Once dinner has ended and they’re heading back to Inglorion’s tent, he whispers to Virginia, “Is Lucius well enough to spend the night alone? I want us to have a little honeymoon.”
“Of course. What did you have in mind?”
“Go fetch your cloak and I’ll show you.”
She gathers her cloak, kisses Lucius goodnight, and joins Inglorion on the edge of the camp. He takes her arm and says, “I hope you don’t mind a short walk. I found this place when I was foraging. I find I don’t want to spend our wedding night near mass graves and open privies.”
The forest consists primarily of old-growth trees. There are occasional brambles and bushes, but for the most part the undergrowth is a springy carpet of ferns and herbs. It’s surprisingly quiet. The forest floor muffles their steps, and the birds have fallen silent. The camp is far away, though they can still smell smoke from the camp fires. To Virginia’s rudimentary dark vision, few features are visible. To Inglorion, though, the forest is a rich, complex tapestry of black and white and gray. The sounds, too — their own passage through the trees, insects of various kinds, an owl, the occasional startled mouse. They smell a fox, and Inglorion sees its tail vanishing with discreet, indignant speed.
“We’re almost there,” he murmurs. After skirting a limestone outcropping, they arrive in a glade, knee-deep with ferns and flowers, the branches of two huge oaks meeting overhead. “Here,” he says. “Give me a moment to clear it.” He roots around a bit, tosses away some debris, tamps down a little area in the center of the clearing. He removes his trusty brocade cloak, and arranges it to make a little nest for them. He takes off his boots and sword belt, lies down on his back, and pats the area next to him. “Join me.”
She curls up and puts her head on his shoulder, and he draws her cloak over both of them. “There,” he says, “that’s very snug.”
They lie there for a moment, Inglorion stroking her hair. Finally Inglorion says, “Thank you, Virginia. Thank you for coming here, and for marrying me. I love you so much.” He feels her arms tighten around him. She burrows closer, presses her face into his shoulder.
He kisses the crown of her head, buries his face in her curls. The scent is so perfectly hers that he feels a sudden surge of desire. “You’re mine now, and I’m yours,” he says. He tilts her head back, kisses her forehead and eyelids, nose, cheeks, jaw. Finally their lips meet. She hears a sharp intake of breath. He takes her hand, presses it against the front of his breeches.
It’s still hard for her to separate out feeling desire from performing it. Her brow knits as she trails her fingers up and down his hard cock, tracing it through the knitted fabric. He senses her struggle, and seeks to win her over through sheer sensual pleasure. He strips and kisses her slowly, tastes each part of her as he exposes it. When he’s undressed her completely, he unbinds his hair, shakes it out, trails it across her exposed breasts and belly and thighs. He’s still wearing his shirt and breeches. She’s on her back, legs spread, and he’s propped up on his elbows, ranging back and forth, up and down, kissing her.
He stops for a moment to let himself cool down. “What do you want?” he asks.
She laughs. “I don’t know. I never do. Oh, Inglorion — I don’t know anything.”
“Me, neither. We’ll learn together.”
“Can I get on top? Undress you?”
He nods primly, doing a good imitation of Ajax. They switch places, and she unbuttons his shirt. “That’s good linen,” she notes, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. She trails her fingertips down his chest, from his collarbones to his belt line. “You really are incredibly handsome,” she says. “I suppose you hear that a lot.”
He tilts his head, considers. “No, usually people notice my air of piety and compassion first. After that, creepy Drow eyes, classical scholarship, massive cock.”
“Really? Your cock before your face? That seems odd.”
“Well, it is very big, particularly for a man of my height. The question is, are my nipples sensitive?”
“I don’t know. Are they?”
“I can’t remember. Why don’t you find out?”
They’re erect from the chill fall night. She runs her fingertips over them, scratches them lightly with her nails, glances up at his face. She flicks her tongue over the left, then the right. She can feel his reaction — electric, galvanic. She takes his hands, pins them over his head, and licks, sucks and nibbles his nipples for a long time while he vainly tries to press his cock against her. Finally she unbuttons his breeches, and he lifts his hips so she can slide them off. She wraps her fingers around the base of his cock and delicately licks the bead of liquid from the tip. He thinks fleetingly and nonsensically of a hummingbird as she takes it into her mouth. It’s exquisite. He’s received this particular pleasure innumerable time, from many mouths, but it does matter that he adores Virginia, and that tonight is their wedding night.
He’s always been careful and measured with her — noted her pleasure, each small hesitation. Now he feels her curls trailing across his groin and thighs, sees her dark head bent over his cock. The feeling is unimaginable — almost overwhelming. After a time, she lies down next to him, kisses him. He tastes himself on her lips and tongue, holds her close, rolls them both over so that he’s on top, between her spread thighs. She reaches down to guide him in, and there’s a whole new layer of rich sensation: She’s slick and hot, but it takes time for her to adjust to him. He can hardly stand to wait — he pins her shoulders down, covers her mouth with his own. She gasping as he settles her legs on his shoulders, pushes into her. Her brow is knitted, she’s biting her lip, her cheeks flare hot, her eyes are wide — puzzled, almost pleading.
He’s far within her, balls deep. He holds her still for just a moment. “I love you so much,” he whispers. She’s his, body, mind and spirit, for their whole lives. The thought overwhelms him, and he says fiercely, “You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she says softly. “And you’re mine.”
He’s driving into her with all his strength, and he knows the purpose and meaning of passion. Suddenly her hips rise to meet his, she grinds against him, taking him even deeper. Her climax is long and hard and extended, and of course he can’t hold back and doesn’t want to. He pins his new wife down and nails her, shuddering with pleasure, utterly uncontrolled.
He finds himself nuzzling her hair, almost shy and frightened of his own passion, the complete loss of control. Neither of them speaks for a long time. The night is quiet, still and cold. Their ears and noses start to get cold. She’s still and quiet in his arms, and he wonders if she’s gone into trance. He whispers, “Virginia, love.”
“Yes?” Her voice is wide awake.
“‘With my body, I thee worship.’ Do you remember that from the ceremony?”
She chuckles. “I must have missed that. I wasn’t attending to the words. I was distracted by the beauty of the groom.”
“Aramil is a fine fellow. I can see how your thoughts might have wandered. It is part of the ceremony, though, I assure you. It seemed … unnecessarily explicit, especially in Father Nate’s voice. But it’s true.”
“Worship?” she murmurs. “That’s one form of it, certainly.” He rolls onto his back, and she nestles into his arms, sighing with satisfaction.
“It’s true, you know. More than I could have imagined. You’re mine.”
“I am. And you’re mine, too.”
He falls into trance soon thereafter, exhausted and deeply satisfied, his new wife wrapped securely in his arms.
For the first episode of Inglorion’s adventures, click here.
For a linked table of contents, listing all of Inglorion and Valentine’s adventures, click here.