Page 36 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

“I knew you’d take directions well,” he said before he began kissing her slow and deep until she no longer tasted herself on his tongue.

Owain rose from the bed and went to the washroom, coming back with a warm towel. He slowly began to clean Orla up while she floated back down to reality. Even the towel was too much on her swollen, oversensitive sex. That was the most intense sexual experience she had ever had. Her mind felt sluggish, like it was trying to catch up to being on the receiving end of that much pleasure.

Owain walked over to the other side of the bed, and she could see his erection tenting his pants. He crawled next to her, cradling her against his strong body, and slowly started rubbing soft circles along her back.

“Your power is beautiful, Orla. But it was especially beautiful to see that power as you came.”

“That was… There are no words,” she said. He chuckled and bent low to kiss her forehead before pulling the duvet over the two of them, paying no mind to the myriad of flowers surrounding them.

“What about you?” She had intended to have all of him tonight, but she was so wrung out she felt like gelatin. Her mind unable to comprehend the joy of being with him in this way.

“You already bring me so much pleasure, Orla. Besides, I told you I wanted to take care of you.” He kissed her forehead again, continuing to trace lazy circles on her back. And in the blissful haze of her orgasms, Orla drifted to sleep, feeling safe and cared for in Owain’s arms.

Chapter Twenty

It was still early; the night sky hadn’t fully surrendered itself to the break of dawn when Owain awoke. The previous night was everything Owain had ever dreamed of. Tasting Orla, feeling her come on his hands and his tongue again and again, it was euphoric.

It had felt amazing to share so much of himself and his life with Orla the previous night. After telling her about his mother, he felt like he was finally being seen. As though she was truly getting to know him. Not the lord or the bastard. Not the warrior or the court politician. Just Owain. His whole life was a game of wearing the right mask at the right time. How freeing would it be for even one person to actually see him? To have Orla see him.

Owain was always an early riser, getting up well before dawn most days no matter the time he went to sleep. That morning, as he readied himself for the day, the memories of the previous night were so powerful he had pumped himself dry, twice, at the thought of her before bathing and getting dressed. He would have to meet with Chrys and the lords today. Have to sort out how he could spin not using Orla as a scapegoat as a benefit towards their plans instead of a hindrance.

She was still asleep, sprawled naked on his bed looking every bit the goddess he knew her to be. It would be a few hours before he needed to meet with Chrys, so he grabbed his glasses and took the opportunity to draw. He had put a lot of effort over the years to painstakingly hone the craft. It had begun when he was a boy. His father hadn’t allowed portraits of Owain’s mother in his estate, so Owain had begun drawing her face from memory. It was easy enough, as her face was his. They had the same sharp cheekbones, the same long straight nose, though his mother’s was smooth, not having broken it like Owain had, and the same blue almond-shaped eyes.

Over the years, he moved on from portraits and would draw whatever most interested him. Landscapes were a favorite of his.

For all the challenges of his youth, Owain had been a privileged male. As the bastard born third son of a king, not much was expected of him. He joined his father’s battalion when he was twenty-one but had never taken being a warrior all that seriously. For many years, he didn’t see battle, instead acting as an envoy to other kingdoms alongside Aengus. He had seen every kingdom on the Continent of Esrom and had even traveled into Iridaceae, a place few in the kingdoms got to visit.

Every place he would go, he would draw. Whole canvases filled with images of the purple mountains of Iridaceae, the lush golden fields of Urdhe, and the warm sandy beaches of Mondseer. But now, his muse was a little closer to home.

Pulling out his charcoal and parchment, Owain set to work drawing Orla’s delicate hand and the filigree ring sitting on her middle finger. He had seen the old bookshop on his trip to the port and suspected they would have the kind of book he was looking for, but as he walked around Imsil, he had also chanced upon a jewelry shop. The ring looked perfect on her long, delicate fingers. The emerald and gold bringing out the undertones of her dark skin.

Owain gazed at her hand perched on his empty pillow as if she were reaching for him. He loved the look of it, her having his ring on her finger. Well, it wasn’t his ring. Just a ring he had given to her, but he wished it could have symbolized more. Sweet abyss, he was in trouble; one night of giving Orla pleasure and he was ready to commit everything he had to her.

Though he suspected she had wanted all of him the previous night, it didn’t feel right taking his pleasure. There was too much about him that she didn’t know, and he wanted her to know all of him before they took that step.

An hour passed before she stirred, arms stretching overhead, putting her full breasts on display. If he hadn’t been shirking his responsibilities for the last several days to tend to her, he would plunge himself right back between her thick thighs. But he knew the other lords’ patience with him was growing thin. He had never divulged what he learned about the state of the king’s army, and he needed updates on what strategic allies they could count on after the king’s death.

She rose to a sitting position, gaze falling on him as her face broke into a wide smile. “You’re up early.” She yawned.

“I have meetings to attend to,” he said, rising from the armchair. She groaned. “I was hoping I’d get to taste you today.” The offer was more than tempting. But if he wanted to keep her safe, he had to meet with the lords today.

Maybe this evening he could come clean about some of the parts of his history he kept hidden, and then he could share his pleasure with her. “You have no idea how much I’d love to get back in that bed with you. But I’ll be back later. Will you stay here today?”

She shook her head. “I have… I planned to head into town for a bit today.”

That was surprising, Orla avoided being anywhere as crowded as the city if she could help it. He walked over and cupped her face, taking her mouth into a deep, searing kiss.

Looking into her eyes, he told her that the butler would be up shortly with her breakfast. “Stay safe, Orla. And send a missive if you need me,” he said, giving her another quick kiss before he headed for the door.

* * *

He knocked once on Chrys’s door before entering. Chrys had never been a morning person. Though, usually that was because he would get so deep in his cups each evening that the male lost all semblance of time. Sure enough, Chrys was getting out of bed, brown hair tangled, eyes puffy with sleep.

Chrys’s room was much smaller than Owain’s due to Chrys’s status. Even though he was Advisor to the Heir Presumptive, the kingdoms still treated him like a bastard. The room consisted of a simple bedchamber and washroom. The bed was small with a silver brocade duvet and large pillows. There was a chest at the edge of the bed, opened to reveal Chrys’s clothes and an assortment of weapons he had thrown haphazardly inside it.

Owain walked over to the bedroom window and pushed open the heavy fabric curtains. Chrys’s room was on the opposite side of the hall from Owain’s and overlooked the courtyard entrance to the palace. A decent place to watch the comings and goings of the various court attendants. Chrys hissed at the brightness now streaming in through his window.

“You couldn’t have waited until I was dressed? Or at least until I had my first glass of ale?” He rubbed his hands over his face before heading over towards the washroom.