Author's Note: This is smut and assumes you're over 18 in reading it. Tags: Dungeons & Dragons, Forgotten Realms, male human x female human: awkward flirting, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex A moment’s reprieve before the trek, that’s what things were supposed to be. A job well done back in the Blacklake District, earning them a few pricey looking prospecting maps and some tomes about the old Dwarven stronghold beneath Fourthpeak that the client wanted, and a few bags of coin and items worth pawning off. But what’s next? That’s the question that’s been on Annabelle’s mind for the past day and a half as she and Rolf celebrate their easy heist and to liquidate their ill-gotten gains. A question that, the impish and slender young woman realizes, has been on her mind ever more often. Another swig of honey mead does little to drown away the nagging words prickling her mind. What’s next? She’s known Rolf since they both were drummed up for a gig three years back. Some shady guy needing muscle and expertise for a task down at Merdelain to retrieve a few key items of interest at a family tomb that has been swallowed by the Mere of Dead Men way, way back. She, him, a wizard and another cutpurse with a bit more brawn to him than brain came back with half the goods, and warnings of some freaky robed cultists that threatened with death from spell and dragon’s breath alike. Sure, there was pay, but the call for action and the thrill of adventure was planted since then. They never separated since. Always after an assignment’s wrapped up, Annabelle was the first to ask her companion: “So what’s next?” And while they never separated their ways, Rolf and Anna, their allies did change over the many months of exploring tombs here, breaking and entering there, earning good money and a bit of a local fame of being able to get anything, fix anything, for anyone for the right price. But every time they returned to the Sleeping Dragon Bridge Inn, the question kept nagging on Annabelle’s mind. What’s next? Her drink-fogged vision draws across the din of the tavern, people milling about and celebrating at one table, or openly booing that poor minstrel at the far end for his admittedly lacklustre performance. People drinking away their woes, actual concerns or merely those imagined if her keen ears are any indication, just close by. People enjoying good company, regaling newcomers with their own tall tales of high adventure that at times sounded very familiar. Rolf, back turned to the bar counter, laughing it up with other locals after stories of swordsplay and how they got the better off of some movers and shakers within their communities. The guy’s suffered quite a few bad slashes and cuts over the years, and he looked pretty much beaten and cut up even before Annabelle got to know him. A rugged, tall and broad Waterdhavian that ended up in Neverwinter by chance, really. Poorly shaved, long tresses of oily black hair poke out from the sides of his face into thick sideburns, and his crooked nose give the warrior a rather intimidating neutral expression, pointed and almost bestial at times with the right light or a tall claim about lycanthropy. His skin has darkened considerably under the sun’s caress, only marred with streaks of light skin across his limbs and his face from dangerous half-men and dead-men alike. But how quickly that dour expression can split into a big, ear-to-ear grin that gives rise to the most boisterous and joyful laughter. Just like every time when they survive waves of undead monsters bearing down on them. Or when he catches yet another sharp weapon to his flesh or armour, barely flinching at all about pain or discomfort. Even in the tavern, he’s wearing his trademark scale plate over his blue shirt and his dark leather pants almost look marred by the big, heavy metal stompers he wears over his feet. Annabelle regards him openly, though her hanging head and her auburn hair obscures much of her gaze and expression. She wants to laugh with him, even now, even if she doesn’t know rightly just what got him laughing again, because she loves being happy with him, or for him. But that nagging question in the back of her head is making her feel uneasy. What’s next? For all her own bravado, her skill with a sword against men and women alike, she’s still not been one to really open up to people quickly. The Neverwintan streets don’t allow for such courtesies to the poorest, and it made the rogue a reserved young woman. Shy and withdrawn according to those that favour her. Aloof, arrogant even, to her detractors. She hates thinking about her past, preferring to make her own future. To make her own future with someone, recently. But what’s next? The redhead takes another swig from her drink while Rolf downs yet another tankard, ready to recount an embellished version of how they stood at Ebondeath’s grave and made away like thieves with riches uncountable – but enough to get him a few nights at the Moonstone Mask and a custom suit of armour. The former, Anna notes with a small smile, a definite fib. The latter, oh gods, how happy he was with that scale suit he got fashioned. “You should ask Red what