Fic: Rarely Resisted (Cara/Kahlan) NC17 (6/?)
Title: Rarely Resisted
Author: Dylan
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: NC17 (overall)
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, only the situations, and I make zero money from this foolish endeavor.
Summary: Set around the time between 'Fury' and 'Resurrection', early in season 2 of Legend of The Seeker. Sometimes resistance is err...futile.
Part Six
Cara gazes at me as if recognizing and sharing my pain, her fingers lingering on the leather just barely confining her breasts, giving a few moments’ pause before her back stiffens and she continues with undressing. Her skin is slowly revealed to me; delicately tanned, spattered with freckles here and there, tantalisingly perfect.
I only just pull my gaze away before she pushes the top down over her breasts.
“I apologize, but it’s far too warm to sleep in this, Kahlan,” Cara says, the sound of buckles and leather filling the air as I busy myself turning back the blanket.
She’s correct of course, and it would be incredibly cruel of me to insist that she remains clothed. She’s been struggling with this recent heat enough as it is.
“It’s just . . . this bed is very small,” I practically squeak, rolling my eyes at myself.
“Believe me, I’m very aware of that fact,” Cara responds.
I could almost swear there was a tremble in her voice, but I can’t turn around and look at her to see into her eyes and discover the want and need I know will be there within them.
“We will sleep with our backs to each other,” Cara declares.
Though that may help, I know it will only be a small reprieve from the desire I can now clearly feel coursing between us. With a small nod I keep my eyes averted as Cara places her weapons next to the bed and crawls under the blanket, though even in this dull light I catch a glimpse of her naked back, her thigh, the small cotton briefs that barely cover her most private area.
All the air leaves my lungs as I contemplate the beauty of her, the perfection of her skin and the slight flex of strong muscles. I could stand here and stare at her as she reclines under the moonlight until I have no strength left in me to stand, but I must control what I feel, ignore how she affects me. I whisper a thank you to the Spirits for the fact she isn’t quite completely naked and prepare myself to join her on the bed.
“You should sleep next to the wall,” Cara says, only just covering herself with the blanket. “It will be safer . . . in case anybody comes in.”
I nod, unable to make my tongue and mouth work in any coherent way to ensure that words will form instead of inarticulate mumbles. Again, she’s putting my safety before hers and it makes my heart ache in a way I wish it wouldn’t.
Quickly, I unlace my boots and slide them off. Putting my daggers beside Cara’s agiels, close at hand, I briefly ponder why on earth the guards would leave us with our weapons, but I suppose they must be confident of their ability to keep us locked in these cells. It may be a big mistake on their part.
Shaking my head and discouraging thoughts of escape for the moment I turn my attention once again to Cara, wondering how I will achieve getting into the bed to lay by the wall when Cara is already occupying the side closest to me. I’m left to wonder only briefly as she throws the covers back again and raises her eyebrow, waiting for me to climb over her.
My eyes close and my heart pounds, the assault of Cara’s mostly naked form making all my nerve endings tingle with the desperate need to be closer, to know the sensation of her skin against mine. I daren’t look, the briefest glimpse of those full breasts and their dusky pink nipples already tormenting me more than I can stand. Keeping my gaze to the space beside her once I prise my eyes open again, I climb over Cara, holding my body far from hers so we don’t touch.
“You’re sleeping in your clothes?” she asks once I’m settled - though how settled I could possibly be in such circumstances is up for debate.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation, tugging on tight cloth and leather in a vain attempt to get comfortable.
There’s silence for a while and Cara turns from me, laying with her back to me as she suggested. I almost wish she would turn to me instead, but this situation is challenging enough as it is. After a short while, in which I do my best not to think about the half naked Mord-Sith in bed next to me, I realise that it really is far too hot to sleep in such heavy clothing. If I remove my dress I’ll still have the barrier of my corset between us. I can cope with that, I hope.
Without speaking I untie the laces holding my travel clothes tight around me and begin to shuffle out of their confines. Cara says nothing, her head lying close to mine as my hair tangles within her blonde locks. Pausing, I stop to indulge in the way we contrast in that way; light on dark. I want to reach out and push my fingers through her hair to enjoy its texture. I wonder if she likes that; fingers running through her hair, caressing her neck, touching her reverently in the way I so wish I could.
I doubt that’s the kind of thing Cara finds appealing, however. She has grown up with pain, with harsh touches, with intensity not tenderness.
