Or why. And I think — well, of course. I mean — is this a new game? Is this a game you know? Is this a game I will like?
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I — I thought elves did not. Now I am feeling — unsure — again. Is it me? Are there things everyone but me knows? Why do I never — never — feel — as though I am — I have not the words — but — I thought by now — I would not be so easily lost. This world — I am forever stumbling — trying to understand — to please him — and — and I thought — I thought it was that I am an elf — but — now — he must think it is me — that I am very foolish.
Wagner loves what
I will tell you tomorrow. I — I am very tired of looking at this wall. And — I really, really do not wish to think about Noldor. Any of them. I am rearranging things. Come here then, you are too tall standing. He takes my hands, and leads me to the bed, and I — I am concentrating so much on him, that I am sat down before I notice what he has done. Because you are beautiful. And I like to look at you. I like — very much — very, very much — to look at you. And I think you might like the sight too. Now he looks — very impatient indeed — and around me huff a score of dwarves — reflected over and over.
You have no idea, my beloved, how you look when I play with you. How you flush, how you wriggle, how — oh my elf — how you look when I am in you. How your eyes shine, how your skin glows, how — oh fucks sake, just relax and trust me. I shrug.
I think I will not say that — I do not care what I look like. I know how he looks. And — to be honest — it is not the looks that matter. When — when we — love — it is how it feels, the words he speaks — that is what matters to me. But — I suppose this is not too alarming, as games go. I want to watch you, but — I want you to see me watching you. Comb for me, touch your pretty ears, and — I would like to see you touch yourself. I am flushed, I can see that. I — I do not know — not really — why he would want this.
The combing — he asked me to before — and — yes, it — it was good.
The Wager (Sisters of Scandal, #2) by Lily Maxton
But — oh, why do I bother to try and understand? If it is what he wants, he has never yet led me wrong in this. I nod, and I find — I am shy. Daft elf, I tell myself, how can you be shy? This is your love, your One, your only, the other half of your soul.
go What is there to be shy about? I — I comb myself, and he watches. His eyes, reflected at me, so I cannot turn away, and — I feel — nervous. For no good reason. I want to hear your thoughts, my sweet love, tell me what you think of as you comb. What is it love? You can ask. This — is not about me being in control.
It is more — that you have to try whatever I suggest. Let me watch your fingers in your hair, let me see your hands on your ear-tips. And — when you are ready — you can tell me what you are thinking. I will tell you what I am thinking of — I am thinking how lovely you look, how flushed you are already, how hard you are getting listening to me.
Can you see me touching myself? Do you like that? I think you do, you are breathing faster, your song — oh your sweet song — is changing. It means — I love you, I want you — you do things to me I still — still — do not understand.
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I need you. Your song — you do know you sing all the time — it shows your mood. I read you by it. Your face — hardly changes, only your ear colour sometimes — but — your song changes. I — I suppose the tone might change. Is that what you mean? You have stopped combing.
Did I say you could stop, love? But, now you have, touch yourself — your ears, and then — I want to see you touch your cock as you touched yourself when you missed me. And now, now I am beyond embarrassment. I am flushed, I am — oh I am watching him, watching his pleasure — watching him touch himself — and — I find I can — do as he does — and — oh.
I did not know — I did not know this could feel so — look so — he is — oh I love him — he is so — so — beautiful and — he wants me. I am begging, and I am not going to look in these — cruel — mirrors — I do not want to see myself like this — I keep looking at him instead, wondering if he is really going to make me wait, wondering why. Trust me, ghivashel. Look at me. Just look. Tell me what you want. It is all very well for you, I think, you are a dwarf.
Made for long distance, made to endure, to keep going. I am not. And — I barely know the words for what I want — at least — I have not spoken them — I am not — not gifted with words. But — oh — I do know — I know so well — what I want — and — and I realise — maybe he wants to hear me speak — maybe I need to try. His hand is still now, he is watching me, waiting. I bite my lip, doubtful. But as I wonder, I cannot help but look at him. I do not want to look anywhere else. He — he is so — so beautiful. Oh sweet Elbereth, find me words. I stare, and my world narrows, until all I can think of is how — how fucking good — he looks.
His muscles, his strength, oh dear Eru, how did I deserve this? I — yes? He smiles, and I know he is trying not to laugh, I know he finds it funny — pleasing, but funny — how much I like this — but — I do. I shall ignore that. I do not care. And he keeps speaking, and oh — his hands are — where they should be — and he breathes — and oh — he tastes — and oh — I do so love this.