happened, she’s the one that actually got us into that mess to begin with,” Rolf’s deep voice calls clear through the haze of the drink and the noise of the tavern around her. Six pairs of eyes turn expectantly towards the woman the tall Waterdhavian is motioning with his right hand, the big lug smiling warmly up at Anna and making her feel both light in her head, but also heavy in her stomach. Already someone raises his beer towards the self-styled duellist. “Alright, tell us! What’s next?” Anna can’t help but clam up and pull her drink closer. Rolf means well, trying to get her out of her shell, but she doesn’t appreciate it. Especially when her thoughts are pretty much dominated by him, by her, by them both, and what’s next – gods she is starting to hate the question ever more. Rolf’s not stupid, of course, laughing fondly over at the young woman before he already continues in her stead. How quick thinking on her feet got her advantages against mindless dead men, and how she used pits and traps they walked around to her advantage, how her gut instincts got them all out of a hopeless fight and to turn it into absolute domination of the cramped tunnels and halls. The lean woman keeps listening and watching, barely aware of how she ordered another drink to replace her mead halfway into the bruiser’s story. Three years along, and she can’t even muster up the courage to just tell the tall lunk she wants to– She must have missed when Rolf has finished up his tale, or for the other men near the counter to retreat to a table and continue their impromptu story telling elsewhere. The large, muscular man sets himself down besides the reserved redhead, keeping his own ale close to him. There’s a moment of silence between the two, Annabelle slowly gathering her wits and her composure. Sune bless that man, he’s absolutely the best friend she could ask for in every single way, calming her even when she’s mentally berating herself about her self-perceived shortcomings by just sitting there and letting her stew. “Not feeling it tonight?” he offers. He sounds like he’s had plenty to drink, himself, but staying mostly conscious otherwise. “Just the place being more packed than I figured, Rolf,” she answers, her dark green eyes averting from her drink to meet the Waterdhavian’s own blue peepers. “I don’t do crowds well.” “Yeah. No worries. No need to force you into a conversation. Just figured you wanted a bit of the limelight.” Rolf reaches towards her with his right arm, brushing along her shoulder. Anna actually presses herself back into his fingers, smiling up past her curling locks to him. She brushes some hair out of her face, finally bearing herself to him with that cocky smile he enjoys seeing on her. Usually, that’s the kind of smile she has when she’s got a plan. She’s got a pretty face, a little on the pale side, much like the rest of her skin. But Annabelle’s face has gained a lot of soft, rounded features since her years being a poor urchin in Neverwinter, and her freckles cross across her cheeks and nose in a way that make her look like she’s wearing a Selunite’s mask of stars. She can turn heads whenever she’s willing to face a crowd and face her shyness. She’s absolutely cute, he knows that much. Pity she isn’t that convinced. “What I want, Rolf,” Anna starts, “is an opening.” The Waterdhavian raises a dark brow in response, shaking his head just slightly, obviously not quick on the uptake. Well, she’s got enough liquid courage in to continue. Her voice trails a little uncertainly. “I mean you and me, we’ve been together for so long and you haven’t even shared a bed at an inn.” Rolf busts out into a surprised laugh, grinning broadly. His cheeks are actually slightly flushed, equal parts the drink and hearing his companion trying to be this forthcoming to him. “Come again?” “Um! You know, just sleeping. You know?” Annabelle bites her lower lip, already clamming up and watching worriedly for her surroundings. She’s got a reputation to maintain. She’s got Rolf listening raptly to her every word. She sees the bartender keeping a much too close eye on them. She sees Rolf not at all backing away or even trying to divert the topic. Aw hell, she’s in the limelight after all. “I mean. It’s been. A while. You an’ me. Together. You know?” Rolf nods after Anna, not once even dropping his smile. He’s not seen her so vulnerable like this so often, admittedly. “So how about an opening?” “An opening?” “Yeah. At an inn. Just you an’ me. ‘Cause I can’t help but feel...” Her words peter out again. Rolf just merely nods towards her, urging her to continue. His right hand gives a soft squeeze to his partner’s shoulder, his calloused fingers pressing into the sleeve of her shirt and leaving impressions of his fingertips against her skin. “I f-feel like I can’t even make a veiled attempt at hitting on you.” The warrior chuckles softly, giving his friend another reassuring squeeze. “Try me.” “I can’t help... but feel... you’re the best friend I have. An’ will ever have. An’ I feel safe with you. An’ I just want to let you know how much you mean to me and we should get an opening at an inn an’ just spent the night together in one bed