuzzy halo; he never wanted to look away. He wanted this sight to be burned into his retina forever, to never see anything else the moment he closed his eyes, to dream of nothing else than her body and her smile and her laugh and her eyes. He patted his thigh, smirked when she scrambled to close the distance between them, almost falling on her face. “You stole my grace, Geralt.”, she pouted, when she settled upon him, astride his lap. “You stole it all.” He groaned at her weight on his cock, her center pressed right onto it, wonderful friction, wonderful dampness. His hands came up to grip her thighs, smooth up and down her legs, and then curl around her hips. “Ah, fuck.” His mouth fell open, his tongue peeked out when he wetted his lips. He looked amazing like this, she thought. She could worship this man all day long and never get tired of him. “My heart, my grace, my mind. You name it, you have it.” She cupped his jaw with her hand, barely able to span the width. “You, kind sir, are a thief.” He marveled at her words, couldn’t believe them to be true. But here she was. In his lap, naked as the day she was born, giving herself to him and expecting nothing of him. No coin, no stories, not a piece of his fame. “I’ll have and keep whatever you’re willing to give me, princess.” She never failed to be mesmerized by the way he said her title, more like a pet name than a royal title. He said it as if he loved her, tender and fond, and oh- his voice deep and growling; never had anyone talked to her in that way. She trailed a path down his neck, to his chest, ran her fingers through the sparse hair on it, and, in a bout of boldness, flicked one of his nipples, then soothing it with a touch of her thumb. “Ah-” He caught her hand, pulled it up to his face and pressed his lips to her fingers. “Cheeky.” His eyes glinted with humor and mischief. She wondered if this was what he’d be like if his life had taken another path, one where he wasn’t subjected to murder and hate and doubt. She decided to bring this side out of him as often as she could. Maybe, if others saw him like this - softer, open, loving - they’d be less afraid and less disgusted. His hand came around to her behind, squeezed one cheek and gave it a good smack. “Are you dreaming?”, he asked, silent laughter in the lines of his face, in the way he tippy-tapped his fingertips over her skin. She faked offence and bit her lip, aware of his eyes on them. “Indeed I am. I’m dreaming of the end of my curse. I’m dreaming of the days, where this stupid sheet isn’t needed.” “Fuck, princess.” She moved, her hips rolled, slid along his length, drawing groans and curses out of him with every thrust. His fingers surely left bruises on her hips, with how tight he squeezed her when she hit a particularly delicious spot. Their moans and groans mingled, their scents and the smell of sex heavy in the air; anyone who had just half the sense of smell Geralt had, would know of their joining just by walking by. The thought delighted Geralt in a way he wasn’t ready to explore just yet. They didn’t hold on for long after that. She chanted his name when he seized control and held her down to rut against her harsher and faster than humanly possible, and she loved it. Her body locked, her head thrown back and her scream stuck in her throat; she came hard, with her knees locked at his sides, her hips undulating. The spike of her scent and her leaking all over him and onto the sheet had him there soon enough. His nostrils flared as he breathed in their combined spent and he had to buck up once more with his head thudding against the headboard and a deep, animalistic growl echoing through the room. They sat like that for a couple of moments, her perched on his lap, hair falling down onto his thighs. His eyes were falling closed, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this relaxed. Probably never. Her weight shifting brought him back, his eyes flew open, his hands reached for her. “Calm, Geralt. I’m just laying down.” Oh. She straightened the sheet, pulled it further up his chest and ignored the mess they made in favour of laying her head onto his chest. “I’ll need to take a bath.” “Mhhm.” “You wanna watch?” He huffed a laugh, let his fingers tangle with her hair, play with it. “Is that really a question?” “I guess not.”

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