Chapter Text
Toss.
Turn.
Toss.
Turn.
You couldn't sleep.
Heaving out a sigh, you flopped onto your back, staring up at the shadowy ceiling. You'd stripped and jumped right into bed after leaving Zayne behind, but sleep eluded you in the hours that followed. It wasn't that you couldn't get comfortable—sleeping in your bed felt like being cushioned by a cloud—but your mind just wouldn't shut up.
For one thing, you were unbelievably, insanely angry. Clearly, there was some sort of boundary that Zayne was trying to set, but his rationale that he was trying to use to set it in the first place made no sense. You got that he was older than you (it was a little hard to ignore sometimes), but that was no reason to completely write you off. Mother and Father had an age gap, and the King and Queen had an age gap comparable to you and Zayne's, so it wasn't like it wasn't so entirely out of the normal to be shocking. Didn't most men like younger women, anyways?
And the whole "father" nonsense….you didn't understand it, not one bit. Even if he didn't want to be romantically or sexually involved with you, there was no reason for himself to make himself into your father. The two of you could just be friends, simple as that.
Did he think you needed a new father figure in your life? It was true that you and your father didn't mesh well, to put it lightly, but you were doing just fine and, frankly, saw no need for one. If that was what he wanted, you'd find it a little insulting that he was just assuming that without asking you how you felt. (That seemed to be a problem of his, now that you thought about it.)
Not to mention the "horrifying" things about him that he was hiding from you. That man seemed to have the most uninteresting life out of anyone you'd ever met—all he did was read, work, train, and fight. What on earth could be so horrifying that it kept him from satisfying himself? He had to be some sort of closet pervert, with a fetish that he thought you would find gross. That was the only explanation that made sense to you.
But, in a weird way, as you thought about the events of the night, you felt…strangely aroused.
It was normal, right? You'd just had a sexual encounter with the man that you'd been longing for ever since you'd met him (and who so happened to be your husband, but that was a minor detail). Of course every second of it would be playing on loop in the back of your mind as you tried to ignore it and focus on the fact that you wanted to smack Zayne really, really hard.
Sitting on his thigh had felt so, so good. Rubbing against it had felt even better. There was some sort of spot near the front of your body between your legs that felt really good when pressure was put on it, and friction made the feeling go from good to amazing.
To be honest, you weren't really that familiar with your own body. Caleb (poor, long-suffering Caleb) had taught you what he could, but he was a man and didn't have the same body as you, so it was a little difficult to teach you everything. You knew about periods, of course, and you knew how reproduction worked (generally), but your first real experience with pleasure was on the night of your wedding. The mechanics of it weren't a mystery to you, and you vaguely knew about the concept of pleasure, but fear of getting caught kept you from exploring your body. (Sticking your fingers inside yourself to try to open yourself up before your wedding didn't count.)
You were feeling a bit bold now, though. You'd noticed that around the same time every month, you got a little horny, to put it bluntly. (Well, more than a little horny, but that didn't matter). Add in your encounter with your husband, and your body was practically begging for something to happen.
You snuck a hesitant hand down in between your legs, softly cupping your sex through your nightgown. It felt…nice enough, you supposed, but you batted the fabric away, pressing your hand against wet flesh and marveling at the slickness.
Slowly, you started to feel around your sex, starting by rubbing at your entrance and letting your fingers shallowly dip inside. That felt good, but you had a mission and you needed to stick with it. You drew your fingers out and upwards, trying to find that spot.
A few seconds later, you found it.
Your fingertips softly pressed against the little nub as a shuddering breath left you, barely-there shocks of pleasure floating through your belly. You dipped your fingers back down for a moment to gather more slick, then skimmed them back up and started to touch.
Moving slowly, you tried a tapping motion first, then pressed down. That didn't seem to work as well, so you tried to rub it instead, a whine leaving you at the sensation the motion brought. Your fingers sped up unconciously, the quicker pace building up a delicious feeling inside of you.
Would Zayne ever do this to you again? He'd rubbed here on your wedding night, you remembered, but you thought you'd die if he were to do it when you weren't under the influence of some insane drug. You could see it so clearly in your mind's eye; him, laying next to you, head propped up on one hand as the other slipped between your legs. Him gazing down at you as you writhed and moaned in pleasure, a smile on his face.
"My good girl," you wanted him to say to you. "Feels good, hmm? You can't stay still."
"Zayne," you panted, rubbing faster as your hips started to twitch.
