Payment - Wynter

‘I feel I should know your name,’ she said quickly. The words tumbling forth. She looked down at the man who knelt so patiently beside her. As though he was about to propose with a ring. Where had that idea come from? Her breath caught again.

‘Fin,’ he replied with a smirk before shaking his head, ‘I’ll need to concentrate, to make sure there’s nothing left in your blood when I close the wounds.’

Wynter nodded quickly. Fin. It seemed so ordinary, such a normal man for a man who was anything but. She closed her eyes, feeling the first prickle of magic against her skin. At first it was uncomfortable, the sense of heat washing over her ankle. Then it was as though she had stepped into a warm bath.

The magic swept over her body, slowly rising in waves. She shivered, wrapping her arms tight around her elbows. Pulse after pulse of magic slipped through her body, rising and falling. Undulating with gentle determination as it wrapped around her. She was surrounded by it. All the little hurts and marks upon her skin fading fast.

As though she was floating in an ocean of hot water, relaxed, tranquil. But oh so aware of the man who shared his power with her. The magic that was distinctly his. It had an added thrill, like an undercurrent of danger. A spicy, masculine scent in a field of wildflowers.

Wynter found herself swaying, struggling to keep her concentration as Fin moved his hands over her ankles, then carefully up her legs.

‘Lift your skirts,’ he encouraged and she did so. Gathering them in her hands, held at her sides, bunching the fabric until the linen brushed the backs of her knees. It felt incredibly lewd and intimate, to lift her skirts for a stranger. Yet a small voice whispered that it was only practical so that he could see what he was doing.

That beyond her knees, he wouldn’t be able to see anything at all. Yet even her sensible thoughts, couldn’t stop her trembling as his hands ran back and forth over her legs. She bit the inside of her cheek, rather than whimper. This was wrong. This was a stranger. She was supposed to be better than a penny harlot.

Was that what she was these days? She couldn’t claim to be a noblewoman and she wasn't innocent. So was she someone who fell in and out of love with the rising moon? She’d always considered herself to be steadfast, loyal. Maybe Malachi was right, maybe she was stupid, a liar, a cheat.

Tears threatened to prick the back of her eyes before the last of her pain faded. The ache in her heart and the tightness in her chest. The sense of pleasure washed over her, and she arched, tilting her head back. Gasping for air as she looked up at the sky. The last of the grey clouds had been ushered away in a light breeze.

He had finished his workings, and she could barely look at him. She was panting. It wasn’t like orgasm, the sensation that had moved through her body. It could have been the echo of one. Of pleasure experienced. Had he felt it? She knew that some healers were more intune with their patients than others.

‘And your name?’ His voice sounded hoarse, ragged. Maybe he was tired from using the magic. Wynter looked down and was captured by his gaze once more. The skin above her boots, the ankles that had been marred with criss-crossed red scratches and bleeding lines were clear of all injuries.

There was no pain left, no irritation, not even the fleeting memory of pain that had passed. But everything else fell away when she held his gaze. He had stubble, lining his chin, covering his top lip and she tried dragging more air into her lungs.

‘Wynter,’ she replied. He had felt it. He had sensed, through his magic, her physical response to him. He hadn’t moved his hands away. Instead he lifted them. He knelt before her, sliding his hands up the backs of her calves as she gripped her skirts with quivering hands.

‘Wynter…’ he breathed it, ‘with eyes like ice on a clear blue day.’ He teased the back of her knees with his fingertips and they threatened to buckle. She knew that she should look away and break the intensity between them. Yet she couldn’t.

His hands stroked back down again then up once, ‘I’m going to kiss you…’ he promised and she nodded. It had been their agreement. A kiss in exchange for his power to heal. Was it wrong that she wanted him to kiss her so badly? That her lips felt numb, tingling with anticipation.

‘This is not the kiss that I claim,’ he murmured and knelt up. She thought that he would stand, but instead he pressed his lips to the inside of her left knee. She shook, knees threatening to buckle as sparks of desire set a fire to the insides of her thighs.

‘Oh…’ she whispered and knew that she should stop him, before the madness went any further. Yet, no more than she could look away, she didn’t want to stop him. He turned his face, pushing her skirts back against her legs as she gripped them tightly.

Her palms were clammy the summer night, suddenly far too hot for comfort. Sweat beaded the back of her neck as she trembled. Unable to look away as he kissed just below her right knee, his fingers moving in dainty strokes up and down the backs of her calves.

He kissed her again, easing his lips over the skin that he’d healed, his hands slowly lifting, sliding beneath her skirts to brush the skin on the backs of her thighs. She gasped, all the fine hairs on her body lifted. Each part of her being focused on the light and teasing touches.

‘Fin…’ she didn’t recognise her own voice as she spoke his name. He hadn’t looked away, not for all his intoxicating movements. His name was a summons though and he stood. With all the grace and confidence of a warrior, he found his feet.

His hands settled on her hips, pulling her closer to his body. On weak legs she stumbled, the skirts falling away from her sides, covering her legs down to her boots once more. Her sword swinging back into place at her hip.

‘I’m going to kiss you now,’ he whispered against her lips. She nodded, breathless and dizzy with desire, she still hadn’t managed to look away. Her whole mouth felt dry, her tongue too big and too clumsy. No longer at home within her own skin, as anticipation saw her thoughts tangled up, more securely that the Roses had bound her.

He bent a little at the knee, breaking the distance between them as his lips brushed over hers. He kissed her, soft and sweetly against the mouth. Her lips parted at his touch, at the exploration of his wicked tongue.

She gasped as his hands lifted, sliding down the length of her back before one wrapped around her shoulders, the other gripped her hips and pulled her close, tight to his body.

The kiss deepened and she bent against him, held securely in his arms as he explored each part of her mouth and she tasted him in turn. He tasted of spices, cinnamon and nutmeg, or apples and something else that was wilder, like a hard liquor out of place upon his tongue. Just a kiss they had said.

She had hoped that with just a kiss her curiosity would be sated. That the kiss might end so easily and she’d carry on her way. She’d never see him again. But as his mouth roved over hers and she clung to him, she knew that desire would not be so easily dismissed. She could never be satisfied with a simple kiss.