The Exiled Elf Prince Next Door Dies on Day Seventy novel · Chapter 3 of 24
Chapter 3: Porch Bench
He kneels in front of her porch bench at dusk and learns what she tastes like. By morning her turnips are ripe, ten to a plant.
He came across the fence at sundown with a dead handful of barley and no explanation.
Aoi was on the porch bench with her bare feet up and a mug of tea going cold in her hands.
She had spent two days planting turnips, talking to Biscuit, and not thinking about his mouth.
She had thought about his mouth the entire time.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps and held the barley out.
"It died again," he said.
"I'm sorry."
"I am not here about the barley."
"I didn't think so."
The light was gold and low across the valley, and it lit the grey in his hair and the scar on his jaw.
He climbed the steps slowly and stood in front of her.
He looked at her bare knees, and then at her face.
"Two days," he said. "I have thought of nothing else for two days."
"Me neither."
"Tell me what you want."
Her tea hit the boards with a clunk.
She stood up, stepped into him, and put both hands in the front of his coat.
"I want your mouth on me," Aoi said. "Right now. Here."
His pupils went wide.
"On the porch."
"The whole valley's asleep."
"The whole valley is not," he said, but he was already lifting her.
He set her on the edge of the bench, with her back against the post.
She had put on a loose cotton skirt that morning, for no reason she would admit.
He knelt on the boards and pushed it up her thighs, slowly, inch by inch, and watched what he uncovered.
"Gods," he said.
Her underwear was white and plain and already damp.
He ran one finger down the middle of it, and she shuddered.
"You are wet again," he said.
"You did that."
"I did nothing yet."
"You looked at me."
He made a low, hungry sound, hooked his fingers in the cotton, and drew it down her legs.
She lifted her hips to help him.
He dropped it on the porch and settled his shoulders between her knees.
For a moment he only looked.
Her thighs were soft and pale in the last light, and she was bare and flushed and open to him.
"You are beautiful," he said, in a voice that shook.
He lowered his head and kissed the inside of her knee.
Then the inside of her thigh, higher, and higher, with his stubble scraping her skin until she squirmed.
"Caelrin."
"Patience."
"I don't have any."
"Then I will teach you some."
His breath was warm against her folds.
She gripped the edge of the bench with both hands.
He licked her, once, a long slow stroke from the bottom to the top, and she nearly came off the seat.
"Oh, gods."
"Sweet," he said against her. "You taste sweet. Like the jam."
He did it again, and again, with the flat of his tongue.
She heard herself whimper, high and thin, and clapped a hand over her mouth.
"No," he said. "Let me hear it."
"The neighbors."
"There is one neighbor, and he is the one doing this."
She laughed, and the laugh turned into a gasp when he closed his lips around her clit and sucked.
Her back arched against the post.
Her thighs closed on his head, and he pushed them wider with his big hands and held them there.
"Good," he said. "Like that. Open for me."
His tongue circled her, slow and exact, in a pattern she could not predict.
Every time she thought she knew where it would go, it went somewhere else.
She dropped one hand into his hair and found the tie, and pulled it loose.
Ash-grey hair spilled over her thighs.
She slid her fingers up through it until she found the point of one ear.
He jerked.
"Oh," Aoi said, delighted.
"Do not."
"You like it."
"I did not say that."
She stroked her thumb along the edge of the ear, from the tip to the curve.
He groaned into her pussy, and the vibration went through her.
"Say you like it."
"I like it," he said, ragged. "I like it. Do not stop."
"Then don't you stop either."
He slid two fingers inside her and curled them, and his mouth went back to her clit.
She lost the thread of every thought she had.
The porch boards, the dusk, the hen scratching in the yard, all of it drained down to the wet heat of his tongue and the thick drag of his fingers.
She rode his mouth shamelessly.
She felt him smile against her.
"Yes," he said. "Use me. Take it. You are doing so well."
"I'm going to."
"I know. I can feel it. Give it to me."
The coil pulled tight low in her belly.
Her toes curled against his back.
She gripped his ear, and his hair, and the bench, and came with a cry that echoed across the whole valley.
He did not stop.
He held her through the first wave with his mouth gentle and his fingers still, and when she sagged, he began again, slower.
"Too much," she gasped.
"Tell me to stop."
"Don't. Don't stop."
"Good girl," he said, and it went through her like a warm hand down her spine.
He licked her through the aftershocks until she was trembling and oversensitive, and then he stroked her to a second peak so softly she hardly knew it was coming.
It broke over her quiet and deep.
She shook against his shoulders with her mouth open and no sound coming out.
She pulled him up by the collar and kissed him, hard.
She could taste herself on his tongue, salt and pear, and it made her moan.
"You like that," he said against her mouth.
"I like that you're shameless."
"I have been very proper for a long time."
"Be improper."
He laughed, a real laugh, low and surprised, the first she had ever heard from him.
It went through her.
She slid down off the bench onto her knees on the boards, between his legs, and put her hands on his belt.
"Aoi."
"Hush."
"You said I was to be asked what I want."
"And I'm asking," she said. "Tell me."
His hands closed in her hair, gently.
"Your mouth," he said, hoarse. "Only the once. Then I will do the rest tomorrow."
She freed his cock, thick and flushed in the dusk, and took the head between her lips.
He swore in a language she did not know.
She took him deeper, slow, sucking, with her tongue pressed flat to the underside.
His thighs shook under her palms.
"So good," he said. "Gods, so good. Look at you. Just like that."
She hummed around him, and his head fell back against the post.
She worked him with her hand and her mouth together, slick and steady, and watched his face come apart.
"Aoi. I am going to."
She did not pull away.
He came with a low broken groan, pulsing hot on her tongue, and she swallowed and kept her eyes on his the whole time.
He stared down at her.
Then he dragged her up into his lap and held her.
She lay against his chest, panting, boneless.
His lips were still slick from her, and his hair was a mess, and he looked very pleased with himself.
"Tell me what I taste like," she said, because her brain was gone.
"Pear," he said. "Salt. Summer, if I could hold it."
She laughed until she cried a little.
She tucked her face in his neck and her hand into his open coat, and felt his heart going fast against her palm.
"That was supposed to be only the once," she said.
"Tomorrow I would like to do this properly." He lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed them.
"Nobody has asked what I want in a hundred and sixty years," he said.
She smiled against his throat.
"What do you want, then?"
He was quiet.
The sun finished going down behind the hills.
"A bed," he said. "A door that closes. You, with the light on, saying my name."
"That's easy."
"It has never been easy."
She kissed his jaw.
"Tomorrow," Aoi said.
"Tomorrow."
They fell asleep on the bench under his coat, and nobody in the valley saw them, as far as they knew.
At dawn she woke with a crick in her neck and his arm over her waist.
She went down the steps to water the turnip rows, and stopped dead in the yard.
The seeds she had planted two days ago were up.
Not sprouts.
Fat, round, purple-topped turnips, ready to pull, and under each green top, ten more bulged in the soil.
"That's wrong," Aoi said. "That's very wrong."
Behind her, Caelrin came down the steps, took one look at the rows, and went quiet.
"The Crown," he said slowly, "is going to want to know what you are."
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