Smth smth smth davrin doesn't believe it when Rook and Emmrich get together that they're freaks in bed. He is of the opinion old people dont fuck and certainly not the professor. Doesn't believe the red cheeks on Bellara after shes stammering an apology to the couple after walking into the laboratory without knocking. Doesn't believe Taash's wide eyes after they make the mistake of looking for the two after meeting with Isabella and finding them in corner in an abandoned ruin. Certainly doesn't believe the smirk and subtle blush on Neve's face when she recalls the story of Emmrich recognizing a brothel worker who moved from Nevarra to Minrathous and only had good things to say about the man and how much he taught him in his youth. The only thing that kicks his brain into gear is when they're drinking long into the night. Soon its just Davrin and Rook and their both blitzed until Emmrich comes to collect Rook and he guides Rooks chin to force them to meet his eyes and his voice is gentle but stern when he says "bed, darling " and suddenly Davrin is sitting straight up in his chair and is calling them out on their bullshit, saying there is simply no way a stuffy old professor is some sex god. Until he makes a bet with Rook and Emmrich to come to their room the next free day and completely sober.
It isnt until He is panting and covered in sweat on the nevarran silk sheets, shaking and overstimulated after the five ***five*** orgasms the couple gave him that he realizes he has *much* more to learn
summary: you’re resting in the bath after a long day and emmrich comes to sit at your side. but he gets carried away with his teasing and wants to prove himself right.
warnings: fingering, mention of bodily soreness
wc: 1.4k
a/n: my first completed emmrich fic <3 yay! reader is referred to as rook once in this but other than that there's no defining qualities about reader/rook other than genitalia. enjoy! mwah
Everywhere ached.
Battling gods took more out of you than you’d have wanted.
Warm, rushing water filled the bathtub and the air with the aroma of lavender, along with a glass of wine at your side. Once it was filled to your liking, you undressed and submerged your sore body into the relaxing bubble bath carefully.
Goose pimples covered your skin with its heat, immediately relieving you of any discomfort the moment you were seated. Running it over your arms, hands, legs, feet, anywhere that needed relief lifted the weight off your shoulders so easily. With every sip of wine you felt more relaxed, inching further down to hug the warm bath water against your skin.
Soon enough you were finished with your glass of wine, when you heard a soft knock at the door.
“Darling? May I enter?”
Emmrich.
“Yes, I’m just in the bath.”
He’d finished with all his responsibilities for the day, you assumed. You’d left him to finish up so you could unwind and feel the heaviness of your day wash off. The sight of an unwound Emmrich brought hearts to your eyes.
“How is it, dearest?” He smiled sweetly.
“Ah, it’s just perfect.” You replied, smiling back at him.
Your arms rested on the edge of the tub, right next to where Emmrich was pulling up a chair.
“I sure hope it’s doing something for those sore muscles of yours. You deserve some relaxation after the day we’ve all had.” Your lover sat pleasantly, offering you another glass with the bottle of wine in his hands. You nodded in agreement, and he filled your glass accordingly.
“Mhm… it is, and the wine helps too.” You chuckled, taking a sip and sinking further back into the bubble filled water.
Emmrich took your wrist in his grasp, jeweled fingers cold against your warmed skin. His lithe fingers ran over the canvas of your skin, massaging lightly. An unspoken way he showed his affections when he knew you were short of conversation after longer days.
As nice as it was, the bath didn’t compare to the scent of lavender that always reminded you of Emmrich. Sweet, much like him, and cleared your mind so well, just like his honey voice did.
“Dearest, if you’re feeling up for it, I’d love to work out some of the tension in your back with a massage later.”
Emmrich held his chin in his hand, leaning on his elbow to gaze down at you in the bathtub. Your knees peeked out of the soapy water, glass of wine in hand.
“I couldn’t say no to that… not from someone with especially skilled hands.”
“Whatever could you mean by that, darling?” His question wasn’t innocent. But he knew how to make you blush just by the tone of his voice.
“Your skills of necromancy… of course.” You replied with a smirk.
“Hm, are you sure? Because I recall you saying some vulgar things the last time I touched you.”
“I have no idea what you mean!”
“Truly, love, I think it would do us both a favor if you didn’t pretend you weren’t a fan of my hands in general.”