and–“ Annabelle shuts up quickly, covering her mouth with her left hand, looking more and more shocked about the torrent of too much personal information just leaving her mouth rapidly that she can’t– “Sounds like a plan.” Annabelle falls silent again, biting her lower lip awkwardly. Did she hear that right? Rolf reaches for his pocket, setting down some silver on the counter. “Got a room, boss?” The exchange goes by pretty quickly. So quickly even the usually keen-eyed rogue can’t process the moment where Rolf is given a key and directions. She’s only rattled from her thoughts when she feels his hand resting on hers on the counter, squeezing once more. Annabelle swallows a moment, her mouth feeling very dry all of a sudden. “I don’ wanna be in the limelight,” she says, as if she’s repeating herself. Rolf is glowing, absolutely enjoying the way Annabelle is trying to save face. “Want me to take you out of it then?” he asks low. Anna licks her lips a moment. “I want you to take me. Upstairs. Away an’ out.” She only barely realizes the double entendre in there. She rises up from her seating. Rolf is quick to rise up as well. They’re the only ones currently standing, Annabelle realizes, looking around, looking past him, trying to just get this over with and get upstairs and clutch herself against the larger man to try and lead him along. Silly enough, Rolf is very compliant and lets her lead, smiling without a care at all while the two move through a crowd of tavern patrons seated and moving alike. Annabelle doesn’t relent and calm down until the brighter light and the din of the tavern below is giving way to the relative quiet of the bedrooms and the candles lighting the hallway. She slumps against Rolf’s side, mead and nervosity alike sapping her strength. Rolf takes over in the pace and the lead, walking his friend over towards a door on the far side of the hallway. He unlocks the door for her, letting go of his partner so she can stumble inside. Shortly after, he follows in himself, closing and locking the door behind them both. It’s a simple affair, a small table and nightstand, a spacious bed for two, a simple closet, some chairs. Annabelle regards the various candles already lighting the room, before she homes in on the bed, setting herself down on its left side. Her eyes look at Rolf’s, her expression steeling itself. She’s glowing red with embarrassment. But she sees her partner doesn’t particularly care about that. Her breathing steadies, she’s feeling herself calm just like he always makes her feel. Though her breath does hitch a bit when the Waterdhavian settles on a knee in front of her, smiling brightly up at her. “Feeling better about being out of it, Red?” Rolf asks, reaching up with his right hand to brush up from the back of her jawline to caress to the curve of her chin. The Neverwintan woman slowly nods, her heart fluttering at the softness of his touch to her pale skin. She feels her heart hitch when Rolf presses his coarse lips, cut diagonally across once before they were healed, against her jugular. His beard and sideburns lightly prick at her skin. Her hands move up to his neck and chest, holding on to him desperately. She hasn’t been this afraid and this exhilarated in quite some time. But what’s next? A kiss, apparently. A soft smooch that has her lightly rake her nails across his own neck and the steel scales of his armour. She hisses out in relaxation when his touches wander across her throat until he’s face to face with her, not pushing for the kiss, or forcing himself on her. “I wanted this for so long,” she finally murmurs, leaning down to press her ruby painted lips against the Waterdhavian’s own, sucking lightly, awkward but very willing. He reciprocates, slowly pressing up into her mouth, letting his lips work hers apart until he’s nipping, sucking on her lower lip. The Neverwintan woman rocks herself closer against the man, hugging him against her chest. His hands wander. Caress across the hem of her jerkin, along the silk of her shirt. Wanders down to her trousers, slowly caressing along her slender, muscular legs. She spreads them for him. She wanted this opening so much. The bruiser draws his face away from hers, reaching up to slowly undo the straps of her leather vest and the buttons of her shirt. Annabelle is freezing up against her clothing being peeled away from her arms and body alike, watching how her companion takes his time in stripping her from her garments, down to the magical wards she wears against her throat and over her heart. He’s careful about disentangling the silver necklace with wards she wears so it doesn’t tangle with her long, curling hair, as red as a blaze. She’s absolutely silent until she squeaks out to his tender kisses to her naked collarbone and the dimple of her breasts across her heart, as if he’s kissing every tiny freckle on her chest. Annabelle shrugs and draws her clothing away from her arms and back, baring herself towards him until he moves to undo the straps of her bodice covering her midsection and her breasts. When the bodice is slowly undone, the pretty redhead sits up straight, breathing sharply through her nostrils. Sitting half