Snow Storm

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The first snow coated the castle in a blanket of thick white. Servants rushed about stoking the coals in the braziers. Even then our breath turned white when we spoke, and hot water cooled very quickly.

With war approaching, I promised Lisbet that I would stay longer.

My lioness purred and nuzzled my neck. She was pleased. My presence gave her strength. We had made love beneath the sheets, our skin against skin, mouth on mouth. She cried out when I stroked her innermost parts and slipped my moistened finger in. I relished her writhing and moans. What joy. What beauty. What power. One day she would roar like a lion and the realm would hear her song. Spent, she collapsed across me, her heat like banked fire. We had pushed away the sheets. Our bodies flamed in the chamber. I could hear the faint whispers of the growing snow storm, the hissing against the closed wooden windows.

Halfway in the night, she rose, nude, from the bed. I watched she take up her sword resting scabbarded against the chamber's wall. The half-light from the dimming candles glowed on her skin, caressing her small but well-formed breasts. As she moved through the drills, I watched. Her breathing grew steady, her chest heaved. Muscles moved along her arms as she twisted and turned, her sword gleaming. I slipped out of the sheets to join her. Her skin glistened faintly of sweat.

We moved in tandem, like a dance. Her eyes on me, mine on hers. Then, laughing, we threw our swords down and tumbled on the floor. It was freezing. We did not care. She moved against me, her breasts swaying, and groaned when my mouth found her nipple. "More," she whispered. Her parts were wet, she was fast reaching climax. My hips ground against hers. I too was losing myself in the pain and pleasure. "More!" she begged.

She cried out, sharply and climaxed, her hips grinding hard. Then we curled against each other, breathing slowly, together.


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