When I continue wriggling out of my dress and jacket I find myself brushing against her on more than one occasion, feeling the heat of her skin against mine. The shock of it sends waves of sensation through me, all eventually centring between my legs in order to make me dizzy and breathless.
“Kahlan,” Cara says softly, her voice rough with something other than sleep, “do you plan on sleeping at any point tonight?”
I find myself blushing even though she can’t see, pushing the remains of my clothes off and shoving them to the bottom of the bed, adjusting my corset accordingly.
“I was too hot,” I mumble by way of explanation.
“Evidently.”
Ignoring the smirk I can hear in her voice I lay back down again, flipping around so my back is to Cara’s. She jerks a little when my rear bumps against hers by accident and I quickly move in order to ensure we’re not touching anywhere along our lengths. It’s not an easy achievement in such a small bed, but the alternative would be maddening.
Stilling my breathing as much as I’m able I hope for sleep to come swiftly. Tomorrow we might be free from this cell and I won’t need to suffer this torment any further, though a small part of my mind insists that I will only end up wishing for this closeness again. I ponder on whether Cara is feeling quite as distracted and uncomfortable but I need ponder no more as she lets out a small sigh, her body moving slightly in search of sleep.
We say nothing, both of us sleepless, both of us holding ourselves so stiff and so apart that even breathing becomes a chore. There is not enough space, and not enough will in all the world to keep me from turning towards her so I can mirror her position on the mattress. With a resigned grunt I flip over, instantly finding it more comfortable as my long legs tuck behind Cara’s - not quite touching, but close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.
“I thought we were sleeping with our backs to one another,” Cara says, breaking the eerie calm of the night around us.
“It feels like I have more room this way,” I explain inadequately.
It’s not quite a lie, or just an excuse, but as my body leans even closer towards Cara I can’t help but feel the strain of dishonesty tugging on me in unpleasant ways.
I rest my hand between us, a barrier I wish I could cross. My gaze wanders once more over Cara’s silken hair, my fingers twitching, aching to touch it. There’s a burning sensation deep in my gut, both pushing me and pulling me to and from what I want. If only things were simple: Were I not the Mother Confessor: Were she not Mord-Sith: Were I not promised to another.
Without warning my mind drifts to all the nights I’ve listened to Cara, to last night when I watched her take pleasure from her own fingers with my name on her lips. The burning shifts to an ache and every part of me, every inch, wishes to know Cara intimately more than I can bear. If only sleep would come so I can free my mind of these thoughts of what I want her to do to me, with me.
Closing my eyes I think of Richard; how kind he is, how gentle. It pains me to know I’ll hurt him, yet it pains me even more to ignore what I feel. There seems to be no end to this agony.
Focusing on the passing of time I realise that at least a candle mark has passed, perhaps more. Neither of us are yet asleep.
Another sigh emanates from the woman laying so close, the fifth I’ve counted so far. I can feel that she wants to move, to arrange her limbs, her body in ways that might facilitate sleep easier than this bed allows for. Taking pity on her I do my best to shrink even further from her warmth, pressing against the cool stone wall behind me. The stifling heat of the night is eased slightly by that first jolt of coldness against me, but I know the effect won’t last. I’m sticky beneath my leather corset and only growing damper by the moment.
“There’s no need to move further away,” Cara says quietly, the sound of her voice a shock after such a long silence. “That isn’t the problem.”
“You can’t sleep?” I ask, completely unnecessarily.
No doubt she rolled her eyes at my inane question.
“Maybe I should just get up,” she says, her legs stretching a little under the light blanket.
If she gets up then I’ll feel obliged to do the same and I really don’t wish to end this sweet torture just yet. As much as being so close is undeniably agony, the thought of her pulling away is worse.
“Give it a little more time,” I suggest softly, lifting my hand and almost settling it on Cara’s shoulder for encouragement. I quickly change my mind.
“It’s not time that I need,” Cara responds brusquely.
Instantly I guess what it is that she needs. It’s what she’s been doing nearly every night to get to sleep. She needs release. I’m just not certain why.
I clear my throat, wanting to help her, to suggest some other way in which she can relax enough to find the embrace of dreams. But I have no idea what exactly to suggest.
“Is there no other way to . . .” I begin, blushing all over as I think about what she obviously needs to do.
“You know what gets me to sleep, Kahlan,” Cara reminds me without need. “You’ve heard me.”