naked before her trusted companion causes her to become very painfully aware of her own body. Like the way her small, conical breasts jut out just slightly from her. Or how puffy and plump her pink, pale areolas stand out from her tits. In the cool of the room, however, and the heat of the moment, her nipples have very much become tight, wrinkled and hard. Perhaps to any other man, her breasts are small and unsightly. To him, however, they are enticing. Rolf slowly reaches up to brush his thumbs over her sensitive little teats and the puffy flesh standing out from her breasts. His fingers feel hard against those receptive mounds dotting her breasts. “More,” she murmurs low towards her companion. Rolf draws his face down towards the duellist’s chest, his beard’s hairs brushing over her breasts until he’s pretty much taking her left nipple into his warm, inviting mouth, sucking on the engorged areola and wrinkled little nipple. Her hands wrap around his dark hair, stroking the man’s locks in her fingers, catching them between her digits and holding him tightly in place. Her voice breaks into a soft, low moan, only hitching and breaking when his teeth dare to pinch at her hardened and sensitive flesh. Rolf murmurs softly against her when she’s crying out, enjoying the soft sounds she makes with his every nibble and suck. And he even gets to do this twice over. Annabelle gives a light push, breathing heavily when she sees her partner look a little surprised at her response. “My turn. Come up here,” she says, patting on the bed at her own left side. Well, who’s Rolf to deny her, then? The dark-haired man slowly rises to join her on the bed, making the bed creak precariously under his weight joining hers. Dressing down a man, however, Anna finds a lot less interesting or enticing compared to allowing him to dress her down one layer at a time. For one, the guy wears a lot more. So used to the steel he has commissioned for himself, he’s almost always wearing his scale armour, and today is no different. But his long, thick limbs stretch out to her slender hands wandering across them to undo buckles and straps alike. With one arm freed, he strokes Annabelle’s backside and soft fiery hair in his right hand, while his companion all but leans into him to undo the other straps of his armour. His gentle stroking of her naked back pauses only when he lifts one layer of protective clothing over his neck and shoulders after the other, until he’s left in a bright blue shirt that very quickly is opened along the front much like her own shirt was. Her diligent fingers wander under the buttons and across his scarred skin, undoing the last barrier’s clasps until she bares his sun-kissed, muscular body. His fingers return to her back, gently pulling her in towards him. “Go on. Take your time,” he encourages her. So she will. Her lips brush over his throat, working down along his collarbone towards the weighty clasp he wears around his own neck. She lifts it up from him as well, slowly lifting the weighty gilded chain and necklace from his neck until she sets it away on the ground with the rest of his clothing and gear. She breathes deep against him again when she leans in towards his pecs, his smell peculiar, but familiar. Her lips kiss across the dark curls covering his chest, moving towards his own nipples. She testingly lets her fingers wander across his own crinkling tips, before she dares a kiss and a suck to the right nipple herself. It’s surprising to her how that earns a low groan and a gentle, steady rub to the base of her skull, Rolf stroking through her hair tenderly. The dark nipple is slowly teased with her own dragging teeth, her hands wandering across the light lines and the deep, long-since-healed cuts across his abdomen, snaking her way down towards his groin. She draws herself up against him, hungrily kissing at Rolf’s neck, until he leans down to join in a just as needful kiss. The Waterdhavian gently pulls the Neverwintan woman closer against his warm self, his own left hand crossing past Annabelle’s right, slowly inching his fingers across the woman’s nethers through her pants. The woman’s thighs slowly part for his fingers brushing across her mound through her undergarments and her own leather pants. Her own hands pause at the sizeable bulge she’s starting to stroke along its swelling length through his own britches and his briefs. She can’t believe herself – she’s all but pawing away at his cock. She realizes he’s pausing too, stopping to regard her and tell her she’s going too far and– “You’re beautiful, you know that?” Rolf asks. Annabelle shudders when she’s torn from her thoughts to see Rolf absolutely glowing down at her. “Lie back on the bed, Red,” he says, slowly sitting up straight and giving her inner thighs a slow, long stroke down her right leg. She can’t help but slowly lean back, bringing her hands up against her chest to prop her small breasts up a little. He carefully begins to strip off her boots, casting them aside on the floor with a pair of thuds. Then he pulls her dainty feet free from the clutches of her socks. His fingers wander across her naked feet, which makes her squirm in place