Thread: Lonely Lies the Crown (Annabeth & Khaos)

You cannot wear a dress for what we are about to do. ...what we are about to do. ...about to do. Rennes' words echoed in her mind as Seraphine's heart tripped in her chest. His hands on her waist had been expected, and she was only mildly puzzled when Rennes pulled her away from Fidlit. But when Rennes slowly lowered her, allowing her body to brush, no be pulled, down his, Seraphine shivered though only she knew it wasn't from the cold, damp silk clinging to her body. The way he caressed her somewhat still girlish hips and then ran them up to her shoulders caught Seraphine's breath and she was unable to let it out from the sensual tension, almost agony, of him undressing her. He'd done it too many times in the past to feel odd, when she was a child and as often as the day before. Never though, never, had it felt like it was anything more than that. Seraphine gasped when the silk stuck to and then pulled off of her breasts, the fabric exquisitely intense on her nipples. Like a doll, Seraphine was turned by his hand and looked up into his eyes with feminine wonder and more than a little fear. ...about to do. Then he was gone, leaving Seraphine standing dumbfounded in his absence. Almost she reached for him, her body knowing even if she was yet ignorant, and then he was back with a set of rough, oversized clothing. His own, she realized. It smelled like him and the coarseness of it mimicked his hands. Gaining control of herself, the only sign of it a flush in her cheeks, Seraphine stood and allowed herself to be dressed as she had been every day of her life. When he was done, her composure was back and even though she felt a burning in her tummy and an odd tingle between her legs, Seraphine wore the cool mask of a face she did in the palace. As she did every other lesson, Seraphine paid attention and followed her tutors instructions. Sit so, press here with your feet and there with your thighs to make the horse understand what you wanted. It was very odd to have her legs held so widely splayed atop Brouillard's mighty back, and it pressed her cleft down uncomfortably along a seam in Rennes' pants. A seam that began to slip to and fro as she rode, causing her to squirm and lift her bottom from the leather of the saddle, only to almost miss it and press it back down again in an indecisive shuffle. Enough, she finally said, voice tight and awkward. Without waiting on him the young princess pulled her leg free of one side and slid down from the horse. Hitching at her belt that attempted to hold Rennes' trousers up, she stepped back from the mighty warhorse and towards her own, more familiar mount. There was an odd damp patch showing on the cloth between her legs, faintly visible but unmistakable to Rennes' eyes. We will return now, Rennes, she directed in her official voice. Moving so her horse was between them, the princess pulled off his clothing, letting it fall into a haphazard pile, and donned her now very much worse for the wear dress in its place. Taking Fidlit's reins, she walked a half dozen steps down the path and waited for Rennes to gather their things and help her to mount. Seraphine's body language was rigidly tense, barely under control, but it was under control with the will she'd been raised to possess.