“I have,” I respond, all but a whisper.
“Mord-Sith need balance,” she goes on after a momentary silence. “We’re not only made with pain, but also pleasure.”
“Oh,” I say, unsure exactly what that might mean.
“I’ve been using my agiels a lot when we fight, so . . .”
“You need to balance out the pain,” I finish for her quietly.
Her silence is answer enough and now I know why she’s been doing what she has and driving me to distraction. I run my teeth over my bottom lip, contemplating what it must feel like to be a slave to sensation, be it pain or pleasure. Passion has never been part of my life. It could never be as a Confessor; though others do take lovers they have confessed, or choose mates that they can spend their lives with.
I’ve always felt uneasy about such things, preferring to deny that I have desires in order to control that part of myself. And now that I’m the last of my kind . . . my needs are inconsequential. I will have to find somebody to procreate with eventually or deny the world of Confessors forever. I know Richard will accept that and support me, though it will hurt him. He wouldn’t support me if I took a lover just because I couldn’t stop the pull of attraction, the hunger of desire, for no other reason than to just be with that person.
Never before have I felt this powerful tug of passion. With Richard it was different. This; I don’t know how to control this.
If Cara is slave to this feeling then how can I tell her not to do whatever she can to ease the suffering? If I was a true friend, wouldn’t I wish her to be able to sleep despite my own discomfort?
“If you need to, you can . . .” I begin, my throat going dry before the words fully come.
I can see Cara’s jaw tightening and for a moment I want to take the offer back. I want to tell her she can’t do it here, now, with me so close. But everything I’ve been feeling suddenly comes to the fore, and I want her to do it, need to feel the heat from her, drown in her scent as she possesses herself.
“Do what you require, Cara,” I say, a little more breathless than intended. “You need to sleep.”
Cara lifts a hand and brushes back some errant hair that must have been tickling her face, her action causing the blanket to move. I catch the smell of lavender from her skin and the subtle hint of the heat she’s enduring along with me. I can almost taste her in the scent and I lick my lips.
“I don’t need to sleep that badly,” Cara argues, though she sounds less than convincing. “It’s just one night.”
“What if it’s more than one night?” I ask, wishing to kick myself for continuing this when I could have agreed with her and let it go, saving both of us from this maddening temptation. “We both need to conserve strength in case we need it.”
I’m fully aware that I’m making excuses and trying to convince her to do it, and I know Cara isn’t stupid so she will also be fully aware of that fact.
After a pause that seems to heat the air around us until I want to claw out of my corset, Cara pushes her hand back under the blanket. My heart begins to pound even harder than it already was, my whole body eager to move fully up against Cara. I hold still, however, waiting.
“This is dangerous territory, Kahlan,” Cara says.
I melt from the sound of arousal I can hear in her voice.
“I know,” I reply. “But we’re not . . . touching,” I claim.
We’re not giving in.
Cara’s breathing rate has increased to match my own and I shudder as a trickle of sweat eases between my breasts in the tight, hot confines of my corset. I want to rip it off and press against her.
Her hand moves lower, I hold my breath. The sheet, caught up in the journey Cara’s hand is taking, moves down past her shoulders, revealing her upper back to me so my eyes can feast. I imagine the taste of her skin coating my tongue, the sensation of feeling her muscles move under my lips. When Cara’s legs shift a little to allow more room for her hand I catch the undeniable scent of arousal, filling the air between us already as she does her best not to tremble at the first touch.
I have no such luck suppressing my reaction as my skin prickles and my body quivers almost as if her fingers were on me and not herself.
“Are you sure?” Cara asks almost too calmly.
My eyes close as I fight with my conscience.
“Touch yourself, Cara,” I reply breathlessly.
It seems as though time has come to a halt, some orchestrated magic that holds us here. I swallow hard and keep as silent as I can, as still as I can as Cara begins, her back still turned to me. Her fingers are sliding over herself, slowly, an economy of movement that ushers us both toward a line we know we mustn’t cross. Her nostrils flare, sucking in the air as she quickens. The bed trembles as I do, only moments in, Cara’s need growing with each pass of her fingers over delicate pink flesh that I can only imagine.
The air is thick with possibility but I don’t move closer as I wish to. I don’t reach out as I long to.
A moan thickens the air further and as I lean up slightly on my elbow I see that Cara’s eyes are shut, her lips parted. Each breath she takes encourages her hand to move faster, harder, until her hips are moving in time and I feel myself aching with the lack of touch to my own sex.
