#female apprentice

So much for doing chores, you lament to yourself, putting on the kettle. Its sharp whistle only makes your headache worse, but you’re hoping the chamomile-ginger tea blend Asra gifted you will help relieve some of your pain. Down for the count, you snuggle up on one of the window seats, setting your steaming hot tea beside you and unearthing an easy-read from the stack of books by your bedside. Its pink, faux-leather cover is decorated with swirling gilded vines and its pages are crinkly from how many times you’ve leafed through it. It’s your guilty pleasure book: a romance novel you’d purchased for yourself in secret from a little book stand at a Heartsong Festival a few years ago. It looks innocent enough upon first glance, but its pages contain a tale steamy enough to make it not suitable for reading in public. One glance over your shoulder and anyone trying to snoop on your material would surely blush a thousand shades of red. 

As you settle in for your light reading, a crack of thunder above signals the imminent downpour. Your eyes scan the surrounding forest, searching for the hulking figure of your beloved Muriel. He’d gone out to feed the chickens and do a forage around the woods, but that had been a while ago. Worry starts to creep into your mind, only exacerbating your oncoming headache. But just as you’re about to get up to take a peek outside, the front door bursts open and in comes Muriel, soaking wet. Rain drips off his clothing, puddling at his feet, and his dark hair hangs limply in front of his eyes. 

“Welcome back,” you greet with a weak smile, relieved that he’s finally home. You start to rise, but are felled by a sharp, radiating pain. The room starts to spin as you fall back onto the window seat. The next thing you know, Muriel is at your side, gently cupping your face in his chilly hands. His smell is calming: petrichor, pine, and amber. 

“Are you alright?” his low voice rumbles, thumbs smoothing over your cheeks. You pass him another wan smile, trying to focus on him, but finding it difficult to keep your eyes open. The small amount of light from the fireplace feels suddenly piercingly bright and the rain pounds against your ear drums.

“Headache,” you manage to mutter, turning ever so slightly just to give one of Muriel’s palms a featherlight kiss.

“Let me dry off,” Muriel starts, pressing his soft lips to your forehead, “And then I’ll come take care of you. Stay there.” 

Silently, he lumbers off, leaving you to doze restlessly. You pull a blanket up around your head, hoping to drown out the light in the hut and the cacophony outside. After a few minutes of trying to lay perfectly still, you hear Muriel’s husky voice asking if you need anything. You pull yourself out of your blanket cocoon and stare groggily up at him. He’s wearing a pair of flannel-patterned pajama pants you bought him, and no shirt. The thin, emerald green fabric frames his strong legs and the waistband sits just at his hips, revealing the cut of his Adonis belt. You feel heat climbing the length of your body as your weary eyes rove his muscular form, dragging slowly over his abdomen. His lips are set in a small frown, forehead crinkled with worry. He looks adorable, you think to yourself with a smile. 

“Tea? Food? What can I get you?” he offers, thick brows furrowed with concern. You shake your head, motioning for him to come join you on the window seat. He obliges, gently lifting you so he can scooch in behind you. Once he’s situated, you settle back against him, his heartbeat thrumming rhythmically in your ear. His breath is even, tranquil, lulling you to sleep. Muriel presses a firm kiss to the top of your head and wordlessly pulls you into an embrace, his arms enveloping you in his warmth. You feel so small and protected, comforted and safe. 

“Were you trying to read?” Muriel inquires after a moment, green eyes falling on the ratty old novel sitting on your lap. 

“Yeah, but the words just keep swimming around the page,” you chuckle ruefully. 

“I could- read it to you,” Muriel suggests shyly, reaching towards the book. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, love,” you sputter, turning a bright red. But he’s already leafing through the pages, finding the spot where you left your bookmark. He holds the pages open with one hand, scanning to find a suitable starting place. 

“Is this where you were?” he asks, holding the book down in front of your face so you can see the paragraph he’s talking about. You nod, mortified, hoping Muriel will see the next page and stop before he gets to it. But he doesn’t seem to notice, quietly clearing his voice and sounding out the first sentence.

“Sarika sits at the riverbank, pale blue dress pooling out around her, its sequins shimmering in the golden sun above, ” Muriel begins, “Out of the corner of her eye, she notices a figure approaching. Their strong, steady gait is enough for her to identify them as Bryn. As he approaches, she busies herself with inspecting a shimmering stone, not wanting him to see how secretly excited she is for him to be joining her that afternoon.” 

Muriel reads on, his deep voice rumbling through his chest, sending delightful shivers up your spine. His voice is a comfort, a reprieve from the chaos in your mind and the tempest beyond the windows. For a little bit, you forget what it is that he’s reading to you and start to doze, soothed by Muriel’s soft-spoken words. 

And then all of a sudden, you hear Muriel’s voice hitch in his throat as he reads, “Bryn’s elegant fingers find their way to Sarika’s buttons, slowly undoing the back of her dress. His hands make quick work of removing her clothing, casting it aside as if the very fabric is an offense, hiding her body from him. ”

Muriel pauses and you can feel his heart rate spike, beating frantically against your ear. You wait with bated breath, wondering if Muriel is going to set the book down and forget about it, or keep going. Glancing up at him, you see his cheeks have turned a pale pink and his eyes are shimmering with something unspoken and desirous. He catches your gaze for a brief moment, blushing even deeper before surprisingly returning to the paragraph he was on. As Muriel reads on, you can feel your own body growing warm. The proximity of your beloved, his husky voice rumbling through his chest, the way his sinewy arm has you pulled close to him, his fingers so casually holding open the pages, Muriel’s very scent: it’s all becoming too much, especially combined with the sensual words he speaks. 

