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“Witching?” Dorian said, wiping Manon’s blood from his fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?” He took her hand and brought the bloody tip of her finger to his mouth and licked it. Her heart pounded.
“I’m not,” she said, slightly mesmerized by how gentle he was being, and by the fact that he had just tasted her blood. He gave her a wry smile.
“I know that,” he said. He applied pressure to her finger to staunch the bleeding. “But you’ve never made a flower crown before?” Abraxos sneezed behind them.
They sat in the back most garden of the palace–right in the middle of a field of delicate, purple flowers. It was sunny and warm and only a few weeks past mid spring. Dorian looked effortlessly beautiful in a pair of brown trousers and a loose fitting white shirt. Manon wore a delicate, simple white dress. It was the first she’d ever worn.
Dorian had bought it for her a few weeks back when she’d told him she’d never owned a dress, that she’d thought them pointless. She wasn’t sure why she’d put it on this morning. She’d been curious about how it would look, how it would fit. It made her feel weird and feminine and vulnerable–but she’d liked the way she’d looked in the mirror. Liked the way it showed off her lean, muscular curves. Liked the way Dorian’s jaw had dropped when he’d seen her in it.
Manon shrugged.
“I’ve never seen the point in spending time with flowers.” She looked at Abraxos. “Well not until he came along.” Abraxos gave a knowing huff and went back to burying his face in the purple flowers.
“Well, lucky for you, you have me,” Dorian said, taking the flower that’d cut her finger from her lap. “And I’m going to teach you how to make a proper flower crown.” He picked a few other purple flowers. “First, you need to remove the thorns. Then you braid the ends”–he demonstrated–“like this.”
Manon watched in awe as Dorian added flower after flower to the braid until he was able to join the end with the beginning. It was a perfect circle, thick with purple blossoms and green leaves.
“Where did you learn to do this?” she asked. He shrugged.
“I was a lonely child,” he said. “I spent a lot of time in the gardens or with my dogs.”
He leaned in close to her–she took a deep breath to skill her heart–and he placed the crown on her head. He gently tugged it down so that it covered the very top of her forehead. She thought he smelt like a snow-white winter’s morning, like jasmine.
He leaned in and stole a kiss. His sapphire eyes blazed like stars. Manon couldn’t help licking her lips when it was over. She tried to still her heart, her breathing, and failed. It would be easy for him to kiss her here, to take her here. They were far enough from prying eyes and something about the dress she wore–the way she could feel her bare legs touching beneath it–only reminded her how easily Dorian could lift it up. How easily he could unbutton his trousers, lay on top of her, be inside of her.
She caught herself staring at his lips and immediately looked away, blinking. She swallowed hard.
“Witchling?” Dorian said, leaning in again. She turned to him just as he curled a finger under her chin to angle her mouth to his. His kiss was gentle and soft, and Manon opened immediately to deepen it.
Dorian scooted closer and wrapped one of his hands around the side of her face and neck–so that his thumb was just touching her ear lobe. She laid a hand on his thigh, the other on his arm.
She wasn’t sure if it was the dress or the flowers, but she felt delicate and somehow as if it would be improper for her to move her hands any further over his body.
“Witchling,” he whispered between kisses. “What do you want?” Her whole body went hard and soft all at once.
“I want you to lay me down, and make love to me.” Dorian had never heard her say such a thing. Wasn’t sure if the witch had ever said such a thing.
He savored the moment.
Then he slowly guided her down to lay on the grass. Without breaking the kiss, his hand found her knees and, slowly, he pulled the delicate white fabric up, exposing her legs. He braced an arm beside her head and positioned himself between her legs.
Manon kept her hands on his shoulders and neck as Dorian laid himself atop her. With one hand he freed himself from his trousers and then pushed the silken fabric of her undergarments aside. She moaned when his fingers dipped over and inside her to gauge her readiness. She moaned again when he pushed himself inside.
“Witchling,” he whispered, finally breaking the kiss to lean his forehead onto hers. He could feel the purple petals against his face, feel the exquisite warmth and wrap and throb of her body around his as he moved to press inside her to hilt.
“Princeling,” she moaned breathlessly. She wrapped her arms around his back, savoring the feel of him inside her. The stretch of her body, the warmth of his, the pleasure he gave her.
He pulled back to cup her face, staring into her eyes, as he began to move and rock inside her. He watched as her mouth fell open, eyes closed slightly, chest arched into his as pleasure rolled through her. She held tight to his shoulders and hooked her bare feet around him. She could feel the fabric of his trousers against her heels as she placed them against his rear. He hadn’t bothered to remove them.
“You’re beautiful,” he said breathlessly. “Like this–and always.” Pleasure wove through him, and Dorian buried his face in her neck. She smelt sweet. Like citrus and honey. He kissed her collarbone, her neck, the side of her face.
“Princeli–” she gasped, tightening her hold on him. Dorian knew she was close. Knew she was about to come. “Dori–oh Dorian.”
“That’s it, witchling,” he murmured as his own pleasure mounted at the sight, sound, and feel of her. “Come for me. Come for me right now.” Manon shattered beneath him. He kissed her and moved a little deeper, a little faster for her. He kissed her mouth, drinking in the sounds of her, the song she sang in the throes of her pleasure.
He, too, broke apart.
Manon felt the heat of him inside her as Dorian found his pleasure. Heard, savored, and drank in the quiet way he murmured her name into her lips when he came.
When it was over, Dorian gently rolled to the side, bring her with him. He smiled and kissed her and still he laid inside her. She smiled and kissed him, too. She wanted him close like this always. To be with him like this always.
“I love you,” she whispered into his mouth. He kissed her again then pulled back. He ran his hands over her face and cheeks. He kissed her once, twice–
“Marry me,” he said. She blinked. “I want you like this always, forever. Marry me.”
Abraxos softly snored from somewhere behind her.
“What?”
Dorian gently ran his thumbs over her face. “Manon Blackbeak, will you marry me?”
She could only blink. Speechless. Then everything hit all at once.
“Yes,” she said smiling. “Yes. I’ll marry you.” Tears filled her eyes at the same time they filled Dorians. His answering smile was so bright Manon thought she might go blind. He kissed her. She kissed him. They laughed.
“Yes,” she said, again. “I’ll marry you.”
“Husband,” Doran said, unable to keep the honor he felt out of his voice. “I’m going to be your husband.”
Manon only nodded and gave him the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen.