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Continuing the relationship growth of Tom and Morgan.

The man she'd come to know over the last few weeks had a distant, battle weary look about him. When she asked if he was hurt, his answer was simple: "The Dark Order has prevailed,"

The gypsy quickly ushered the fighter away from the wine cellar, up and up the stairs to the private rooms of the tavern. She took her time tending his blessedly few wounds, and cleaning the residues of battle from his person. Once she was satisfied with that bit of work she set about bringing him food and ale. The tavern was quiet, there were no revelers out and about on a night of such military importance. With a nervous glance down the corridor, she closed the door and found herself alone with Walter.

As he took his first bottle of ale, Merrique cut up the food she brought. His thirst slaked, the dark eyed woman sat beside him and bit by bit fed him the pieces of beef and lamb and bread. She was concerned for the faraway look he had and hoped he was not suffering that strange fugue she'd heard that warriors sometimes do. It crossed her mind that she should feel ashamed of herself for sitting here beside this weary soldier, and wanting him so. The truth was, she couldn't help it-she found him impossibly erotic. She wondered if he could sense what she perceived, or if it was simply her mind running away with her as it sometimes did where sex was concerned.

Time was liquid. It could have been long minutes or hours that the two sat in the semi-darkness of the room, the candle on the table flickering every so often. After his food, conversation slowly ensued and Merrique heard stories of the battle from his perspective. As was her way, she was aptly horrified at the things that happened; her people were relatively peaceful and avoided politics and its wars at all costs. Soon enough his words were no more, and she quietly told Walter that he looked as if he should get some sleep. She stood to go, and he reached for her and took hold of her wrist.

"You're right," he said. "I do need sleep. Come home with me." Merrique probably looked as surprised as she felt by his unexpected forwardness, it seemed so unlike him. A flood of something akin to that earlier shame washed over her as she thought that perhaps her desires for him were overly apparent. Without hesitating she consented to join him, despite the strange thing she'd just felt. She hurried downstairs to tell the barman that she would be leaving for the night. Outside, the pair met and cast the spells that would take them to his home. They arrived at his home within moments of each other, and he bade her entry.

Without a word, Walter took Merrique into his arms. Their first kiss was long and passionate, alternately tender and aggressive. He lifted her from her feet and carried her upstairs to his private rooms. There he slowly undressed her and laid her in his bed; he then began to undress himself. She lay still and quiet, watching him remove his over-garments, and then the armor itself. Every piece revealed to her the man she'd never known to be anything but battle-ready. When at last he joined her, the tension that had been building for so long was soon to be nothing more than a memory.

Merri opened her arms to him and he came to her. More long kisses and quiet murmurings were shared. The feeling of his hard length pressing against her was almost too much to bear but overwhelmingly delicious to her. The heat building within her, both physically and emotionally, seemed dangerous to her. Something that could wind up hurting her, yet somehow she could not bring herself to care; in all regards she was ready for the risk. With a soft moan she arched her back, pressing her breasts against his bare chest. Just as she was asking him in a whisper to put an end to her suffering, Walter thrust his hips forward and filled her with his throbbing cock.

Crying out with both pleasure and sadness, she clutched his muscular arms with her hands and wrapped her legs behind his.

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