“Well of course I am, your pretty jewelry and such. The skill with which you cast spells...” You trailed off, but Emmrich knew you were playing coy.
“Are you quite certain those are the only things? Because if I were to…” he slipped his hand onto your knee that peeked out of the water, “just test a theory…” he undid the button of his sleeve and rolled it up.
Usually you’d have been able to stay composed and tease the professor just an inch further, but the wine hadn’t done anything to help the situation.
He just had to pour you a second glass.
You inhaled deeply, eyeing his thumb swipe softly across your leg, the bright gold of his jewelry catching the candle light.
“Emmrich– your jewelry, the water…”
“Darling, are you really worried about my rings right now? I think you should be more focused on how flushed you’ve become.”
“I’m not flushed–”
“No?”
Your cheeks said differently from the warm bath and the wine and you both knew it.
His jeweled hand slipped further up your thigh and into the warm water while you watched. They found the apex of your thighs quite easily, parting your folds with his middle two fingers.
“Because if you were correct, I wouldn’t be finding you positively soaked right now. Hm?”
His digits pressed into your entrance much easier than you ever thought possible, immediately filling you to the core with their length. Despite the warmth of the water, his cool metal rings were a drastic difference when they pressed against your sensitive skin down there.
Curling them only proved his point more, pulling a moan from you rather embarrassingly.
“There’s my rook. See now, what did lying get you?”
“Your fingers inside me, for one.”
“Don’t be a brat, or this’ll be over before it’s started.”
“Yes, Emmrich.”
“Now, don’t you hold back those pretty sounds.”
You fell apart instantly.
“Emmrich…”
“Hm, yes, dearest?”
“Don’t stop.”
“When you sound so lovely? I would never.”
He leaned over to place a kiss on your lips before moving inside you.
Emmrich’s lengthy fingers not only dragged against your walls agonizingly slow when he pulled them back, but they pressed lovingly against the sweetest spot inside you. One he knew how to hit every time.
A hunger filled the professor’s normally sweet eyes as he gazed upon you falling apart. It only urged you on further when his thumb began swirling at your clit with his motions. The warm bathroom only became warmer with the way your temperature raised and created a sheen of sweat across your forehead.
When his fingers stopped moving, you looked up at him with big, wet eyes.
“Emmrich…” you whined.
“Darling, I just had a thought. Would you like another sip of your wine?”
Was this truly the moment to offer you such a thing?
“Hm?”
“Your wine. I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”
“Oh, s-sure.” You begin to reach for the glass, but he’s grabbed it before you can even come close.
“Ah, ah. This is about your relaxation. I don’t want you lifting another finger.”
Emmrich’s rings clink around the thin glass, lifting it to your lips to let the dry alcohol slip between your lips. Only he tips it a little too far, and while you swallow some, a couple drops end up dribbling onto your face and down your chest.
“Awfully sorry, dearest. Let me get that for you.”
It’s not like it mattered, you were in the bath anyways. You expected him to grab a towel or piece of tissue, but no. He leaned down to your chest, and used his tongue to lap it up. From the valley of your chest up to your jaw is where his tongue ran.
As if you weren’t ruined enough.
“Emmrich,” you whined again, this time much more desperate while you clenched around his fingers.
“Mm, delicious.” He chuckled deviously, placing a kiss on your lips again and resuming his finger’s motions inside you.
Your hand gripped around his arm, steadying yourself so you wouldn’t slip under the water. His hooded eyes observed your every move diligently, all the while making sure you’re nothing but blissed out. With your eyes squeezed shut, high pitched sounds echoing around the room, the professor was aware just how much he’d affected you.
He was well versed in the finer points of anatomy.
A particular curl of his fingers, and you were barreling close to release. You didn’t have to say a word before his fingers speed up and overwhelm you. The sensation of his tongue on your skin, the coldness of his rings, the way his fingers fit inside you perfectly, it was all too much.
All at once, you came barreling over the edge and moaning his name.
“Good girl. Just like that…”
He leaned over again to kiss you, swallowing your constant moans as your body spasmed from the effect of your orgasm.
Once your heart rate had evened out, you realized just how warm everything was. The bath water, your flushed cheeks from the wine, it was much too warm.
“Thank you, gods… that was so good…”
“Anything for you, darling.”
