Page 26 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

It had been so easy to talk to her. Owain had never felt so light and accepted as he had in the forest with her. He talked to her about things he rarely ever mentioned to other people. As he walked back into his rooms from the balcony, his mind wandered back to her; the way she touched him when he told her about his mom, and the way she looked at him when he healed her finger. He felt his cock stiffen at the thought of tasting her again and how he wanted to taste her in more places. As many places as she would allow.

With Orla’s face swimming in his mind, he reached down to undo his trousers. He pulled out his stiff, aching length, the head already leaking precum at the thought of her taste, and began to stroke himself.

He started off slowly, slicking the precum down his shaft before stroking from root to tip as he thought of the way she smiled and how her skin felt as he ran circles over her palm. He picked up the pace of his strokes, squeezing his cockhead with each stroke as he imagined kissing her full, sensuous mouth. The thought made him moan with pleasure. He wondered how her tongue would feel against his and the sounds she would make if he bit her lower lip. His balls tightened as his pace increased, hips thrusting to meet his hand, thinking about the way her trousers hugged her sinful curves or the glimpse of her dark nipples that he had seen under her sheer nightgown. He came with a grunt, Orla’s name on his lips, thinking of how good it would feel to have those curves beneath him.

Chapter Thirteen

It had been the most peaceful night Orla had in ages. Instead of the usual nightmares of battlefields and death that dogged her each night, she dreamed of Owain. The dreams came in pieces; the gold flecks in his eyes, the color of his hair, the way his smile lifted higher on the right side. She had even slept in long after she would have usually woken. When she did, a tray of breakfast and tea waited for her with a note. Clearly Owain had snuck in while she slept.

Meet me in your garden at noon.

-O.

With nothing to do with her morning, she decided to relax with a bath. She ran the warm water, adding the herbs she was so fond of. It surprised Orla that she wasn’t more tense after her run-in with Ser Oleander. Usually, exchanges like that made her feel on edge for days, but yesterday it felt like a tiny blip in an otherwise good day. How strange it was, not to be ruled by her nerves.

She grabbed her washrag and set to work. Her fingers were stained with blackberry juice and there was dirt under her fingernails from all the foraging. After scrubbing herself clean, she sank into the tub until the water reached her neck. Orla held her hand above the water, examining the finger that Owain had healed without leaving so much as a scratch. The thought of his mouth on her made her core clench just as it had in the forest. She had thought he might kiss her after that.

Did she want him to kiss her? She hadn’t felt this way in a long time; since before Fontina. If she was being honest, maybe she had never felt this way. She had lovers and enjoyable sex, but she had never craved another person’s presence the way she was beginning to crave Owain’s. She had always gone through the motions with her lovers, never feeling as connected to them as she assumed she should be. But despite her hatred of being at court, spending time with Owain was becoming something she looked forward to.

As her hand slowly trailed down her plush stomach, she thought of his touch. The way he tucked her hair behind her ears and how he admitted he had wanted to suck her finger when he healed her. She felt an ache start to grow between her thighs.

Slowly, she stroked her fingers through her slick core, gently circling her most sensitive place. As she did, she imagined it was his hand on her. She wondered how it would feel to have him touching her; she imagined his smile as she plunged a finger inside her wet center, a moan escaping her lips. She worked in tandem, a finger inside her and her thumb circling her clit.

She felt her orgasm building low in her belly. With her other hand, she pinched her nipple, crying out at the sensation. Water splashed over the edge of the tub as she became lost in the sensation of touching herself, wishing it was Owain who was bringing her to climax. She increased the pressure on her clit, continuing to build towards that delicious release she craved as she slipped a second finger inside herself. Over and over, she pumped into herself. All at once, she broke. Roses burst out of her at the intensity of her orgasm while she let out a sharp cry as her core clenched around her hand.

Orla was shocked at the flowers floating around her. Chest heaving, she looked around to see the tub and every surface in the washroom covered in rose petals.

* * *

When she met Owain in the garden that afternoon, her face heated at the memory of how much thinking of him had affected her in the bath. Such a thing had never happened to her before and she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

Sitting on one of the stone benches while sharpening his sword with a whetstone, he looked even more handsome than usual today. He was dressed in dark blue trousers and a tight-fitting white tunic that accentuated the golden tan of his skin. It was warmer out than she expected, the sun high in the sky, highlighting the light dusting of freckles that danced across his nose. His smile was easy and relaxed, but there was a heat behind those beautiful blue eyes.

“Less pressure,” she said, nodding to the sword and stone in his hand. He raised an eyebrow in question. “You’re out of practice with sharpening those swords; you’re using too much pressure and you’ll damage your blade.” He chuckled at her jab before putting the stone and sword aside.

“You know, I’ve trained a lot of people before, but never a goddess,” he said, his smile growing wider as he took her in. She had opted for wearing a simple sunflower yellow dress that brought out the rich color of her skin and white leather stays over her dress that accentuated her curves. Her braids were pulled up in a high ponytail at the crown of her head.

“Goddess, I am not,” she retorted with a snort. “But I am eager to learn. Though I doubt there is much you can teach me since you are not a nymph.”

“You’d be surprised at the things I could teach you.” He winked at her, grinning at the innuendo.

“Hardly. I’m no blushing maiden, Owain,” she replied.

“I should hope not; that would be terribly boring.” He flashed that devastating grin at her.

“Are you here to flirt or to train me?”

“Why not both?”

She rolled her eyes at his brazenness, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy him being such a flirt. Something had changed between them during their time in the forest. Both of them felt like they could be themselves without the baggage of their backgrounds or their history.

They began their training simply enough. Owain asked her to show him what magic she possessed, and Orla demonstrated all she felt safe doing. She made flowers bloom and close and made a small seed sprout into a sapling. That was the extent of what she felt comfortable trying.

As she walked him through the scope of her magic, her thoughts would drift to her father. When she was young, she tried to show him what her magic was capable of. Duncan was not a soft man. In many ways, he was the epitome of an Elven male, concerned with strength and status, despite the fact that he fell in love with a nymph.

When she was eleven, she had come to him with a beautiful orange dahlia that she made bloom even though it was the middle of winter and the plant should have been out of season. It was the first time she had really used her magic, and she was so proud of herself. He looked down at her outstretched hand with the little orange flower in her palm and rolled his eyes in contempt. “What’s the point of growing pretty flowers,” he had said to her before taking the flower and tossing it in the dirt.

Even now, she could feel the tears well in her eyes, as she saw the beautiful thing she created lying limp on the ground. After that day, she didn’t like to mention her magic to him. It would burst out of her at odd intervals when she felt particularly strong emotions. Once, after one of the boys in her village pushed her to the ground and called her a hybrid freak, she had made vines grow around his legs. He looked horrified when they crept up his body, and Orla couldn’t stop them until that snaked around his torso.