I’m wet and enraptured, watching as Cara gives in to the pleasure at her fingertips. This is not like the other nights; this is so much more fraught with peril. I feel myself edging closer to her on the bed, almost close enough to touch skin with skin, certainly close enough to feel the heat radiating from Cara. I want to touch myself, I want to touch her; so many things running through my mind that I want and her scent is making me weaker still.
Breathing her in I find my nose disappearing into soft, blonde locks, making her falter momentarily.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, my breath caressing the back of her neck.
Willing her on I speak no more and wait, rewarded as she parts her legs further and I hear the wet stroke of her fingers over her sex. I hear myself moan as I sigh, my nipples straining against the leather of my corset, my thighs squeezing together as I search for my own relief.
“Kahlan,” Cara utters with a breathy moan of her own, possibly a plea for an end to this torture as her hips buck into her hand.
Her other hand reaches up, grasping onto the wood of the headboard slats. I want to take that hand in my own just to connect to her but she grips firm to the anchor of the wood and I remind myself that we can’t touch, not in this. Justifying this is difficult enough.
When it almost feels like it’s too much, too much to resist such a temptation, Cara begins to shudder more noticeably, her muscles stiffening and her body giving in to the highest peak of pleasure. I watch as the knuckles on her free hand whiten in their grip, as her lips fall apart even further, as she gasps freely into the air, almost there, almost there.
I can’t stop myself and I find my fingers sliding over her shoulders, burning at the soft touch of perfect skin as my nose once again disappears into her hair. Her scent, her sounds, her mere presence overwhelms my judgment. My hand slides lower, feeling her muscles twitch as she holds herself just on the brink of release, caught in the moment. As I reach her side, finding the dip between her ribs and her hip, I allow my heart to open and crave this woman. My chest tightens, my body pleads, I find myself falling without hope of stopping.
“Make yourself come, Cara,” I demand, nuzzling into her ear, ignoring the blush my words bring to my cheeks.
The result is almost instant, her throat letting loose a wanton whimper as I relent and press against her nakedness with my body, holding her at the hip as I feel everything else slip away.
“Oh, Kahlan,” she gasps softly, so unlike her, so seductive in its quiet innocence.
Cara tumbles over the edge, her hips bucking one last time as the sticky sound of fingers on engorged flesh battles with both of our hard breaths. I feel her shudders through my own body and my sex clutches, wet heat dripping from my core. I desperately want to come with her, but I don’t move, holding her to me as her muscles begin to relax and her breathing slowly calms.
I don’t move away, caught in this bubble, captivated in its clutches as I forget about every reason I have to protect my heart from this beautiful Mord-Sith, every reason we need to fight what could be.
“Dangerous,” she mumbles sleepily. “I shouldn’t have . . .”
Her words drift away as her hand falls from the headboard, the breaths of pleasure quickly giving way to the breaths of sleep. I suppose the earlier blow to the head and being drugged might have helped push her finally into slumber, as well as the release she just achieved.
For a moment I worry, questioning if I should keep her awake after her period of unconsciousness, but she seems so peaceful now. All the tension has left her body, and if I ask her to stay awake she’ll wonder why I was so adamant she sleep in the first place, and she’d know I’d allowed my desire for her to lead me, to take me down such a treacherous path.
I decide that watching her a while will ease my worry, so I settle against her, unable to pull away. My hand lingers in the dip at her side, so feminine and soft I almost want to lean down and brush my lips over that place just to experience the sweet torture of it. Maybe I should move away so I can regain some sense of duty, of consideration for Richard and for the things we’ve been through together.
Pausing, I struggle, hating this state that I’m in; so caught up in Cara’s beauty and appeal, her strength and loyalty. Without cause not to fall, tears begin to fill my eyes. My hand drifts away from Cara’s side, but before I go too far, before I pull away completely, Cara’s own hand finally slips from between her legs and finds mine. My heart clenches and I feel the hot splash of my tears across my cheeks.
Her hand is warm, still sticky, and I allow her to hold my own hand against her side. The urge to wrap my arm around her is great, but I resist. This has to be enough.
Her palm is heavy against the back of my hand, her skin soft beneath it. I indulge in the thought of her essence touching me, marking me with her scent. In this moment everything feels right. In this moment I could allow myself to feel love for this woman. To feel nothing but comfort in the intimacy of our proximity.
