Without Losing Me…

By Shaymed

Koltira ran his hands down to pull her forward by her rear. He discovered his own arousal with a shock up his spin as she pressed into it. He breathed a sigh against her lips, then pulled her to him again, kissing her deeper still as one hand traced to her front, then slipped into the top of her trousers.

Anarchaia’s breath hitched in her throat and she pulled away. She looked into his eyes for a long moment. This is your last chance, Ana. Stop this insanity. She instead closed the space between their lips again before deftly untying the strings to her pants, her free hand digging into his shoulder. Fuck it. I don’t care.

Koltira curled his fingers, pushing into the warmth of her sex. Anarchaia gasped as he pressed his fingertips against the sensitive spot just inside the front. His other hand pushed up the hem of her shirt to explore the smooth skin beneath. In her pleasant distraction, Anarchaia fumbled with one hand, trying to unbutton her glove and remove her shirt, while the other remained at his shoulder. She dug into his flesh at each flick of his fingertips.

Withdrawing his hand, he helped remove her glove, shirt, and collar. He kissed downward, starting at the bend of her jaw, down her collar bone, between her breasts, until he couldn’t reach any lower. In one fluid movement he laid her out on the fallen leaves to kiss her and press their bare skin together. Fingers hesitating at the hem, Anarchaia slipped her fingertips into the top of his trousers. He untied them and let her wrap her hand around his hardened manhood. He groaned, moving his hips eagerly as she ran the flesh of her palm up and down the smooth skin around his shaft.

The fingers of one of his hands curled over the top of her pants pulling them down to expose a hip. She lifted her lower half from the ground, an invitation for him to pull her pants farther down. He obliged, then set to work pulling the boots down her legs, watching the lips between her thigh glisten with eager invitation. He was quick to remove his own pants and boots, then rested himself between her legs, pausing to stare at her in the moonlight. Her body bare before him and pink with life, black hair splayed on the ground behind her head, chest shuddering with nervous breaths.

Anarchaia bit her lip, staring at him, admiring him as he kneeled there between her legs. His pale skin shone and his ivory hair glimmered in the moonlight. He lowered himself over her and she held her breath, preparing for something wild and insane, like Alisbeth. Instead he stayed above her, a hand on her hip and one behind her head, his shaft resting between her lower lips as he kissed her again and again. Deep. Passionate. Lover’s kisses. Every few moments he would move his hips, and she would whine with desire at the tease.

When he did slip inside her, he brought a hiss through his teeth and gasped at her heat surrounding his member, tight and inviting. Anarchaia tilted her head back to moan as his length filled her. He pushed in to his base, then paused as he watched her sigh. Then he withdrew, slow so she could feel every inch pull out of her. Koltira pushed in again, watching as her shoulders arched and her head tilted back to mewl into the night. The death knight leaned down to her, staring at her, absorbing her expressions. He relished how her brow would furrow over her pleading eyes as he he withdrew, then widen and close as she’d tilt her head back when he thrusted back inside.

His long white hair fell around them like a curtain as he pressed his lips to hers, then separated them with a searching tongue. Exposed, though hidden behind a cluster of trees, behind the veil of his hair they felt as though the world had gone and only the two remained.

Anarchaia bit into her bottom lip, concentrating on keeping the illusion up. It was a task made difficult as shocks of pleasure shot from the core between her thighs and out into her limbs. Her mind reeling, she expected him to finish soon—almost hoped it so she could escape before the illusion fell.

But he didn’t. He made love to her slow and intense, holding her and kissing her soft, then passionate, then desperate, then soft again. Anarchaia felt it, and it frightened and thrilled her, yet made her sad. He wasn’t making love to her. He was making love to Alisbeth.

The mage gripped tighter to him, mewling against his lips as her muscles tightened and her climax ripped through her body. Koltira lifted her hips from the ground with one hand on her buttocks, finding an angle which he could thrust deeper and harder, but not faster. He took her tongue into his mouth and sucked, which shocked her to the core again.

It wasn’t until Koltira’s hand beneath her slid down to feel her hip and thigh, that she realized her illusion had fallen with her pleasurable distraction. His palm stopped. Fingers traced along the stitched line that circled her leg. Koltira pulled back in shock. His thrusting stopped. Their breathing stopped. Time stopped.


She threw her bony hands over her face. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”

Koltira gaped at her for a long time, his drunken mind trying to figure out what was happening. Trying to figure out the proper response to the situation. Apologizing and getting up was the best choice, but it wasn’t the one his mind jumped eagerly to. Somewhere in his mind he knew he’d been wanting this, wanting her. So he flipped his hair over one shoulder so the moonlight could shine on her periwinkle skin, the blue tips of her humble breasts.

The elf bent pulling out of her just to his tip. He kissed up her torso and onto a breast, giving it the gentlest of sucks as he thrust back into the heat between her thighs. She gasped behind her hands, but didn’t move them. His free hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling it away from her face. Then he pushed the other away. When she tried to cover her face again he set his palms on hers to hold them above her head, their fingers interlaced.

