Page 45 of Plaything of the Dark Elf

If I want, I can stay stiff as iron, refuse her advances, cast her love aside. Save her from myself.

But I don’t want that. I want her.

I bend and her lips crash into mine with all the grace and elegance of wind rustling a tree’s leaves, of a painter’s brush sliding along their canvas, of water gliding over the gentle curves of a woman’s body. So soft, so gentle, so perfect.

It annihilates me.

My hands hold her in place as she hacks away at my pain and grief. I resist the urge to pull her against me, to press our lips harder against each other, to take over. I’m so used to being in control, in command. Not this time. This is hers.

Her lips open and her tongue coaxes mine to her mouth.

I moan, trembling at the effort it takes to hold my bestial nature at bay. I don’t know what she’s doing to me. I’ve never experienced anything like this. Yet, I know I need it. I need this gift of hers. I need this woman.

The heat of her body pours over me, but it’s not the same as her sexual heat. It’s a gentler warmth. Not something as scorching as the midday sun, but something more like the rising sun, bringing the heat necessary for life after a long, dark night.

Without it, I’d surely die.

Part of me thought I would die in that never ending night, that I’d never see the sun again, never enjoy its touch on my skin. I’d resigned myself to that twisted fate, but Dalia… Dalia brings the sun.

Mirroring my resolve, I crumble to my knees. With her heels, she stands an inch or two taller, but she keeps working this strange and tantalizing magic over me.

Each flick of her tongue cleaves another scar from my weary heart. As if she’s a blade master, she deftly cuts away at me, shearing the darkest parts of my being.

New tears stain my cheeks.

There’s a certain pain to losing parts of myself, even if they are dark and horrid. They’re still me. But I suffer the loss. I need to be rid of them. Something deep in me knows that I’ll never be whole with these scars standing in the way.

Gods, who is this woman? Who did you send into my life to unravel me so?

I focus my thoughts on the Warrior, Am I not your perfect warrior? Is this not who you want as your prodigy?

There’s no response, of course, only the feeling of knowing that this is right. What Dalia is doing to me is what I need.

What parts of me come out on the other side of this kiss is completely up to Dalia. I’ve never given myself over so completely, and in this moment, she controls my fate, and by extension, the fate of so many others. Whatever comes of it, I have to trust in this feeling. I have to trust Dalia will see me through my deconstruction.

Will this be the end?The worrying thought crawls into my mind. Is that all she’s meant to do is remove?

Perhaps the Mother or some other of the Thirteen have brought her to me for this exact moment, where she wipes away my damage, and after this, I’ll have no need of her.

My hands tighten, willing that the skin of my palms melt to the skin of her back. That her lips meld with mine so that we never have to part. I can’t lose her. Not now. Not after everything she’s done, not after everything she’s grown to mean to me.

A defiant fire blooms in my chest. Even if the Thirteen want us apart, I won’t allow it. I’ll fight. Even knowing that I’m no match for the gods, I’ll fight! I don’t simply want Dalia. I need her.

Don’t let it be over.I hold onto her, begging the gods to let this continue.

To let us continue.

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