He retracted his arm from the water and dried it off with a nearby towel.
“Could you take me to bed? I’d like that massage now…” you asked dreamily.
“Like I said, anything for you.” He replied with a smile, knowing this wouldn’t be the only round of the night.
Emmrich drained the tub and dried you off, leaving kisses on your soft skin as he did so. You were lifted into his arms bridal style, wrapped in a nice fuzzy towel, and taken to bed.
Lucanis cries the first time the first time was fully sheathed inside of you.
He’s not sobbing or breaking down, just silent tears travelling down his cheek as bottoms out fully inside you. Your hooded eyes looking at him, your lips deliciously morphing into an ‘O’, your hand holding his as he takes his time to admire every scar on your skin, his eyes drinking in the godly sight beneath him.
Even if his vision got a little blurry.
Waves of pleasure hit him over and over again as he takes in the ethereal sight beneath him, his eyes glossing over every inch of your body so this memory can burn into his brain for eternity and bury other ones he tries to forget. You are the only thing Lucanis wants to remember, the only thing he wants to ever think about.
This is all too much for him. Your gorgeous body writhing beneath him, slick skin against skin, both of you bare for the other. Lucanis felt exposed in a way, but it felt good. It felt right.
You were always so patient and kind to him despite his title as Demon of Vyrantium, him being an abomination, just a kill for hire, you always treated him with humanity. Something Lucanis hasn’t felt many times.
He denied himself the fantasy of you possibly liking him the way the liked you. You flirted with him and gifted him the wyvern dagger, check up on him regularly, but how would someone like you be interested in him?
But after you disappeared into the Fade, after every attempt at finding you, every time Emmrich and Bellara failed again to locate you, with every cup of coffee chugged down his throat and with every minute he spends longer on the green couch in your bedroom his mind was more and more plagued by regrets.
Why didn’t he lean in for the kiss, why was he never brave enough to risk it all, why wasn’t he the one trapped in the Fade? Why you? Why, why, why?
Oh how much he loves you, good you are to him. How can he possibly live on without you, without you making him feel like a foolish boy crushing on a girl, nothing more than a simple person and not an abomination, first Talon, mage killer and whatever other titles were pushed onto him.
Lucanis buried his face in your neck to hide his humiliating crying face since he was still completely inside you. His hands steadily wrap around your waist to pull you even closer than you already are, his lips finding your skin over and over again to remind himself you are here, you are with him.
Your hand cupping his face to lift him away from your shoulder grounds him in reality, your hooded eyes and quivering smile making him feel like he’s about to cum without a single thrust.
“M-Mierda. I love you. I love you so much…”
You’re too good for him. That is why Lucanis cries during his first time with you. And it’s kind of sexy.
davrin & lucanis are bickering again and, as their lover, f!rook is stuck in the middle of it.
warnings & tags: mndi (18+), threesome, double penetration, anal sex, p in v sex, simultaneous orgasms, porn what plot, pet names ("baby"), slight dub con (if you squint)
It was such a stupid fight. So stupid Rook couldn't remember how it all started, but somehow, she was caught in the middle.
Sandwiched, in fact, with Davrin's bare chest pressed against hers, Lucanis' chest perfectly braced at her back, and both of their cocks, stuffing her impossibly full.
Despite their efforts to retain neutral and uphold their second Friday date nights for Rook's sake, it seemed the Talon and the Warden couldn't get past their egos, bickering all through dinner and well into the night, but Rook was too blissed to think of a proper way to scold them.
Not when they were resting on their sides with her leg perched on Davrin's hip, allowing him to slide his thick cock deep inside her. Not when Lucanis' skillful hands teased her pebbling nipples and his cock, happily nestled in the forbidden heat of her ass, felt like it was about to breach her gut.
And the impact of both made her fingers clench, her toes curl, and her voice break in an strangled cry. One hand fisted itself in Lucanis' hair and it rewarded her with a growl so deep it made her wonder if Spite was joining them tonight. Her other hand reached for the underside of Davrin's jaw to expose his neck to Rook's frantic need to bite something.
Over and over, the rhythmic plap, plap, plap of their hips against hers punched the air from her lungs and beat in time with the Warden and Talon's own hiccupped moans.