His lips set softly on hers as he resumed the steady thrusts. He kissed up her cheek and to her good eye, kissing the lid as delicate as as whisper. He kissed across her eyebrows. Anarchaia shuddered as he kissed around the gaping hole without even a moment of hesitation. A tear came to her good eye as she bit her lip and looked away. He pushed her face back to his, and kissed her lips, pressing into them all the words he wanted to say to describe how beautiful she looked in the moonlight, how hot and welcome he felt inside her. How she’d awakened something in him. And even though they’d started this with her face behind an illusion, he wanted to finish, and he wanted to finish with her as she was, broken and battered and so beautiful beyond any words he could hope to say in that moment.

Minutes passed in luxurious pleasure before Koltira sat up to pull her onto his lap. He lifted her by the hips, then forced her down onto his shaft. She cried out and wrapped her arms over his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck to moan and yelp as he moved inside her, knowing just where to touch and how in order to make shocks run through her abdomen and clench the muscles surrounding his shaft. Anarchaia dug the bones of her fingers into his shoulders as another climax rushed up on her, spidering through her like web lightning, electrifying her veins and urging a scream from her throat. Her hips moved faster against him, but he slowed her down, guiding her movements for hard, quick thrusts. She rode the climax like waves, screaming out as he touched all the right spots inside her.

Barely able to catch her breath, her orgasm subsided. Her eyes met Koltira’s and he gave her the gentlest of smiles, then pulled her close to kiss her, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth and tangling with her own tongue. Without warning he pulled away, lifting her from his lap. He guided her to turn around, then pulled her back down to kneeling. Koltira slid forward, his thighs—wet with her juices—on either side of her. He slipped back into her hot sex. He groaned at the tightness of it and pulled her against him. One hand gently massaged the blue tip of her breast, a thumb flicking across as it hardened with her arousal; the other hand reached down, his middle finger finding the little button just above her entrance.

Anarchaia leaned her head back on his shoulder and gasped over and over into the night, her hands digging into his thighs at each wave of pleasure. She turned her head to face him and kissed him, this time her tongue doing the exploring. Her breathing quickened against his lips as his member became slicker with her eager wetness. He moved a hand to guide her hips, and the other he set on her neck to caress her jaw with his thumb. His lips left delicate kisses along her shoulder and her mewling grew louder. Suddenly she cried out as yet another climax found her. Her body lurched forward automatically, but he pulled her back and held her tight, an arm around her waist and one with his hand holding her cheek as he kissed her deep and passionate. The kisses shocked one way, her orgasm shocked the other. They met in the middle and spread through her like a wildfire and she screamed louder against his lips than she ever remembered screaming.

Once her orgasm relented, the death knight laid her out on the soft ground once more. He slipped into her and resumed his steady, firm thrusts. He kissed down her arm until he found where it had been sewn back on. There he stopped and kissed long the stitches over and over as though he could heal what had been done to her. She turned her head to let her tears fall into the dirt as she smiled.

Koltira’s own climax began to rise within him. He wanted to stop it, to keep loving and holding this woman all night. He could have delayed it, given them another hour alone, but a small part of his mind knew that they had to return to the inn.

He pressed his lips back to hers, panting against them as the heat in his ears grew hotter. Anarchaia quickly wiped the tears from the corner of her eye, then pull him close. He firmed more within her and she gasped a sharp cry as he found his release inside her core.

“A-Ana!” he cried with his orgasm, gripping her tighter in his embrace.

Her body responded to his climax, shooting thrills through her that promised another release. Her muscles tensed around his manhood and he continued thrusting, hard and rhythmic, deep into her cave, until she cried out into the night one final time. Her muscles pulsed around his shaft, milking it for more. He flexed within her and it sent a quick jolt of pleasure through her body. She gasped. He did it again and again, and she gasped and whined and wrapped herself around him.

Koltira propped himself on an elbow, still inside her, so he could memorize her post-coital face in the moonlight. She was flushed and gasping for air that neither of them needed. Her good eye glimmered in the pale illumination; the light in the socket glowed and pulsed in approval.

“W-We should…get back,” she sighed between breaths.

He nodded and withdrew from her. As he searched for his clothes the full weight of what had just happened hit him. The implications, the consequences. All of it. Embarrassed by his decision to make love to Anarchaia, even after the illusion had broken, he dressed quickly, avoiding looking at the mage.

Anarchaia did the same, biting her lip to hold back the smile that wanted to plaster itself across her face. Her conscience gnawed at her heart, reminding her that he was not hers to do such activities with, and what she had done was wrong. For the moment she ignored it, allowing herself to relish the feelings he’d brought up.

“Ana?” he said cautiously.

She smiled beneath her mask and nodded, falling into step beside him to return to the inn.