And her name is…

I can’t have hope in what he’s saying. I refuse to be swindled and fooled into having hope at this stage in the game. He must have figured out my plan and is trying to flip it.

“You can’t stop him,” I say. “The king does as he wants.”

He pulls me to stand and slides my pants down to the floor. I can’t tell if I’m blushing. I feel like I should be embarrassed, but I’m so tired I don’t know if I have the capacity. My stomach, however, does have the energy to complain and growls viciously.

“First shower, then food. He will not be down here tomorrow.”

His tone is firm. I almost warn him that, if he starts standing up for me now, it’ll look like he helped me when I escape. I do almost worry a little for him, but at this point I’m closer to death than escape.

The shower is somehow both as tense and not so I expected. The feel of his hands washing my legs while I leant on his shoulder makes my body buzz, but not with any sexuality. On the contrary, my whole body aches and his large warm hands can encircle the whole appendage in a massage like a tight hug.

I fall limply over him and I sighed. So much tension leaves my body with that sigh, and it has no business doing so while I’m leaning on my head jailer who could just as easily snap the leg, but it leaves me nonetheless.

“I haven’t even fed you the berries yet,” he chuckles as he gets a soft moan from me by digging his fingers into my calve muscle.

“I had forgotten there was a time before everything hurt,” I return softly almost in a daze from the feeling.

His hands hesitate for a minute, but then they seem to move more like they’re purposefully massaging the muscles. He works his way to my hips, over my ass, and then to mystomach. I wondered quickly how thorough he plans to take the lead on this moment before his hand roams over my chest. At the same time his other hand grips my hip and I’m holding onto his arms.

Without exchanging words he holds both of my hips and I lean back to soak my hair. I moved through the steps of cleaning it and when I’m done I straightened fully to squeezed the water out. When I’ve wrung hair out I move to wipe the water from my face and open my eyes to see him opened my eyes to see him staring at me.

“Was I making a face?” I ask, moving my hands to touch my cheeks as I try to remember the tension I held there but I had feel relaxed now.

He’s shaking his head when he says, “no,” then spins me around to press my back to his chest as he pulls the strings holding my underwear and bra on.

First up one side and then down the other, he undoes my loops and the fabric falls away. I’m naked and his hands waver slightly on their way back to my hips, one hand grabs my boob and my whole body goes tight as I stretch against him. He restrains himself from doing anything further, just holding me up while I wash my chest and between my legs. When I’m done he lifts me over to the shelf for a towel and rubs the scratchy material over my body gently. The towel is wrapped around my body and another is used to dry my hair.

“Your hair is so long,” he near whispers, like a thought that just barely made it to speech.

“It didn’t used to be.”

“Humans don’t have hair like ours.”

I had gotten the question that follows this line of thinking from Kheliq before and had my answer ready. “My town was small, and my mom had hair like mine. No one said it was anything weird and I was regularly complimented on it. My hair is one of my favourite features, I only kept it short because it kept getting caught in chicken wire when I helped on the farms.”

He accepted my non answer to the question not asked and moved on. Picking me up, I was brought to my cot and sat in the middle. I move to take my clothes from him when he returns but his hand trails up my side. I didn’t even see him grab my dinner tray and he hands me half of a sandwich.

“There’s nothing on it,” he assures. “I don’t think you need it.”

His eyes wander over my arms and my shoulders where the towel doesn’t cover and he tsks his tongue. I don’t bother to ask what sickly thin and scarred part of me displeases him. For all I care he finds all of me displeasing, but he still wants me and no matter why that is it gives me something over him.

He rubs my hair more with the towel as I eat and I’m through the half sandwich quickly. I want to eat more but I don’t know that my stomach will accept it if I eat it as quickly as the first half.

He hands my the wrap and I tie it around my chest before he helps me thread my head thought the shirt. It’s hangs loosely around me, and I flick my wet hair out from under the collar. He makes a sound like a cough and I ignore it as I unwrap the towel from around my legs to put my pants on. The sandwich makes it into my hand regardless of me wanting it and then I’m being manoeuvred on the cot to lay down and he’s dragging me by my knees to the end of the bed.

“What…?”

“You are as sweet as any berry, and I can’t wait any longer.”

He looks as hungry as I feel and as he spreads my legs the cool air tells me what I was trying to ignore. Between my legs is wet, and even as tired as I am I can no longer ignore how having someone else wash me made me feel. His hands felt so good on my legs and over my scarred back. It felt like the scar tissue could be worked free under the gentle ministrations of his hands.

Rough skin over the top of my thigh wakes up my insides and I know he can see how aroused I am. Those same hands shift at my knees and run up the inside of my legs, but at the top they moved to grip my thighs. I can feel the ends of fingers digging into my flesh and I moaned out loud.

I feel a tongue run up the inside of my leg, not stopping until it reaches my centre. From there I’m a mess of poor restraint, glad I have the excuse of being too tired to move as it feels like every drop of moisture is sucked or lapped off my lips. He shows no embarrassment at his lack of restraint, and catches my eyes when I’m finally able to push myself up slightly to look at him.

His eyes hold mine like he’s daring me to tell him to stop, but then I’m lying down again, moaning and wiggling as much as I can in his grip. This is definitely new for us, though it makes more sense than what we were doing. This feels more… personal and as much as I want to hate him I’m enjoying it way too much.

“I’m.. I’m..” I can’t even get the words out, but he knows.

His grip tightens and he speeds up until I’m shrieking and falling over the edge. My whole body twitches against his face and he slowly began to back off, moving slower and gentler until I’m done riding out my orgasm like he really cares if I finish. As he does I carefully take small amounts of his energy, enough that he won’t notice, or will hopefully chalk it off to all the effort he put in tonight.

My eyes fluttered closed and then I feel something solid press to my lips. I looked around in surprise but Wulfric is just standing there, face still shiny with my fluids and my dinner tray in his hand.

“It’s apple,” he says gently. “A regular apple, nothing funny.”

I take it carefully, not because I’m worried after what just happened, but because I’m exhausted and I don’t want to choke. He feeds me each slice but my eyes are getting heavier and the next thing I know- it’s morning.