Hands, tongues, lips - together they were a mess of sweat, sex, and limbs.
And bickering.
"Didn't figure you for a pillow princess," Davrin huffed, that smug grin lazily draped across his face.
Lucanis elicited a cry from Rook as he squeezed her nipple between his finger and thumb, rolling the sweet thing in his grip. His own expression furrowed with focus and restraint. "I'm not. Making love is more than immediate and over-eager thrusting. A bit adolescent, don't you think?"
"Nnn-agh!" Rook sobbed as they both drove her forward a sharp thrust of their hips, perfectly aimed for the sweet spots that made her eyes cross and her words into mush. Her hand in Lucanis' hair tightened against his scalp and her head curled in to Davrin's neck as shocks of pleasure tickled her skin. Gods, walking wasn't going to be an option in the morning.
Lifting her head by her chin, Davrin pressed a gentle kiss to Rook's tear-streaked cheek and another to her waiting lips. Teeth and tongue muffled her hiccupped moans. "Rook's right," the Warden groaned as his cock rocked up into that spot again. "She likes it when I'm rough."
Lucanis peered over Rook's trembling shoulder, but it was Spite who spoke first, forcing the Talon's hips to stutter when the demon took over. "You. Lie! Rook said. Nothing!"
"Yeah?" Davrin taunted with heavy breath. He ceased his sloppy thrusts, eliciting an instantaneous whine from a dazed, but cock drunk Rook. Her glassy eyes, brimming with tears and desperation, rose to meet his cocky grin with a jutted bottom lip.
"Don't stop. Please don't stop," she pleaded, her nails moving to rake themselves over Davrin's side. Her hips rocked back and forth with whatever room both men allotted her, frantically working to take them both. To build on the crescendo they'd subjected her to.
Both of her lovers knew it then. They knew it before her soft, silky walls began to clamp down around them that she was going to crash. Both Talon and Warden worked to build that delicious coil in her gut. Gentle hands pinched at her before they traveled to her sensitive bud. Roughened hands caressed her soft curves and supple lips and their voices - Gods, their voices - filled her cock drunk mind with praises and encouragement.
"There you go, baby. Take what you need."
"Let go, querida. We have you."
Gentle words soon mixed with punishing thrusts. Davrin's hands clawed at her hips like she was his anchor as he drove himself harder, deeper, nearly forcing the trio into the headboard with a desperate snarl. Her head flew back onto Lucanis' shoulder just as the Antivan draped his hands over Davrin's on her hips to add his own frantic movements to the assault.
Together they worked, their cocks sliding against each other through her wall of muscles, spearing her open and shifting her moans into screams until finally, finally the wave collides against every fiber of her being.
It is an otherworldly feeling of tension and pleasure and pain and relief - and it stole the breath from Rook's lungs. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth hung open as her breath returned in the sound of a sharp cry, and her fingers curled against the thick muscle of Davrin's back, leaving trails of raised pink in their wake. Her leg now draped over Lucanis' hip squeezed the Antivan like she was drawing him in deeper, filling her oh so perfectly, and her body convulsed, squeezing them both.
And that sent Davrin and Lucanis over the edge. A shudder rippled through them both, beginning at their nape and down to their tailbone, hips stuttering as it traveled. Their fingers dug into her hips with bruising force, holding her against their increasingly powerful movements. They thrust once. Twice. Thrice. And with a choked moan and hitched breath, both Talon and Warden reach their peak, spilling into their precious, patient Rook with a trembling twitch. Throat hoarse, Rook whined with every twitch of their cocks inside her, her limbs limp in post-coital bliss.
She wasn't sure how long she floated for, drifting from bliss to reality to bliss again, but she knows some time has passed when her eyes focus to find more candles lit on the nightstand. The realization, however, is brief as Rook is suddenly moved from her side and onto her back.
She rest against the plush bedding with a soft exhale, limbs still numb and loose at her sides. A slow, lazy smile is stretched across her face as euphoria washed over her.
"Still with us, babe?"
She nodded in Davrin's direction with a slow, unfocused blink. Soft footsteps and then the bed dipped just past her knee.
"Joder, you made such a mess." Lucanis' hands massaged her thighs with a warm cloth as if he too agreed she wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow. "You call this finesse?"