In this moment I know I will never be the same again.
Part Seven
.
Author: Dylan
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: NC17 (overall)
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, only the situations, and I make zero money from this foolish endeavor.
Summary: Set around the time between 'Fury' and 'Resurrection', early in season 2 of Legend of The Seeker. Sometimes resistance is err...futile.
Part Six
Cara gazes at me as if recognizing and sharing my pain, her fingers lingering on the leather just barely confining her breasts, giving a few moments’ pause before her back stiffens and she continues with undressing. Her skin is slowly revealed to me; delicately tanned, spattered with freckles here and there, tantalisingly perfect.
I only just pull my gaze away before she pushes the top down over her breasts.
“I apologize, but it’s far too warm to sleep in this, Kahlan,” Cara says, the sound of buckles and leather filling the air as I busy myself turning back the blanket.
She’s correct of course, and it would be incredibly cruel of me to insist that she remains clothed. She’s been struggling with this recent heat enough as it is.
“It’s just . . . this bed is very small,” I practically squeak, rolling my eyes at myself.
“Believe me, I’m very aware of that fact,” Cara responds.
I could almost swear there was a tremble in her voice, but I can’t turn around and look at her to see into her eyes and discover the want and need I know will be there within them.
“We will sleep with our backs to each other,” Cara declares.
Though that may help, I know it will only be a small reprieve from the desire I can now clearly feel coursing between us. With a small nod I keep my eyes averted as Cara places her weapons next to the bed and crawls under the blanket, though even in this dull light I catch a glimpse of her naked back, her thigh, the small cotton briefs that barely cover her most private area.
All the air leaves my lungs as I contemplate the beauty of her, the perfection of her skin and the slight flex of strong muscles. I could stand here and stare at her as she reclines under the moonlight until I have no strength left in me to stand, but I must control what I feel, ignore how she affects me. I whisper a thank you to the Spirits for the fact she isn’t quite completely naked and prepare myself to join her on the bed.
“You should sleep next to the wall,” Cara says, only just covering herself with the blanket. “It will be safer . . . in case anybody comes in.”
I nod, unable to make my tongue and mouth work in any coherent way to ensure that words will form instead of inarticulate mumbles. Again, she’s putting my safety before hers and it makes my heart ache in a way I wish it wouldn’t.
Quickly, I unlace my boots and slide them off. Putting my daggers beside Cara’s agiels, close at hand, I briefly ponder why on earth the guards would leave us with our weapons, but I suppose they must be confident of their ability to keep us locked in these cells. It may be a big mistake on their part.
Shaking my head and discouraging thoughts of escape for the moment I turn my attention once again to Cara, wondering how I will achieve getting into the bed to lay by the wall when Cara is already occupying the side closest to me. I’m left to wonder only briefly as she throws the covers back again and raises her eyebrow, waiting for me to climb over her.
My eyes close and my heart pounds, the assault of Cara’s mostly naked form making all my nerve endings tingle with the desperate need to be closer, to know the sensation of her skin against mine. I daren’t look, the briefest glimpse of those full breasts and their dusky pink nipples already tormenting me more than I can stand. Keeping my gaze to the space beside her once I prise my eyes open again, I climb over Cara, holding my body far from hers so we don’t touch.
“You’re sleeping in your clothes?” she asks once I’m settled - though how settled I could possibly be in such circumstances is up for debate.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation, tugging on tight cloth and leather in a vain attempt to get comfortable.
There’s silence for a while and Cara turns from me, laying with her back to me as she suggested. I almost wish she would turn to me instead, but this situation is challenging enough as it is. After a short while, in which I do my best not to think about the half naked Mord-Sith in bed next to me, I realise that it really is far too hot to sleep in such heavy clothing. If I remove my dress I’ll still have the barrier of my corset between us. I can cope with that, I hope.
Without speaking I untie the laces holding my travel clothes tight around me and begin to shuffle out of their confines. Cara says nothing, her head lying close to mine as my hair tangles within her blonde locks. Pausing, I stop to indulge in the way we contrast in that way; light on dark. I want to reach out and push my fingers through her hair to enjoy its texture. I wonder if she likes that; fingers running through her hair, caressing her neck, touching her reverently in the way I so wish I could.
I doubt that’s the kind of thing Cara finds appealing, however. She has grown up with pain, with harsh touches, with intensity not tenderness.
