Ban Ard, 1246
Geralt grimaced as three noblewomen approached the table. He had overheard their conversation, and he wasn't looking forward to what was going to happen next.
One of his least favorite rumors was that witchers would do anything for money.
One of the women sat down right across from him and tittered into her hand. "How much for the night?" she asked.
One of the other women came up beside her. "I can pay more than she can," she insisted.
"And I more still than that," the third drawled, bending over to show off her cleavage.
Just as Geralt was about to open his mouth to explain that he was a witcher and therefore not for sale, a large bag of coin that he recognized clinked onto the table in front of him.
"More than that, ladies?" Robin wondered, raising an eyebrow at him expectantly.
All of them wrinkled their noses and pulled back as Geralt smirked and held out his hand, then pulled her into his lap. They looked at her smooth skin and high, bouncing breasts with obvious jealousy and immediately departed.
"They'd be mortified if they knew you were 32," Geralt teased. "I'm sure they think you a fresh, young thing."
She shook her head as he kissed her cheek. "One of the benefits of being a mage, I suppose, though I'm not sure it outweighs all the rest," she observed.
Jaskier strode over and joined them, eyeing the purse sitting on the table. "Well, Geralt, have you abased yourself so as to get us bed, board, and lodging?" he joked, even though he recognized the purse as well.
"That's more your department, Jaskier," Geralt replied archly.
"Ah, it is," he agreed. "And I'm going to get right on it."
He winked and strode off. Robin rested her finger in the cleft of Geralt's chin and turned his head until he was gazing at her.
"So," she murmured, "what will you do to me for money like that?"
"Mmm. Anything you want," Geralt promised.
"Improvise," she challenged him.
"Gladly," he growled.
He undid the ties on her gown as he carried her up the stairs over his shoulder. She giggled the whole way, staying pliant and letting him shift her as he needed to get everything off once they were in the privacy of the rooms she had paid for upon her arrival.
Once he had her naked, he lifted her, slinging her legs over his shoulders, staying at his full height. She squeaked and tangled her fingers in his long hair, pulling the leather thong free so the silver tresses draped over her thick thighs.
She loved that he could lift her like this, and that she never had to worry about him dropping her. He was strong and sure.
She groaned as he sucked marks into her pale flesh, then pressed forward to lick and suck at her, moving one of his hands so that he could slip three fingers inside of her.
She whined and squirmed, bouncing on his fingers, her breasts and bottom quivering. "Oh, Geralt!" she cried.
He kept sucking and licking as she came around his fingers, gasping in delight. He looked up at her from between her legs, his golden eyes dark with desire.
"Can I suck your cock, Geralt?" she requested.
The mentioned appendage twitched at the suggestion, and before long, he was sitting on the bed, laying back and stretching out in the center of it, just the way he knew she liked it best.
He pulled off his shirt while she removed his boots and trousers. Then she arranged herself beside him, her breasts pressing against his massive thigh as she bent to take him into her mouth.
Geralt's breath hitched and his eyes rolled back into his head. "That's so good, little mage," he praised her. "Don't stop, please."
She didn't, bobbing faster, sucking harder. He throbbed against her tongue, his hips pumping involuntarily, pushing himself deeper. She moaned and accepted him exquisitely, as she always did.
Just when he was on the verge of climax, she let him slip from between her lips and swung herself over him, straddling his hips and taking him inside her.
"Fuck," he grunted, thrusting up into her, his hands clasping her bottom.
He smacked her ass roughly and she bit her lip and moaned loudly.
"Let me kiss you, Robin," he begged.
She bent to kiss him while they writhed. They both panted into each other's mouths as they came together. He held her down against his hips, spilling deep inside her as she spasmed.
Before she'd even finished, he'd flipped her onto her back and started moving again, kissing her over and over, plunging in and out of her with the perfect depth and precision to start making her come yet again.
And he kept going, drawing another orgasm out of her, then another, then another.
When they were wrapped up in each other like this, his kisses so ardent, his body so attuned to hers, his sole goal to give her as much pleasure as possible, it was so hard to accept that he didn't love her. In her mind, this wasn't the kind of attention you gave to someone you didn't love.
But this was Geralt. If he did something, he wanted to do it well, and she had to remember that that was all there was to it. A cold logic that somehow still managed to fill her veins with thrumming passion.
He drew one more finish out of her before letting himself go again, collapsing on top of her and burying his face in her neck. He knew she liked his weight to press her into the bed after, and she knew he liked to be stroked and petted as he came down from his high.
She couldn't stop the tears from falling down her cheeks as she held him.
He'd mentioned her age downstairs. She wondered how long she had to live, and how many of those years would be without him.
He raised his head and frowned at her. "What's wrong, little mage?" he whispered tenderly. "Did I hurt you?"
She shook her head. "No, Geralt," she assured him. "You just made me feel very good. That's all."
He tilted his head curiously, his brow still furrowed. He didn't quite believe her, and she knew that. But she also knew he wouldn't ask for more until she was ready to give it.
And it was obviously a thought she would never part with.
His face softened and he bent to kiss her tears away.
She let him, closing her eyes and imagining a world where the only thing that was different was that he loved her.