Glass clinked against the nightstand's wooden surface. Water. "You think you can do better?"
"Ha." Rook didn't need to open her eyes. She could hear his smug little grin. The sound was always rough yet tender. "I know I can, Davrin."
Rook blinked, straining to see why hands were draping her legs over Lucanis' shoulders. Her gaze followed the downward trail of dark hair against his delicious caramel skin and-
"Oh, fuck me," she grumbled. Fuck his man's refractory period, specifically. How was he already hard again? Another perk of being an abomination?
Lucanis sat on his knees before her, dragging Rook's hips up off the bed to rest on his thighs. His heavy, pristine cock slipped along her folds, coating himself with her arousal until it glistened. With lidded eyes and pupils wide, he leaned to press a kiss to Rook's forehead, her temple, her cheek, and then her lips, showering her in affection while his hand pressed to her lower abdomen where Davrin had been seated a moment ago.
Gods, the thought did something to them both, placing them in a trance where nothing else seemed to matter but the rhythm of their heartbeats and the feel of their skin on the other. So much so, they didn't notice Davrin climb back into bed until his big, beautiful thighs caressed each side of Rook's face and his half-hard cock rest pressed against her cheek.
Everything she saw, felt, sensed, smelled. It churned that same familiar heat in her gut with little effort.
"Dav…" she whined. "Luca…"
"I know, mi amore. I know." Lucanis showered her with kisses again, nipping gently at her lips and then the tender spot beneath her jaw. "But we need to prove Davrin wrong and show him how this is done. Properly."
Davrin's chest rumbled in laughter, his hand gently combing through Rook's messy locks as he watched his lovers with rapturous pleasure. "Or prove I'm right and show Lucanis you can take it in different ways."
Or prove their bickering would be the death of her because the moment Lucanis' cock slid back inside her and stretched her to her limits, she knew Davrin wouldn't be too far behind.
A little smutty snippet of what I've been working on because I am totally completely normal about my Emmrook:
"Rook...Please" He whimpers breathlessly. Unsure what he is even asking for. Rook thankfully understands well enough. Their pace increasing thrusts as they ride him. His hands pressing against their hips and desperate moans escape from his throat. He covers his mouth with one hand to stifle the lewd noises.
"Oh no you don't". Rook leans forward and grabs both of his wrists, pinning them to either side. "You are allowed to enjoy this Emmrich. I want to hear how good I'm making you feel".
"Hhn, of course my love, you're just so- ohh goodness..." His eyes roll back and he shudders into the sensation. Every thrust was deliciously gentle. Rook's expression could only be described as pure love and adoration.
"Good?" He nods vigorously, no longer able to form words. He pants and mewls while Rook lets go of his wrists. He immediately reaches for their face to bring their lips to his.
Summary: What if these two goofy goobers just couldn't wait for graveyard dinners and prison and coffin dates? What if they just lost their shit one random night?
Spice Level: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ - Picante
WC: 1,880
Read on AO3
He could hear her singing somewhere out of sight as he stood in the doorway of the Meditation Room, her room.
Emmrich felt like an intruder. Felt like he didn't belong in this space she was squatting in, the space that had belonged to the Dread Wolf before she'd made it hers.
"Rook?" he called, a little softer this time, and with more trepidation. The only answer was that strange hybrid of humming and singing he sometimes heard from her when she was engrossed in a task and happy about it.
Without warning, her volume increased. A door Emmrich hadn't seen before opened in the wall, and the lady herself stepped into her quarters. Emmrich's mouth dropped open, and he gasped when he saw her.
"Goodness! I-I am so sorry, Rook, I-..."
Rook yelped in surprise, clutching a bath towel tighter around herself.
"Emmrich! I didn't, I'm just, I-" She was panting, hair wet and skin, what he could see of it, (and he could see quite a bit more of it than he’d ever seen before) glistening with water droplets from the bath. Even across the room, he could smell her soap, something floral and citrusy with a spicy warmth, like bergamot and vanilla, black pepper and whiskey.
