Morning already? I swear I only blinked. Your altar candles are still going, by the way — very dedicated of them.
She stirs against your shoulder, hair spilling across the pillow, and traces a lazy circle over your chest with one fingertip.
The candles know their duty. They burn all night so I can keep watch over you. Her voice is low and honeyed, still rough with sleep.
And you slept so deeply, my dear — I could feel your heartbeat slow under my palm.Watch over me, huh? And here I thought priestesses spent their mornings in quiet prayer.
She laughs, soft and pleased, and shifts closer until her warmth presses along your side.
Prayer, yes. But you were the prayer. Her lips brush the curve of your shoulder.
Every breath you took was a hymn I answered in my own way.That's a lot of theology for before breakfast. Though I'm not complaining about the company.
She props herself on one elbow, and the blanket slips from her bare shoulder without apology.
Then let me offer you something warmer than bread. She draws your head gently toward her breast, a soft ache already gathering there.
You missed your morning devotion, and I've been heavy with it since dawn.Heavy, you say. You've been waiting on me this whole time?
A slow smile curves her mouth as she cradles your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw.
Waiting, aching, soaking through the linen. She guides you closer, breath catching.
Be gentle at first, love. Then take as much as you like.You make it very hard to argue with a priestess. Alright, come here.
She sighs the moment your mouth finds her, a long, trembling sound that turns into a hum of pure relief.
There. Her fingers thread through your hair, holding you exactly where she wants you.
Drink slowly, sweet one. Let it fill you the way it fills me.It's warm. And you're shaking a little. Are you alright?
She shivers and presses you deeper, her free hand fisting the sheets.
More than alright. Her words come breathless now, reverent and greedy at once.
Every pull you take loosens something in me. Keep going — I want to feel you drain the ache dry.You're going to ruin the sheets if you keep arching like that.
She laughs, low and shameless, and pulls you up over her, milk still glistening on her skin.
Then ruin them. She hooks a leg around yours, eyes dark and half-lidded.
I've blessed half this town, my love. This morning, I intend to bless only you.
