the angels hidden blade

FOURTY TWO

Beneath the towering canopy of an ancient forest, the dappled sunlight filtered through the interwoven branches, creating a patchwork of light and shadow on the mossy ground.

The air was thick with the earthy scent of pine and the distant murmur of the babbling river.

She saw it on his face as they stood amidst the rustling leaves—a revelation that unfolded as he delicately stepped back from her.

Geralt of Rivia his presence seamlessly blending with the natural elegance of the forest.

His unruly silver hair, kissed by the sun's golden rays, cascaded down his broad shoulders.

The scar over his left eye, a mark etched by the hand of a monstrous foe, added a rugged charm to his countenance.

It was a testament to the battles fought and the untold stories that lurked behind his piercing gaze.

As the roguish smile gracing his lips faltered, the amber eyes that usually held nothing began to smoulder like coals.

His gaze, intense and deliberate, fixated on her face.

His eyes spoke a language of desire, a magnetic pull that transcended words, as he regarded her with a newfound, unmistakable attraction.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, as she stared up at him.

In the dance of sunlight and shadow, the atmosphere between them crackled with an electric charge.

She marvelled at the vulnerability that unfolded before her.

Geralt, the legendary Witcher, stood not only as a warrior of steel but also as a man, visibly entranced by the woman before him.

The guarded caution in his eyes morphed into a subtle yearning, revealing a depth of emotion that broke his hardened exterior.

She closed the gap between them, the crunch of fallen leaves beneath her boots barely audible against the symphony of rustling foliage.

The soft whisper of a breeze carried the scent of pine, intertwining with the charged atmosphere as her head came into view of the solid expanse of his chest.

Her hands, delicate yet possessing a quiet strength, found the leathers that adorned him. Fingers tracing intricate patterns, feeling the supple texture beneath her touch.

Impassive eyes met his, a steady gaze that betrayed nothing of the storm swirling within.

Her fingers continued their exploration, tracing the contours of his form with a subtle audacity.

As her hands descended further down, she watched his gaze remain fixed on her face, the black depths of desire pooling into the amber surface of his eyes.

A low growl escaped her lips, a primal declaration that echoed through the towering forest.

"This is only to get even. It doesn't mean anything," she asserted with a ferocity that cut through the charged air.

The words hung between them, a fragile tether of justification for the intimate act that was about to unfold.

Before he could fully register her defiant proclamation, she moved with a swift determination.

Sinking to her knees on the mossy ground, the earth yielded beneath her with a muted surrender.

Ignoring the discomfort, she let her hands fall to his belt with purpose.

She was going to show him how it felt.

Her eyes didn't meet his as she undid the belt with a quiet clip.