Caeden's gave her a slow, lusty little smile, a compliment to her fine features.
Yeah, the thought of getting a slave or two squirmed into his mind, and he shook it out like a dirty shirt. He didn't like that business. Especially with how his instincts were telling him he wanted to be served. Getting a fix sated was one thing, and he knew which little taverns and inns about the Free Marches he could get that business settled, but to do it with a slave? He didn't need that haunting him. His thoughts tickled his face as he concentrated on his hand.
Witclaw seemed to have read his mind from it. When he gave the elf as a 'good luck charm', Caeden swallowed and the smug look dropped off his face. Nervously, he made room for her, thinking she might sit beside him on the plush armchair. Instead, she wiggled onto his lap and he forced a grave look when his whole body was beginning to tense up.
By the time she lit the cigar he'd been messing around with, he was all too aware of the softness of her behind, the velvety little blonde hairs on her arm, the flowery, sweet doll-like smell of her hair, and the irresistible twist on her lips. Maker, he was feeling things. His heart kicked up beat and he leaned away to try and gather his wits back from the puddle they'd fallen into.
He brought his hand of cards protectively to his chest. He narrowed his eyes at her. She seemed a bit too eager to be a slave. Why did he think she was some goody, innocent girl? He looked for a sign she still was, not liking how his intuition had apparently failed him.
He shot Witclaw a gracious, wolfish smile, while trying to position her to look towards Witclaw and not at his damn cards.
Don't worry 'bout it, just keep the drinks coming. Maker, I love a good Marcha,he sighed and leaned back, returning to focus on the cards. He put down two and drew two more to hopefully strengthen his hand. It was an all right set of cards. A mid-tier hand was in his sights if lady luck took his side, and maybe he could pull off a bluff asking the old man if he wanted to bet his house or his slaves...
Yeah, the thought of getting a slave or two squirmed into his mind, and he shook it out like a dirty shirt. He didn't like that business. Especially with how his instincts were telling him he wanted to be served. Getting a fix sated was one thing, and he knew which little taverns and inns about the Free Marches he could get that business settled, but to do it with a slave? He didn't need that haunting him. His thoughts tickled his face as he concentrated on his hand.
Witclaw seemed to have read his mind from it. When he gave the elf as a 'good luck charm', Caeden swallowed and the smug look dropped off his face. Nervously, he made room for her, thinking she might sit beside him on the plush armchair. Instead, she wiggled onto his lap and he forced a grave look when his whole body was beginning to tense up.
By the time she lit the cigar he'd been messing around with, he was all too aware of the softness of her behind, the velvety little blonde hairs on her arm, the flowery, sweet doll-like smell of her hair, and the irresistible twist on her lips. Maker, he was feeling things. His heart kicked up beat and he leaned away to try and gather his wits back from the puddle they'd fallen into.
He brought his hand of cards protectively to his chest. He narrowed his eyes at her. She seemed a bit too eager to be a slave. Why did he think she was some goody, innocent girl? He looked for a sign she still was, not liking how his intuition had apparently failed him.
Guess you don't need me to tell you to make yourself comfortable,he said through his molars biting hard on the cigar. While he still kept his cards close to his chest, and while still giving her a sour look, he snaked his other hand around her hips to steady her. He held to her firmly, fingers digging in without shame. Maker, she was plush down there. He thought about it darkly, giving her quite the expression, and then, Caeden pulled her closer to his chest with a soft groan.
He shot Witclaw a gracious, wolfish smile, while trying to position her to look towards Witclaw and not at his damn cards.
Good luck charm my ass,he said lowly in her ear, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks as her whole back pressed into his chest and her soft hair pillowed against his chin.
02-09-2024, 04:30 PM
