·Your Name On My Summer Skin
Heat of July
"CHAPTER 1
Ralof x f!reader
DAY 1
"What's this?"
Ralof's fingers are phantoms against your skin as they travel up your thighs.
"There's nothing here." His voice is a surprised whisper as his hand slides between your legs.
Riverwood is alight with sound and noise to celebrate the melting of the snow and the
coming of warmer weather. Women wear simple white dresses with flowers in their hair.
There is food, dancing, songs of great warriors, and enough drink to drown a giant.
Ralof has you trapped between him and a wall of one of the nearby houses. It's dark now, and
he stole you away after watching you dance with Faendal. Ralof's slight jealousy is cute but
unwarranted. The Wood Elf only has eyes for Camilla.
"Is this for me?" His fingers slip between, parting, finding how excited you are for his touch.
You reach out, snagging his wrist, halting his movements.
"We can't," you whisper. "Someone will see."
Ralof glances over his shoulder. No one is around. Everyone is celebrating. It's unlikely that
anyone will stumble across the two of you like this.
A distant cheer goes up and Ralof smiles, turning back to gaze into your eyes.
"Do you trust me?" he asks.
"Of course."
He leans down to kiss the space just behind your ear. "Then let go of my wrist."
The moment you release him, Ralof's hands go to your waist and lift you effortlessly onto the
top of a nearby crate. Standing between your legs, Ralof bunches the dress around your hips,
bringing you to the edge. Then he sinks to his knees, drapes a leg over either shoulder, and
begins to work two, thick fingers in and out of your pussy, curling them slightly to hit that
sweet spot. His thumb rubs slow circles over your clit, sometimes stopping to wipe up your
growing wetness to use against it.
When you whimper, Ralof lightly bites on your bare thigh.
"Hush, love. Someone will hear you."
Another stroke, and the perfect flick of his thumb against your clit has you undone. Your legs
spasm involuntarily, pussy clenching around his fingers. The crate creaks as your body jerksfrom the aftershocks. Ralof does that flick again. The same one that took you over the edge.
You whine when he immediately repeats the motion.
"Stop teasing. I can hardly stand it." Your voice nearly breaks as Ralof's thumb passes over
your clit for a third time.
Ralof removes his thumb from your clit and immediately puts hit mouth there. His tongue
strokes against it before sucking it into his mouth.
You nearly scream this time, stifling the sound by biting down on your arm. Ralof doesn't
stop. He works his tongue and his fingers in rhythmic fluidity until you're dripping around
him, moaning his name, nails digging into the wood as he brings you over the edge again.
Ralof's eyes are full of need, and something darker.
His fingers and tongue continue to stroke and flick, pursuing your pleasure yet again. Your
voice is choked, empty air. You cannot speak. You cannot form words. Your back is arched,
head pressed against the stone wall.
The feeling is relentless.
Ralof's tongue slows then ceases entirely. His fingers slip out completely coated in your
wetness. When he stands, he undoes his belt, and uses your slickness on his fingers to coat
himself. Then, he lines himself up and presses the tip against your entrance.
You're so wet he glides right in.
He braces himself. One hand on the wall next to your head, the other on your hip. Ralof rolls
his hips and then sets a pounding pace. The crate beneath you creaks, but it's muffled by the
music coming from the celebration.
Locking your legs around him, you keep him in place, holding him close. It isn't long before
Ralof rests his forehead against yours and moans when you clench around him, grinding
forward to flood your body with his release.
The two of you linger in the moment until your breathing eases. Slowly, you unwrap
yourself, and Ralof gently eases himself from your body. His hands go to your waist, lift you
from the crate, and bring you back to solid ground.
When you sway, his arms go around you. Ralof smooths out your dress, adjusts the flowers in
your hair, and brushes away the few strands that have fallen out of place. Some of him rolls
down your thigh, and it only makes you want him all over again.
His mouth is soft and warm when it meets yours.
"You owe me a dance," he murmurs against your lips.
Your hands come together, fingers intertwining as he begins to lead you back toward the
festivities.
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