Page 27 of Warrior Princess
He flipped me onto my stomach, gripped my hips, and lifted them off the bed. I assumed he was about to take me from behind until I felt his wet mouth on my heat.
I shrieked his name as his tongue flicked my nub and sucked all my juices. He inserted one finger and then two as his mouthcontinued to devour my core. I teetered on the edge of release as his fingers pumped in and out of me faster and faster. I gasped for air, begging him not to stop. “I can’t…” I stuttered. “Please, Ronan, I can’t take—”
I felt him grinning between my folds. “Yes, you can.”
I tipped over the edge and my body was wracked with tremors that left me seeing stars, compounded when he sucked on my nub and I cried out. He finally released me and I felt his length on my backside as he entered me from behind.
Ronan slowly pumped in and out, kissing all along my back. Once I caught my breath, he began to pound into me relentlessly, reaching places I never knew existed and delivering more pleasure than I ever thought possible. The room echoed with the sounds of slapping skin, along with my loud screams and moans.
“Harder!” I begged. “Faster.”
Ronan graciously obliged, forcing me to grip the bed frame to stay on my knees.
He moaned my name and clamped down onto my hips, digging his fingers into my flesh. “I’m coming!” Seconds later, he filled me and slowed his punishing pace as I tipped over the edge again, this time with him.
Still inside me, he tenderly lifted my chin and brought my back flat against his chest, peppering my neck and shoulder with kisses. “Gods, I love you, Leila,” he murmured into my ear.
Gasping for breath, I wrapped my hand over his. “I love you too, Ronan.”
If he knew just how much, I wondered if it would scare him. Because in that moment, even I feared how much I loved Ronan. If something ever happened to him, I didn’t know how I could go on.
13
Under the shroud of night, with the village asleep and the stars scattered like jewels across the sky, I quietly dressed and crept out of Ronan’s house. He lay there, deeply asleep, his breathing even and slow, completely unaware of my departure. I needed this time alone without the burden of his concerns or the village's watchful eyes.
Wrapping a cloak around my shoulders, I pulled the hood over my head to shield my skin from the chilly night air. The village was silent as I passed through, the only sounds being my soft footsteps on the path and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze.
Once I reached the outskirts of the village, the familiar path through the mountains loomed before me. The moon, a slender crescent, provided scant light, casting long, dancing shadows across the rugged terrain. The climb was steep, the path narrow and winding, flanked by towering pines that whispered secrets in the wind.
The air grew colder as I ascended, the scent of pine and earth strong in my nostrils. The world around me seemed to close in with each step, and I was hyper-aware of the surrounding densefoliage, the occasional call of a night creature, and the rustle of small animals in the underbrush. The mountains had always felt like a different realm, a place where the mundane worries of the village felt distant and inconsequential. At least that was how it felt when I lived in the Central Plains.
Finally, the entrance to Shiro’s cave emerged, a dark maw in the mountain's face, stark against the lighter rock surrounding it. A single torch flickered at the entrance, its flame delivering a warm, welcoming glow. I took a deep breath before entering, my heart pounding with a jumble of anticipation and nerves.
The inside of the cave was vast. Its ceiling arched high above, stalactites hanging like stone icicles along rough walls etched with the passage of water over centuries. Deeper in the cave, the torchlight revealed Shiro’s makeshift quarters; a simple cot and a small stack of books served as his sanctuary.
“Shiro?” I called out softly, my voice echoing in the hollow space.
He looked up from his book with a flicker of surprise. “What are you doing here at this hour?” He closed his book and placed it aside, his expression one of mild reproach. “You should be sleeping.”
“I thought this would be the best time to practice… when no one could interrupt us.” I gestured to the isolation of the cave. “I don’t want anyone to learn what I’m doing.”
“Not even Ronan?” Shiro’s eyebrows arched, probing. “You should tell him—”
“Ididtell him. Just not in detail about what blood weaving involves,” I confessed, feeling a twinge of guilt. “He wouldn’t understand. Not yet.”
“You might be surprised,” Shiro mused, rising from his cot. “Ronan would do anything for you.”
I managed a small smile and nodded. “I know. But I’d rather tell him more about blood weaving once I’ve already mastered it.”
Shiro sighed. “Very well.” He moved to light additional torches, which brightened the dim cave with a warm, orange glow. “First, do you think you will be able to slit your wrists? After…” he trailed off, his gaze intense.
“Yes,” I responded quickly, my voice more confident than I felt. “I was able to slice my palm to feed Queen Sariyah my blood in Keldara. I can do this.”
“The palm is not the same as your wrists, Leila,” he warned softly, watching me closely.
I studiously avoided his gaze and tried to mentally prepare for what was to come. “I know,” I mumbled. “But I’m ready… I have to be.”
He eyed me carefully before nodding. “Okay. You mentioned that you attempted to blood weave before, is that correct?”
