The Exiled Elf Prince Next Door Dies on Day Seventy novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: The Storm
In his leaking hut she tells him how he dies and promises to stop it. The kiss goes too far, his fingers find her, and he says his first 'good' in two years.
By the time she finished telling him, the storm had come in over the valley.
The hut had one room, one bed of folded blankets, and a roof that leaked in six places.
Caelrin had put a tin bucket under each leak, and the rain rang in them.
Aoi sat on an upturned crate with a blanket around her shoulders and her wet braids dripping down her back.
He stood by the cold hearth with his arms crossed and did not sit.
She had told him all of it.
He had not interrupted once, and when she finished he asked only how far the grey soldiers were from the gate.
She had left out the part where she cried for an hour.
"A game," he said at last.
"A story I loved. That's the nearest word."
"And in this story I die in front of your door."
"In front of my farmhouse. Yes."
"For you."
"I think so." She pulled the blanket tighter. "I don't know why the army comes, only that it does."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Thunder rolled across the roof.
"I should send you home," he said.
"I live next door."
"I should send you home and bolt the door."
"Then you'd die alone in a bad hut," Aoi said. "And I'd have to watch."
His jaw moved.
"I'm going to stop it," she said. "I don't know how yet, but I'm going to."
"Why?"
It was not a cruel question, only a tired one, from a man who had stopped expecting anyone to want anything from him.
She stood up and let the blanket fall.
"Because I met you for two thousand hours," Aoi said. "And you never once said a word to me, and I loved you anyway."
The rain was very loud.
Caelrin stared at her.
"You do not know me," he said, but the words had lost their edge.
"Then tell me one thing that's wrong."
He did not.
She crossed the floor in three steps, took his scarf in both fists, and pulled his mouth down to hers.
For one second he was stone.
Then a sound came out of his chest, low and rough, and his arms closed around her so hard her feet left the floor.
He kissed like a man who had been starving politely for two years.
His mouth was hot and his stubble scraped her chin, and he tasted of cedar smoke and cold tea.
She opened her lips and his tongue slid in, slow at first, and then not slow at all.
She moaned into his mouth.
"Aoi," he said against her lip. "Say it now if you want me to stop."
"Don't you dare," she said, and bit his lower lip.
He made that sound again.
He carried her to the blankets by the hearth and sat down with his back against the wall.
She straddled his lap with her knees on either side of his thighs.
The overalls were still buttoned to her chest, and he looked down at them like they were a puzzle.
"Take them off," she said.
"I want to look at you first."
"Then look with your hands."
His eyes lifted to her face.
They were dark green and very bright, and for the first time they were not cold.
He undid the first button with two fingers.
Then the second.
The straps fell, and the denim slid down her hips, and the cream shirt came over her head and landed somewhere in the dark.
She wore nothing under it but a plain cotton bra.
His breath caught.
"Gods," he said, so softly that she almost missed it.
He put his palms flat on her ribs and slid them slowly up.
They were rough and warm, and she shivered.
He thumbed the bra aside.
Her nipples were already hard, tight in the cold air, and he rubbed one with his thumb and then the other until she arched into his hands.
"Caelrin."
"Good," he said.
She went still.
"You're good," he said again, rough, almost like it hurt. "Like that. Do that again."
She rolled her hips against his lap and felt the hard length of him through his trousers.
He groaned and let his head fall back against the wall.
"Again," he said.
She ground down on him, slow, and rubbed herself against his cock through the wet cloth.
Every drag of the seam sent a hot pulse straight to her clit.
She gripped his shoulders and rocked, and he watched her with his lips parted.
"That's it," he said. "Take what you want. You're so good at it."
"Touch me."
"Where?"
"Under," Aoi said. "Please."
His hand slid down her belly and into her underwear, and his fingers found her.
She was soaking.
He made a low noise in his throat when he felt it.
"For me?" he said.
"For you. Oh. For you."
He drew one finger up through her slick folds and circled her clit once, very lightly.
Her whole body jumped.
He did it again, slower, and she dropped her forehead against his and gasped into his mouth.
"Look at me," he said.
She opened her eyes.
His were fixed on hers, steady and green and a little wild.
He pushed one finger inside her, and then a second, and curled them up.
She cried out.
"There," he said. "That is the one. Say it."
"There. Yes. There."
"Good girl."
Her pussy clenched hard around his fingers.
He felt it and smiled, a small, startled, crooked smile that she knew she would remember for the rest of her life.
He worked his hand in deep, steady strokes, with his thumb pressing her clit on every upward curl.
Thunder cracked over the roof, and she did not hear it.
She rode his hand with her fingers digging into his coat, panting, babbling his name.
The wet sounds were obscene and she did not care.
"I've got you," he said. "Let go. Come for me."
The pleasure folded up inside her, bright and tight, and she broke apart on his hand with a long shaking cry.
He held her through all of it.
He kept his fingers moving, gentle, until the last shudder passed and she sagged against his chest.
"Good," he said into her hair, over and over. "So good. Look at you."
She laughed weakly, and it came out wet.
Then she reached between them and pressed her palm over the hard line in his trousers.
His whole body locked.
"Aoi. You don't have to."
"Shut up, Caelrin."
She undid his buttons with clumsy fingers and pulled him out.
He was thick and hot and heavy in her hand, and the head was slick already.
She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked him from base to tip.
He groaned and bucked into her fist.
"Gods. Slower."
She slowed.
She watched his face as she did it, the furrow between his brows, the lashes shaking, the blush on his pointed ears.
She stroked him with her thumb over the head on every pass, and his hips began to jerk.
"I'm going to," he said hoarsely.
"Then do."
He buried his face in her neck, and his whole body shuddered as he came, hot and sticky over her hand and her stomach, with her name in his mouth.
Neither of them moved for a long time.
The rain rang in the buckets.
His arms stayed around her, tight.
"You're warm," he said at last, muffled against her skin. "I had forgotten that."
Aoi turned her face into his hair and held on.
Outside the thunder rolled on, and the roof leaked in all six places, and she did not want to be anywhere else.
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