When I continue wriggling out of my dress and jacket I find myself brushing against her on more than one occasion, feeling the heat of her skin against mine. The shock of it sends waves of sensation through me, all eventually centring between my legs in order to make me dizzy and breathless.
“Kahlan,” Cara says softly, her voice rough with something other than sleep, “do you plan on sleeping at any point tonight?”
I find myself blushing even though she can’t see, pushing the remains of my clothes off and shoving them to the bottom of the bed, adjusting my corset accordingly.
“I was too hot,” I mumble by way of explanation.
“Evidently.”
Ignoring the smirk I can hear in her voice I lay back down again, flipping around so my back is to Cara’s. She jerks a little when my rear bumps against hers by accident and I quickly move in order to ensure we’re not touching anywhere along our lengths. It’s not an easy achievement in such a small bed, but the alternative would be maddening.
Stilling my breathing as much as I’m able I hope for sleep to come swiftly. Tomorrow we might be free from this cell and I won’t need to suffer this torment any further, though a small part of my mind insists that I will only end up wishing for this closeness again. I ponder on whether Cara is feeling quite as distracted and uncomfortable but I need ponder no more as she lets out a small sigh, her body moving slightly in search of sleep.
We say nothing, both of us sleepless, both of us holding ourselves so stiff and so apart that even breathing becomes a chore. There is not enough space, and not enough will in all the world to keep me from turning towards her so I can mirror her position on the mattress. With a resigned grunt I flip over, instantly finding it more comfortable as my long legs tuck behind Cara’s - not quite touching, but close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.
“I thought we were sleeping with our backs to one another,” Cara says, breaking the eerie calm of the night around us.
“It feels like I have more room this way,” I explain inadequately.
It’s not quite a lie, or just an excuse, but as my body leans even closer towards Cara I can’t help but feel the strain of dishonesty tugging on me in unpleasant ways.
I rest my hand between us, a barrier I wish I could cross. My gaze wanders once more over Cara’s silken hair, my fingers twitching, aching to touch it. There’s a burning sensation deep in my gut, both pushing me and pulling me to and from what I want. If only things were simple: Were I not the Mother Confessor: Were she not Mord-Sith: Were I not promised to another.
Without warning my mind drifts to all the nights I’ve listened to Cara, to last night when I watched her take pleasure from her own fingers with my name on her lips. The burning shifts to an ache and every part of me, every inch, wishes to know Cara intimately more than I can bear. If only sleep would come so I can free my mind of these thoughts of what I want her to do to me, with me.
Closing my eyes I think of Richard; how kind he is, how gentle. It pains me to know I’ll hurt him, yet it pains me even more to ignore what I feel. There seems to be no end to this agony.
Focusing on the passing of time I realise that at least a candle mark has passed, perhaps more. Neither of us are yet asleep.
Another sigh emanates from the woman laying so close, the fifth I’ve counted so far. I can feel that she wants to move, to arrange her limbs, her body in ways that might facilitate sleep easier than this bed allows for. Taking pity on her I do my best to shrink even further from her warmth, pressing against the cool stone wall behind me. The stifling heat of the night is eased slightly by that first jolt of coldness against me, but I know the effect won’t last. I’m sticky beneath my leather corset and only growing damper by the moment.
“There’s no need to move further away,” Cara says quietly, the sound of her voice a shock after such a long silence. “That isn’t the problem.”
“You can’t sleep?” I ask, completely unnecessarily.
No doubt she rolled her eyes at my inane question.
“Maybe I should just get up,” she says, her legs stretching a little under the light blanket.
If she gets up then I’ll feel obliged to do the same and I really don’t wish to end this sweet torture just yet. As much as being so close is undeniably agony, the thought of her pulling away is worse.
“Give it a little more time,” I suggest softly, lifting my hand and almost settling it on Cara’s shoulder for encouragement. I quickly change my mind.
“It’s not time that I need,” Cara responds brusquely.
Instantly I guess what it is that she needs. It’s what she’s been doing nearly every night to get to sleep. She needs release. I’m just not certain why.
I clear my throat, wanting to help her, to suggest some other way in which she can relax enough to find the embrace of dreams. But I have no idea what exactly to suggest.
“Is there no other way to . . .” I begin, blushing all over as I think about what she obviously needs to do.
“You know what gets me to sleep, Kahlan,” Cara reminds me without need. “You’ve heard me.”
“I have,” I respond, all but a whisper.