Gods, you wanted him. Would he be gentle with you next time? Love you until you couldn't handle it anymore? Or would he push you to your limit, make you cry and scream and beg for more? Maybe he'd treat you like a goddess, or like an object to be used. All of the possibilities excited you, and you couldn't get enough.
Your hips started to fully lift from the bed on their own accord as you kept rubbing, the pleasure in your gut too strong to ignore. It was like you'd been possessed; you could do nothing but frantically rub yourself and try to muffle your cries. Your hand grasped frantically at the pillow as you pushed yourself closer and closer to the edge.
Despite your efforts, you let a moan slip freely as you came, the pleasure inside of you becoming too strong to contain as warmth spread between your legs. You turned onto your side with the force of your orgasm and went limp against the mattress, panting as the aftershocks coursed through you.
That had been…really good. You wanted to do it again.
You lifted one leg and slipped your hand back between your legs, teasing at your entrance this time. If you remembered correctly, there was a spot inside of you, too, that your husband had touched on your wedding night. A finger slipped in easily, aided by the copious amounts of slick that had leaked out of you, followed by another. You relished in the strech, rocking your fingers in and out lazily.
After a moment, you started to curl your fingers upward, searching. It didn't take long for you to find the spot that felt the best, and you began to massage your fingertips into it, moving your fingers at a steady pace as a different, deeper pleasure began to spread.
Zayne's fingers were longer than yours, thicker, and you tried to imagine that your fingers were his as they moved inside of you. He'd probably be more forceful with this movements, wouldn't he? Or would he be gentler? You wanted to feel it both ways.
The sensation was good, but you craved even more, so you rearranged the hand that was already touching yourself so your other hand could slide in. It was a bit of a tight fit, but the moment your other hand began to rub a fingertip against that little nub, you forgot all about it as you whined and moaned. You felt more sensitive now, the pleasure building quicker and sharper this time.
Your mind wandered as the pleasure increased, and you imagined sitting in your husband's lap, your head lolled back on his shoulder as he devoted both hands to pleasuring you. He wouldn't stop, even if you legs twitched or you begged him to, his voice a gentle purr in your ear.
"You like it when I touch you here, my dear? Let me do it more, then…my darling looks so pretty when she squirms under my touch."
"Please," you moaned, voice louder than before. "Please, Zayne, please…ahhh…"
You started to writhe again as you got closer and closer to your peak, the blissful feeling becoming almost unbearable. Your movements became desperate, your body shivering from pleasure, and you let out another load moan as you came once more, back arching.
Once you came down from your high, you let your hands slip out from between your thighs, lifting the one that had just been inside of you up to examine it. Your slick shone in the dim light, and you turned it lazily, before dropping it so you could wipe it on the sheets.
As you relaxed your body, you realized that all that work had made you a bit drowsy. Finally! You could sleep! This was a very, very welcome development.
You thought of Zayne once more as you drifted off, of laying your head against his chest and letting him play with your hair as you fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
As fate would have it, Zayne couldn't sleep, either.
He was wracked with guilt over what he'd done to you, so he'd eventually given up on sleep entirely, sitting up in bed and beginning to draft his own letter to your brother. You had sent it before he'd gotten a chance to ask to look at it, and the thought of not being able to read what you'd told him was making him, admittedly, a little nervous. It would probably be best if Sir Xia was able to hear things from another perspective.
He'd gotten roughly halfway through what he wanted to say when a muffled noise sounded through the room. Zayne dismissed it at first, thinking it was an animal outside, but a second noise made him pause.
It sounded like you.
He got up to investigate, cracking open the door to the passageway that led to your room. It was hard to make out, but through the darkness, he could see that the door on your side had been left half-open. After a moment, he abandoned the door and left for his bed, chalking it up to you talking in your sleep.
Each subsequent noise, though, was harder and harder to pass off as something innocent. It was quickly becoming obvious that you were moaning. He tried to ignore it as much as he could, directing his focus towards the paper and pen in his hands, but it was getting to be a harder and harder task.
It wasn't long before he was painfully hard, his erection creating a slight tent in the blanket. Listening to you, knowing that you were most likely pleasuring yourself, was torture. There was no way he could touch himself to you—you had no idea he was listening, and he couldn't defile you like that. He would just need to suffer through it.
And suffer, he did, especially when you started to call out his name. Your voice sounded so sweet, so alluring, that he had to lay back down and press his pillow over his ears to prevent himself from giving in to temptation.
Astra preserve him.