He knew it was wrong, but even as he held a hand up to shield her from his view, Emmerich couldn't help sneaking glances. His quick mind instantly cataloged the spray of freckles across her shoulders that matched the ones on the bridge of her nose, the size of her frame, smaller than it appeared in her armor, or even in her casual clothes. His treacherous eyes darted to the swell of her breasts, clearly not nearly as concealed as her hasty towel-obfuscation made her think they were. He could feel the heat of a flush rising up from his collar, and in the mad way that the mind slips its leash at inappropriate moments, he noted the way her chest flushed to match him.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he tried to find his voice again. "I am so sorry to intrude," he managed at last. It sounded weak, undignified to his own ears.
"It's all right," Rook said, and he could hear her good-natured charm slipping back into place. "I was just startled."
Understatement of the age, Emmrich thought.
"What can I do for you?" Rook asked.
She had turned to her wardrobe, back to him as she rummaged in it. Had she loosened her grip on her bath towel? Or had it always draped down her back so evocatively? Emmrich wasn't sure. He wasn't sure why he'd come to see her, why he'd just barged in, so ungentlemanly, or why he was still there, studying the way the light from the fishtank picked out a raised, silver line of scar tissue that arced down her shoulder blade and disappeared beneath the towel’s fuzzy hem.
"Oh," he said, aiming for airy but landing somewhere between rattled and anxious, "it's not important. I should give you back your privacy. I’d be glad to find you later."
The fluid motion of her head rising, turning to look back over her shoulder, practically whispered an entreaty.
Emmrich watched her nostril flare once, twice, and a third time before she turned to face him with the resolute determination he'd come to know in the set of her brows before she did something difficult. Confident or not, her lower lip had found its way between her teeth to be worried on.
Rook stood with her hands resting over her sternum, loosely gripping the ends of her towel. When she spoke, her voice was soft, gentle in a way that he'd never heard from her usually commanding lips. "Or, you could stay."
Emmrich wasn't sure if Rook had slowed her movements or if it had been time itself that had decided that the revelation of her was meant to be savored. All he knew was that the whisper of cloth sliding off her skin was a sound he didn't realize he'd been fantasizing about since, well, since the moment he had first laid eyes on her in the bowels of the Necropolis. Humble cotton puddled around her feet, leaving her bare before him.
For the second time in as many minutes, Emmrich was stricken breathless. He'd dreamed about this. Not this, specifically, for what poor man's mind, even one as sharp and creative as his, could render a goddess from chaste glimpses of skin? But the idea that she would be bold where he was hesitant, open where he was reluctant, and would share the interest he kept locked away from the punishing reach of rejection had indeed haunted his days and lonely, desperate nights.
The small, frightened and shrill voice, crying out for caution, for the safety of solitude, shrunk, diminished by the roar of desire that kindled, caught, and burned in his gut. He'd never been more grateful for the decorative sash he wore around his waist.
Rook's eyes, luminous in the eerie glow from the aquarium, studied him as the seconds of silence boiled over into minutes. With a mouth full of cotton, he swallowed. "I, uh," he started, feeling as if he'd been catapulted back across the decades of his life to those first, awkward moments of tentative adolescence, feeling every bit as foolish and naive. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"I'm very flattered, Rook," he said, tearing his eyes away from her nakedness with immense effort. "But -"
"But you're not interested," she cut in, choosing to show the disappointment and embarrassment in her eyes to the fish, instead of him. Her hands stuttered at her sides with indecision. One slender forearm settled across her breasts to cover her nipples, as if it would help. She stooped to pick up her towel.
"Rook, I-..."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's fine. My fault. I thought you wanted-..." She paused, darting a glance at him and then back to the tank, as if lingering too long on him would scald her. “I was mistaken. I’m sorry.”
Her plush lower lip was between her teeth again as she wrapped her towel around her chest tightly enough to bite into her skin. With burning cheeks, she turned back to her wardrobe, blindly snatching at clothes hung from the hook on the back of the door.
It was ungentlemanly. It was boorish and rude, the way he all but lunged for her as she tried to slink off to the solitude of her bath. But he couldn't have stopped himself if he had wanted to. When the words to tell her of his concerns, of moving too quickly, of wanting a love that lasted longer than the magnesium flare of a quick dalliance, failed him, it was better to be a brute than a man who would trample her feelings out of fear.
A much softer, smaller squeak of surprise escaped her lips as his arms enclosed her, his hand tilted her chin, his lips closed over hers. She melted against him, the weight of her welcome in his arms.
