Gold Weaver | ✓

achtzehn

After a few more minutes, I stood up.

"Goodbye, Vincent," I said from the door.

He didn't get up to see me out, but I heard his voice from the living room.

"Goodbye, Eleanor."

.  .  .

I rolled around in bed, unable to get to sleep.

It was pitch black, just how I liked it at night, but I couldn't get comfortable. Something felt wrong.

"I'd appreciate if you didn't lurk in the corner of my bedroom," I said, face still on the pillow.

I heard his chuckle. I turned to watch as he stepped into the light finding its way in through the window.

"What would you rather?" He asked.

"That you say 'hello' or 'how are you' like a normal, less stalkerish person."

He chuckled. "I'll try that next time."

I sat up on my bed. "Why are you here, Almar?"

I hadn't seen him in so long. I knew how wrong it was, what it would mean, what message it would send but I yearned to touch him. To feel him. Like how we used to be before things got impossibly complicated.

I didn't need to hear his answer to know why.

"Let me stay the night, Eleanor," he said, coming closer to the bed. I didn't move, but followed him with my eyes. "Please."

Even in the dark, he saw me nod.

His lips found mine.

I moved mine against his, savouring his taste, savouring his touch. And I realised, after a few moments, that he seemed intent on doing the same.

He knelt against the bed, refusing to relieve my lips from his, and pushed himself into me. I followed his lead and put every part of me I could against him, the distinct clawing in my abdomen wanting ever more.

There wasn't much running through my mind— nothing about my dad, thank god, or his fiancée or the King— even as his hands wandered under the light material of my nightie. As his fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of my stomach, my mind was solely focused on him. On the feeling of him against me. On the way he was still able to make my body follow his every whim.

His touch was soft, gentle, like he knew as I did that leaving our mark on one another wouldn't be in the form of hickies or pleasure induced bruises, but instead be in knowing that our love, in that moment, felt eternal.

His fingers drifted up my form, until they began to leisurely caress my breasts. Taking his time in puckering each of my nipples, I was left to deal with the ache in my groin with my mind alone. I, like him, wanted to make this moment last as long as possible, so I kept my whining for more to myself.

"Almar," I said instead, more of a sharp exhale than anything else as my hips pushed into his on their own accord just as his lips travelled to my neck, teeth skimming against my skin.