against the covers and the pillow. Her right hand slowly moves down to help Rolf’s efforts in removing her clothing from her legs, pants and knickers alike, until she’s lying back naked in front of the Waterdhavian, her legs slowly closing together again. Her limbs are gorgeously lined with freckles, much like her chest and face. And while thin, much like her body is, she’s wiry, sinewy muscles lurking under her soft and mostly unmarred skin that can spring to action. So tense, though. The bruiser slowly rises to his feet, feeling at his own waistline for his pants’ belt until he removes it from its clasp as well, slowly stripping down in front of the prone naked redhead. She turns towards the man, watching him flex his rump on every bend downwards, or stand up straight again right after in removing his own pants and boots, until the two are both naked. Anna goes wide-eyed when her companion just casually turns about, his erection jutting out from his groin pretty much carelessly. He’s pretty big, to match his own imposing and tall physique. Hell, he towers over her at six feet and change to her five foot eight. But she never would have imagined herself to look at his shaft and the thick dark forest from which it juts. Or much of anything of him, naked and bared to her. He crawls back into the bed to join her, settling down besides her, until he’s lying himself down at her side in front of her. Her hands carefully move up along his chest and hip. His hands move along hers, carefully removing the last of their magical wards and jewelry until they’re literally naked and vulnerable towards one another. The jewelry is set aside on the nightstand behind him. Then his right arm reaches past her ribs to slowly pull at her shoulder, drawing the smaller woman against his naked body. Anna’s fingers draw along his sides towards his groin, her eyes averting from the man’s to look at the barely lit darkness between them, feeling for his swollen club between their bodies. Her fingers trail across the dark skin of his shaft, feeling every uneven ridge of his veins and the way his foreskin has grown taut around his oozing tip. She pulls back, feeling how the sides of her palms press into prickly pubic hair. Her explorations only pause when she feels him kiss her dome, murmuring down low towards her. “What’s next?” she breathes, dares ask up at him. Her fingers squeeze at his tip, holding him in her embrace. “Whatever you want, Red,” Rolf assures Annabelle, slowly reaching down along her rounded rump to squeeze at her with his right hand. It feels pleasant. It feels nice. It makes her want more. She rocks her hips towards him, slowly spreading her thighs until she feels his left hand moving up to brush over her curly pubic hairs towards the cleft of her vulva. She barely realized she was moist, only doing so when two calloused fingers brush over the slightly protruding lips of her vulva from her outer lips. His digits glide over her lips easily, the middle finger curling against her opening and slowly pushing inwards with very little fanfare. The rough texture is grinding pleasantly into her walls on initial penetration, and the way his moistened finger curls and hooks into her spongy flesh has Annabelle cramping up deliciously. She slowly rolls onto her back, her hand not at all leaving his shaft as she slowly begins to pump at his turgid and throbbing organ, allowing him just a little bit better access to her oozing little quim. They exchange little assurances. This feels nice. This feels better. Don’t stop that. Slow down. Pick it up. Annabelle is awkward about her touches to Rolf’s manhood, but she takes to his urging to take it nice and slow quite well, feeling herself swell with pride about the sense of pleasure she gives him. But it’s no comparison to Rolf’s coarse finger raking over her inner walls in such a fashion she’s twitching on every pull out, how the rise of his palm presses into her hooded pearl and grinds against it with his every inwards push back in. To say nothing of what the warrior is feeling about how her voice cracks and sings out for him against his ministrations, having her willingly buck into his hand making little ‘come hither’ motions deep into her body. At some point, her fingers trail away from his spear, instead grabbing for the bed covers for purchase while she bucks into his hand. She screams out, her voice rising in pitch. Anna goes light in her head, twisting towards him until she can’t do anything but clamp and moan out for him and feel all earthly sense leave her for precious few moments, humping back into her partner’s hand when her release hits her, hard. Her voice quivers and her body shakes, her head twisting back into the pillow behind her, her face almost disappearing in the soft mound and her own hair. She’s only coming to when she feels the pricks of hair into her breast, of Rolf’s lips kissing her nipples, one after the other, sucking on the puffy and swollen areolas in turn. She hadn’t even realized his fingers had left her puss. Her hands slowly wander up to wrap around his neck, moaning up against him for more. After a few minutes of teasing her perky little tits, he all but