"My Girl Kara"

RADO

I lift the tent flap to check on Salia and the baby, but the sight inside stops me in my tracks.

Even in the dim light, pale skin glows as if haloed by fire. One sleeve has slipped down over a [pale] shoulder, and shadows from the lantern play on elegant curves, molding themselves to rounded flesh. My mouth waters like a slavering beast, and I swallow my shameful hunger.

The infant’s head is nestled on Salia's breast, shielding her from my inappropriate line of sight. He is asleep now, and I force myself to turn away, my duty done.

But Salia's low murmur keeps me rooted to my spot. “Wait.”

Reflexively, I look back at her as she puts the baby down on the small, makeshift cradle. My mouth drops as Salia straightens and turns toward me, letting her dress fall open further. I want to look away, but my own eyes are out of my command: instead, they trace the soft, heavy rounded weight of Salia's breast and enviously rove over the slightly reddened skin of a pink nipple from where the child had supped.

I wet my lips instinctively, jealously wanting to soothe the inflamed skin, to lap at the beads of moisture pooling beneath, and the jewel hues of Salia's eyes disappear, swallowed by the gold of her pupils.

A lone finger swipes at the moisture on her breast and I feel as if I am in a trance as I watch Salia hold out her hand to me. Her finger is stained with her milk.

“He is asleep, and I am still full with milk. Will you suckle from me?”

My breath stops and I am frozen in place. It is as if something has [exploded] within me. The only movement I feel is the pounding between my legs.

“Radomil?” Salia whispers, her voice low and thick, an echo of her voice in my darkest fantasies.

My feet are first to move of their own accord, unable to deny her anything. Then my hand, the traitor, accepts her offered finger and brings it to my mouth. I close my eyes and taste the sweet flavor of her.

And just like that, the battle is over. Nothing in the world has made more sense than this.

I surge forward, letting go of Salia's hand in favor of cupping her breast. I obey her and myself, and let my lips close over the pink nipple, drinking as deeply as I can.

“Yes!” Salia breathes above me, a gasp I have longed my whole life to hear. Her fingers thread into my hair, pulling me closer. “Yes, drink, my love. It is for you.”

I obey dutifully, sucking and laving with my tongue, mapping out the flesh that I have longed my whole life to touch and taste. I can hear Salia's moans, can feel her chest rising to meet my mouth, can feel her hands fisting in my hair and pulling. It sends me into a near delirium.

My hand finds her other breast weeping enviously and I soothe it with one palm, making Salia moan louder. Her milk stains my hand, and my mouth leaves her breast long enough to lick the liquid off my palm.

Our eyes meet over my hand, and I see the naked hunger glowing in Salia's eyes. In one smooth motion, she rips my hand from my mouth and surges up to replace it with her lips and tongue.

Vaguely, as our tongues tangle together, I realize that this is our first kiss. The thing I have wanted since I was a child, watching my best and only friend grow into her power and become a goddess.

I grip her tightly, wanting to savor the moment, but then I hear the baby stir beside us. I pull away unwillingly, turning slightly toward the cradle. Salia shakes her head. “He won't wake.”

The sounds from the cradle stop, and Salia is satisfied, but a stirring of guilt makes me turn toward the flap of the tent, in the direction of Miras's bed, and I stop, hesitating.

“Please…” Salia breathes beneath me, her hips writhing under mine. Still turned toward the tent flap, my last remaining scrap of thought shaped like Miras, I drop my forehead onto Salia’s. My breath is shallow and my clit throbs between my legs. Salia takes advantage. “Please, Radomil… please, I want you inside me. Where you belong.”

Her words force the breath from my lungs, and I forget all else. Salia’s glowing eyes burn into mine as she takes my hand and leads it to the cleft between her legs. Her wet heat bathes my fingers as I draw a line from her clit to her entrance. I hear her moan my name, and I exhale shakily.

She’s right, and we both know it. This is where I belong — where I have always belonged, because I have always been hers.

But as our eyes meet and I enter her, it dawns on me that perhaps the reverse is also true.

This is where I belong, because she is mine.

MIRAS

I can hear them in the stillness of the night.

The sound of their breathing so close it feels as if I am in the tent with them. My legs shift restlessly under the blanket even as I try to keep them closed. A low throaty moan that cannot be anyone but Merisalia as I hear fabric shift, and I grit my teeth. Despite my envy, my dislike for the woman, the sound sends a bolt of arousal straight to my core and I flip over to my side to keep my legs from spreading.

Then finally, her.

“Salia…”

This voice is unlike any I've heard from Radomil before. Raw and yet velvet at the same time, like leather rasping across my skin, it makes my spine tingle and my cunt clench. Rado has never spoken to me like this. This is for Merisalia alone.

I turn my head into the cloak I'd been using as a pillow, as if it could hide the envy that must be plain on my face. I pretend, as I always do nowadays, that my heart isn't caught in this woman’s vice grip.

Across the camp, I can hear the groans coming from Rado's lips, and I pretend I'm not imagining her groaning into my own skin. My cunt is wet and aching and empty. I hear Merisalia cry out, loud and wild. I can almost see that perfect face contorted in pleasure, and I can't bear it anymore.

I flip over onto my stomach, and my hand finds its way between my legs, trying to soothe the building ache there. I lift my hips to give my fingers access, and if I don't think about it, it could almost be Rado aligning my hips to hers. The thought has my fingers dancing on my clit before I can even push it away. Thankfully, the cloak swallows my own moans.

The sounds from the other tent become louder and more heated. I can hear Rado's whispers, too low for me to understand the words, but the quiet, firm command in her voice is enough to break anyone’s willpower. I slip my fingers inside myself and pretend.

That my fingers are not my own.

That the low murmur from the other tent is for me.

That my hips are grinding on a strong thigh rather than my own arm.

That I was the one desired, chosen. That I was the one who had known Rado before she was Radomil, when she was still a young Radomillia — surrounded by family, but lonely and alone, like me.

That I was the one who held Rado’s devotion all these years. Such deep and powerful devotion that she would cross oceans to find me.