“Mord-Sith need balance,” she goes on after a momentary silence. “We’re not only made with pain, but also pleasure.”
“Oh,” I say, unsure exactly what that might mean.
“I’ve been using my agiels a lot when we fight, so . . .”
“You need to balance out the pain,” I finish for her quietly.
Her silence is answer enough and now I know why she’s been doing what she has and driving me to distraction. I run my teeth over my bottom lip, contemplating what it must feel like to be a slave to sensation, be it pain or pleasure. Passion has never been part of my life. It could never be as a Confessor; though others do take lovers they have confessed, or choose mates that they can spend their lives with.
I’ve always felt uneasy about such things, preferring to deny that I have desires in order to control that part of myself. And now that I’m the last of my kind . . . my needs are inconsequential. I will have to find somebody to procreate with eventually or deny the world of Confessors forever. I know Richard will accept that and support me, though it will hurt him. He wouldn’t support me if I took a lover just because I couldn’t stop the pull of attraction, the hunger of desire, for no other reason than to just be with that person.
Never before have I felt this powerful tug of passion. With Richard it was different. This; I don’t know how to control this.
If Cara is slave to this feeling then how can I tell her not to do whatever she can to ease the suffering? If I was a true friend, wouldn’t I wish her to be able to sleep despite my own discomfort?
“If you need to, you can . . .” I begin, my throat going dry before the words fully come.
I can see Cara’s jaw tightening and for a moment I want to take the offer back. I want to tell her she can’t do it here, now, with me so close. But everything I’ve been feeling suddenly comes to the fore, and I want her to do it, need to feel the heat from her, drown in her scent as she possesses herself.
“Do what you require, Cara,” I say, a little more breathless than intended. “You need to sleep.”
Cara lifts a hand and brushes back some errant hair that must have been tickling her face, her action causing the blanket to move. I catch the smell of lavender from her skin and the subtle hint of the heat she’s enduring along with me. I can almost taste her in the scent and I lick my lips.
“I don’t need to sleep that badly,” Cara argues, though she sounds less than convincing. “It’s just one night.”
“What if it’s more than one night?” I ask, wishing to kick myself for continuing this when I could have agreed with her and let it go, saving both of us from this maddening temptation. “We both need to conserve strength in case we need it.”
I’m fully aware that I’m making excuses and trying to convince her to do it, and I know Cara isn’t stupid so she will also be fully aware of that fact.
After a pause that seems to heat the air around us until I want to claw out of my corset, Cara pushes her hand back under the blanket. My heart begins to pound even harder than it already was, my whole body eager to move fully up against Cara. I hold still, however, waiting.
“This is dangerous territory, Kahlan,” Cara says.
I melt from the sound of arousal I can hear in her voice.
“I know,” I reply. “But we’re not . . . touching,” I claim.
We’re not giving in.
Cara’s breathing rate has increased to match my own and I shudder as a trickle of sweat eases between my breasts in the tight, hot confines of my corset. I want to rip it off and press against her.
Her hand moves lower, I hold my breath. The sheet, caught up in the journey Cara’s hand is taking, moves down past her shoulders, revealing her upper back to me so my eyes can feast. I imagine the taste of her skin coating my tongue, the sensation of feeling her muscles move under my lips. When Cara’s legs shift a little to allow more room for her hand I catch the undeniable scent of arousal, filling the air between us already as she does her best not to tremble at the first touch.
I have no such luck suppressing my reaction as my skin prickles and my body quivers almost as if her fingers were on me and not herself.
“Are you sure?” Cara asks almost too calmly.
My eyes close as I fight with my conscience.
“Touch yourself, Cara,” I reply breathlessly.
It seems as though time has come to a halt, some orchestrated magic that holds us here. I swallow hard and keep as silent as I can, as still as I can as Cara begins, her back still turned to me. Her fingers are sliding over herself, slowly, an economy of movement that ushers us both toward a line we know we mustn’t cross. Her nostrils flare, sucking in the air as she quickens. The bed trembles as I do, only moments in, Cara’s need growing with each pass of her fingers over delicate pink flesh that I can only imagine.
The air is thick with possibility but I don’t move closer as I wish to. I don’t reach out as I long to.
A moan thickens the air further and as I lean up slightly on my elbow I see that Cara’s eyes are shut, her lips parted. Each breath she takes encourages her hand to move faster, harder, until her hips are moving in time and I feel myself aching with the lack of touch to my own sex.