“Bryn presses his soft lips to her folds, honoring her sensitive nub before gently flicking it with his tongue, ” Muriel’s low voice reads aloud. Your cheek feels so hot against his chest. You can feel his uneven, shallow breaths, Muriel’s lungs desperately trying to intake even the smallest amount of air. Against the small of your back, you can feel the bulge in his pants, the thin fabric of the flannel doing little to conceal it. You shift, accidentally brushing against it and eliciting a soft gasp from your beloved.

“I’m so sorry,” he stammers, cheeks red with mortification. He practically throws the book down in his embarrassment, but you stay his hand when he moves to try to get up. You shift to look back at him, his hand trembling in yours.

“I’ve heard,” you start, voice barely above a whisper, unable to tear your eyes away from his, “I’ve heard that certain activities are supposed to help with a headache. If that’s something you want to do?” 

You can sense his desire, feel his need like an electric pulse hanging in the air. A breathless silence passes, your faces just inches from one another, eyes hidden underneath hooded lashes. And then Muriel’s hand tenderly cups your cheek as he draws you in, laying his lips along yours, stealing your breath away. His mouth is warm as it works passionately, tongue testing your parted lips, asking gentle permission to enter. You permit it, feeling his warmth fill you, your breaths now shared. His nose presses into your cheek and his strong fingers tangle themselves in your hair. You can feel the ripple of his muscles as your palms skim his chest, nails lightly dragging along his pecs and down towards the hem of his pants. 

“Let me,” he breathes, carefully turning you around so your back is against his chest.

“But what about-” you start to protest, but Muriel’s soft lips hush you. 

“I want to,” he states, breath fanning across your lips, “If you’re okay with that.” 

“Yes,” you murmur, struggling not to close the distance between you once again. You settle back in against his chest, allowing Muriel to slowly undo the buttons of your linen dress. Rather conveniently, it opens in the front. Cool air hits your skin as Muriel exposes your breasts and stomach. Goosebumps prickle along your skin, a sensation that is swiftly rectified when your beloved's large, warm hands smooth along your curves. His rough callouses tickle as he roves, but the sensation is positively delightful. All the while, Muriel peppers your neck with kisses, pulling soft moans and breathy sighs from your lips. 

One of his hands finds its way to your breast, cupping and kneading your supple flesh, while the other drags along your panty-line. He takes his time in worshiping your body, making sure to honor every piece of you. 

“Is this alright?” he asks, starting to slip his hand down into your lace underwear. You manage to whisper a quiet, “Yes,” losing yourself entirely to Muriel’s blissful attention. His hand delves into your panties, two of his fingers parting your already soaked folds. He teasingly drags one along the center, stroking from your entrance to your clit, wetting his finger in preparation to pleasure you. You suck in a breath through gritted teeth, shivering with anticipation. Muriel begins to slowly circle your clit with his finger, while the thumb of his other hand works at swirling around the hardened bud of your nipple. The sensation is euphoric, his touch masterful. You roll your hips, grinding back against Muriel’s. He grunts quietly and you can feel his arousal growing. 

“You’re so wonderful to me, my darling,” your hushed voice sounds, mind foggy with pleasure. Your hand finds its way to Muriel’s hand at your breast, intertwining your fingers with his, jointly kneading. Muriel takes this as a sign to pick up the pace, circling your clit even faster. He seems to silently delight in the tiny keens and needy moans he draws from you, smiling against you with each contented hum. You can hardly help the rocking of your hips against his and find that he starts to grind against you, desperate for the friction. 

“Ah, I need you, Muriel,” you breathe, gripping his hand even tighter. Spurred on by your impassioned pleas, Muriel ensnares your lips in his as his fingers dip into your entrance. You bite down hard on his lip as he enters, one hand reaching up to tangle in his onyx hair. He groans into you, giving you a moment to adjust to his two digits inside you before he starts to pump in and out. With each thrust, he hits deeper and deeper. Your combined body heat is overwhelming and the salacious sounds of your united ecstasy drowns out the dismal storm outside. Your pounding headache is a memory of the past, a past that feels suddenly distant and unimportant. All that exists now is Muriel’s loving caress, the way his lips fit perfectly against yours, and the feeling of his fingers buried within you. 

You can’t take it much longer. Swiftly, you withdraw Muriel’s hand from you and swivel around, hardly breaking contact with his lips. He doesn’t need any instruction from you, stripping down his pants just enough to free his hardened cock. He slips into you with ease, though his girth certainly requires you to take another moment to adjust. Before you know it, you’re bouncing up and down on his lap, his tip hitting a spot inside you that seems to spark like fire. Your kisses are desperate and sloppy, yet there’s a tenderness conveyed from your beloved unlike anything you’ve ever felt. 

As you ride Muriel, he guides you gently, making sure you’re not overworking yourself. He grinds his hips in tandem and soon enough, you feel him quivering inside you. A flame, not unlike the one in the hearth, bursts within you, building and building until it can’t build anymore. You grasp at Muriel, clinging tight to him as you feel him release inside you, warm and blissful. Your walls quake with your release and finally, you come undone as Muriel whispers your name, a loving invocation. You grip him tight, as if willing your forms to merge completely. You feel so protected in his arms. Though his embrace could be crushing, he is so very careful with you, conscious of his own strength. 

You settle, enveloped in Muriel’s calming aura, the soft warmth of his love washing over you. He holds you close, presses his forehead to yours and lays kiss after featherlight kiss upon your lips. 

“Better?” he mutters after a moment, eyes twinkling in the amber light of the fire.