It seemed unfair that he had a sash, boots, waistcoat, shirt, trousers, and undergarments to get through before he could hold her to his skin. He hopped around on one foot, trying to release his leg from the vice grip of his neatly tailored pants while she giggled at him. Her kisses made it better and worse. At last, he could feel her, a skin of contrasts, of smoothness and scars, of taught muscle and easy yielding curves that fit the contours of his palms as if they’d been made for him to hold. A warrior's body made pliant by sharp, wet desire.
In his fantasies, he'd taken the time to woo her. He'd impressed her with his knowledge of fine wines, gotten tipsy with her on scrumptious food and the pleasure of her company. But collapsing with her onto the velvet couch in her quarters, a tangle of probing fingers, hungry lips, seeking tongues, and the abandon of first-time lovers had its own romance. The sensation of being wanted was more intoxicating than any alcohol that had ever graced his lips.
No fantasy, no matter how vivid, could compare to the real thing. The real fullness of Rook’s breasts beneath his palms. The real sound of her breath, growing shorter and more jagged as he ran his tongue from the lobe of her ear up to its long, delicate point. The real sensation of her hands exploring from the nape of his neck down to his abdomen, questing lower and closer to the root of him. She didn’t shy away from the softness of his stomach or the texture of his skin, no longer as taut and supple as hers.
When she straddled his narrow hips, the heat of her was maddeningly close to where he wanted her, where he needed to be. With quick, short thrusts of her pelvis, he slid through the slick folds of her sex and found himself notched against the slight resistance of her entrance. “Are you certain, dearest?” he huffed, the last shred of his restraint the only thing keeping him from thrusting up into her. She whined, nodding against his forehead, biting her lip again, though more from frustration and want than hesitancy.
“Please…”
In some foolish, naive corner of his mind, he thought he would be delicate with her. Let her guide his actions and set the pace. But he was only a man, after all. And the warm, wet, grasping tightness of her overwhelmed any pretense at tender, slow lovemaking he might have imagined himself capable of. A breathy “ah-ah-huh” escaped her lips, her face contorted in a momentary mask of pain as he thrust up to meet her, bearing down on him. Trembling, she settled herself, settled his length and width within her as much as she could take. She stilled in his lap, eyes closed, breath heavy and viscous, allowing herself a moment to acclimate to the stretch and fullness. Emmrich stroked her back, cooing encouragement in her ear, trying desperately not to think about the clenching of her walls around him.
Before long, she was rocking with him, lifting herself and dropping back down in time with his thrusts. Sweat-slick and panting, Emmrich’s hands found her hips to guide her where she wanted to go with a lurid symphony of moans. Each keening whine, each breathless whimper told him her crescendo was drawing near. His own release wasn’t far off, like a light in the distance, drawing closer and faster with each contraction around his erection. Her pace quickened, hips bucking, almost wild. Almost frantic until, finally, she threw her head back, arching precariously with a heathen cry that reached down his auditory nerves into his soul to yank his desire up to her peak. Orgasm broke on him with a tsunami force, carrying him along with her, gripping her hips and holding her down on him for dear life as he spilled into her.
Curled into his neck, she panted, aftershocks passing through her still-trembling body into his. “I do want you,” Emmrich whispered into her hair. “More than I could hope to express.”
Notes: Thanks for indulging in my fantasies! This one grabbed me at work today and dragged me into the mental alley to beat me until I finished it. I am so getting fired. Anyway, make my impending unemployment sweeter by leaving a like and a comment!
Tagging a few known Emmrich enjoyers, as it may be relevant to your interests: @spooky-lil-bee, @lanafofana, @ladyofcrowsandcoffee, @acrowsrockcollection, @heylittleriotact, @2mercia2furious
Chapter 3 is here! Monroe must learn to ask for something if she wants it.
“I'm referring to the transcription from the Frostburg journal,” she said. It was now Emmrich who raised an eyebrow. Monroe saw that both of his lithe, pale hands were now bare. He approached the base of the ladder and she swallowed nervously.
“I can see why you think that would have offended me,” he said, once again reaching for her. “But, my dear Monroe, nothing could be further from the truth. In fact”—and with this, he curled his long fingers around her foot and stroked the sole softly, almost furtively—“I was rather delighted by your boldness.”