I’m wet and enraptured, watching as Cara gives in to the pleasure at her fingertips. This is not like the other nights; this is so much more fraught with peril. I feel myself edging closer to her on the bed, almost close enough to touch skin with skin, certainly close enough to feel the heat radiating from Cara. I want to touch myself, I want to touch her; so many things running through my mind that I want and her scent is making me weaker still.
Breathing her in I find my nose disappearing into soft, blonde locks, making her falter momentarily.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, my breath caressing the back of her neck.
Willing her on I speak no more and wait, rewarded as she parts her legs further and I hear the wet stroke of her fingers over her sex. I hear myself moan as I sigh, my nipples straining against the leather of my corset, my thighs squeezing together as I search for my own relief.
“Kahlan,” Cara utters with a breathy moan of her own, possibly a plea for an end to this torture as her hips buck into her hand.
Her other hand reaches up, grasping onto the wood of the headboard slats. I want to take that hand in my own just to connect to her but she grips firm to the anchor of the wood and I remind myself that we can’t touch, not in this. Justifying this is difficult enough.
When it almost feels like it’s too much, too much to resist such a temptation, Cara begins to shudder more noticeably, her muscles stiffening and her body giving in to the highest peak of pleasure. I watch as the knuckles on her free hand whiten in their grip, as her lips fall apart even further, as she gasps freely into the air, almost there, almost there.
I can’t stop myself and I find my fingers sliding over her shoulders, burning at the soft touch of perfect skin as my nose once again disappears into her hair. Her scent, her sounds, her mere presence overwhelms my judgment. My hand slides lower, feeling her muscles twitch as she holds herself just on the brink of release, caught in the moment. As I reach her side, finding the dip between her ribs and her hip, I allow my heart to open and crave this woman. My chest tightens, my body pleads, I find myself falling without hope of stopping.
“Make yourself come, Cara,” I demand, nuzzling into her ear, ignoring the blush my words bring to my cheeks.
The result is almost instant, her throat letting loose a wanton whimper as I relent and press against her nakedness with my body, holding her at the hip as I feel everything else slip away.
“Oh, Kahlan,” she gasps softly, so unlike her, so seductive in its quiet innocence.
Cara tumbles over the edge, her hips bucking one last time as the sticky sound of fingers on engorged flesh battles with both of our hard breaths. I feel her shudders through my own body and my sex clutches, wet heat dripping from my core. I desperately want to come with her, but I don’t move, holding her to me as her muscles begin to relax and her breathing slowly calms.
I don’t move away, caught in this bubble, captivated in its clutches as I forget about every reason I have to protect my heart from this beautiful Mord-Sith, every reason we need to fight what could be.
“Dangerous,” she mumbles sleepily. “I shouldn’t have . . .”
Her words drift away as her hand falls from the headboard, the breaths of pleasure quickly giving way to the breaths of sleep. I suppose the earlier blow to the head and being drugged might have helped push her finally into slumber, as well as the release she just achieved.
For a moment I worry, questioning if I should keep her awake after her period of unconsciousness, but she seems so peaceful now. All the tension has left her body, and if I ask her to stay awake she’ll wonder why I was so adamant she sleep in the first place, and she’d know I’d allowed my desire for her to lead me, to take me down such a treacherous path.
I decide that watching her a while will ease my worry, so I settle against her, unable to pull away. My hand lingers in the dip at her side, so feminine and soft I almost want to lean down and brush my lips over that place just to experience the sweet torture of it. Maybe I should move away so I can regain some sense of duty, of consideration for Richard and for the things we’ve been through together.
Pausing, I struggle, hating this state that I’m in; so caught up in Cara’s beauty and appeal, her strength and loyalty. Without cause not to fall, tears begin to fill my eyes. My hand drifts away from Cara’s side, but before I go too far, before I pull away completely, Cara’s own hand finally slips from between her legs and finds mine. My heart clenches and I feel the hot splash of my tears across my cheeks.
Her hand is warm, still sticky, and I allow her to hold my own hand against her side. The urge to wrap my arm around her is great, but I resist. This has to be enough.
Her palm is heavy against the back of my hand, her skin soft beneath it. I indulge in the thought of her essence touching me, marking me with her scent. In this moment everything feels right. In this moment I could allow myself to feel love for this woman. To feel nothing but comfort in the intimacy of our proximity.
In this moment I know I will never be the same again.
Part Seven
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