hovers over her, planting his elbows besides her shoulders, his own body parallel with her own above hers. His broad, muscular body almost blankets her, and his shaft throbs and oozes over her own bare, toned belly. Not a word is spoken between them. Her legs simply spread, her rump slightly arching for him. His own hips cant and draw down against hers, until his erection grinds across the swell of her mound, the curls of her pubic mound teasing his crown. His dick saws back and forth across her gash, until at last he angles himself to her yearning, oozing slit. Rolf eases into Annabelle easily, his fat organ slowly parting her lips wider apart until even her inner walls grow slack and swallow his sword deep into its sheath. Her voice breaks into a low moan as he sinks into her body so completely. Rolf, for his part, is only groaning back into his redheaded lover. He nuzzles the top of her dome to kiss her head, kiss his way down the sweat-covered pale girl’s brow, tasting of her perspiration. Annabelle leans up to kiss at his face, until the two finally share another kiss that soon has them both wrestle their tongues down and against each other. Their voices and breaths come as one when their bodies hungrily mingle and join. Just like how his tongue pushes inwards of her mouth, vying for control, so does his thick shaft plow into her and draw back agonizingly slow. For Anna, it almost was a forgotten pleasure. His dick pulls at her lips on its retreat, before she’s feeling them sink inwards. It matches the long, drawn-out sensation of penetration of his shaft into her own body, filling her with heat. Her hands wrap around his back and shoulders, never daring to let go of him. Her legs curl up around his waist, as well, though his pace, steady and slow, match her desires perfectly. She feels his body rocking back and forth atop of her own, making her body toss in tune. A wanting moan lilts from her throat to join the domineering grunts her lover makes with his every thrust. His pacing, his kiss, his thrusts fill her absolutely. Annabelle’s naked body tenses underneath Rolf’s own, clamping around his pounding staff, clenching in reflex to his rutting thrusts. Her voice cries out again when he draws his face back from her own, until she silences herself with demanding, needful kisses planting themselves on his throat and jugular. The arch of his dick against the juncture of her labiae and her clitoral hood has her twist and hold closer on to the Waterdhavian with every inwards thrust, letting his flesh press up against her most sensitive flesh. His cockhead brushes deep against the spongy tissue his fingers explored before, causing the Neverwintan duellist to slowly break away from her needy kisses to sing out her joy instead. His relentless rocking against her insides with that forceful knocking against her walls has Annabelle keening out when her orgasm approaches. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders, clinging to him desperately. He’s speeding up. She feels herself reach the peak of her joyful summit. Another shameless cry leaves her when he just won’t stop pounding into her hot puss, his root even grinding up into her tiny pearl. She never imagined she could feel herself explode with joy so soon after again, her body twisting and turning to meet him when she finds she has wings on her pleasure, soaring on her next pleasurable ascent to release. Her contractions make the penetration all the tighter, all the more enjoyable for her companion. He sinks into her deep again and again, the lewd noises of her body filling his imagination and his own sense of stimulation. He feels her joy ooze out of her honey pot, smearing against his testicles with his every inward trust rocking them against her buttocks. Rolf’s voice joins Annabelle’s with his loud, low cries when he feels his lower muscles cramp and tense. Every noise is joined with a deep thrust upwards into the pretty redhead yowling underneath him. He’s lost count on when his release hit him, but he spills his seed deep into his lover at long last. She can feel the warm rush of his passion coat her, oozing deep. Three surges of cum planted where it belongs. Rolf doesn’t pull out, he doesn’t continue thrusting. He simply stays put, embracing the shivering woman beneath him, caressing her cheeks with his coarse fingers, letting his fingers wander through the tangle of red hair spread across her pillow. Anna sobs and coos out towards the warrior when she feels his scarred lips brushing her feverish pale forehead once more, slowly giggling herself into silence until she returns the affection, smooching lightly at the dark blue marks her sucking kisses left into his own skin. Anna slowly feels him draw out when he lowers himself to kiss her lips proper. Small, almost chaste kisses to each other’s lips until they exchange light sucks to the lower lip of one another. Her hands wander down along his back, scratching her nails lightly along his ribs. His hands turn and caress along the sides of her head, brushing his thumbs against her heated ears. What’s next? Annabelle, for once, doesn’t dread the question. Frankly, she looks forward to its answer.