Flight of The Harpy's Heart

Chapter xx: Pillow Talk

As the first vibrant hues of dawn filtered through the cracks in the stable's walls, Aden found himself basking in the warm afterglow, Indry's supple form nestled against his own. A comfortable quiet settled between them as they indulged in post-coital pillow talk, trading whispered confidences and intimate secrets.

Aden's gaze traced the gentle contours of Indry's face as she regaled him with tantalizing tales of her own illicit dalliances—furtive trysts with rugged sailors during a sojourn in the port city of Havenmoor. With each salacious detail, he felt his desire for her deepen, a primal hunger igniting within the core of his being.

There was something utterly intoxicating about a devoted wife harboring such deliciously wanton proclivities. Indry defied his expectations at every turn, her quiet sensuality and melancholic air concealing a wellspring of carnal delights.

"Not like what you expected?" she murmured, her lips brushing against the stubbled line of his jaw.

Aden could only shake his head, his throat constricting with a potent blend of lust and wonderment.

"You expected me to be wild in the bedchamber, didn't you?" There was a teasing lilt to her tone, her fingers tracing idle patterns across the planes of his chest.

His nod was enough to answer, prompting a soft chuckle from her kiss-swollen lips. Indry shifted, draping her lithe form over his as she gazed down at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Do you think me a despicable wife?" she breathed, the words laced with both challenge and vulnerability. "A naughty woman?"

"No," Aden was quick to reassure her, his fingers carding through her tousled tresses. "Quite the contrary, I understand." A roguish grin curved his mouth as he elaborated, "My own mother was a nympho."

Indry's eyes widened at the admission, her brow arching in a silent prompt for him to continue.

"Is it what I think it is?" she ventured, and Aden could only nod.

"Yes, she could finish three men simultaneously."

A delighted giggle burst forth from Indry's lips as she settled more comfortably atop him, her curiosity piqued. "Is she pretty?"

"The prettiest woman in my life," Aden affirmed without hesitation.

"What's her name?"

"Sira."

Indry's teeth sank into her plush lower lip as she mulled over the name. "Was she as pretty as Lady Light?"

Aden's brow furrowed at the unfamiliar moniker. "I don't know who that is," he confessed, "but I can tell you, my mother was prettier than she."

Indry's eyes danced with mirth as she pressed, "Tell me, tell me more about her little adventures."

As if sensing his hesitation, she shifted her weight atop him, a subtle reminder of her presence. "Well?" she prodded. "She was a devoted wife at home, but when you visited the city..."

A wistful smile tugged at the corners of Aden's mouth as he began to divulge the secrets he had harbored for so long. "In Median, a harlot—or a 'hur' as we called them—would wear a face veil. So no one could recognize her when she...serviced men in the pleasure districts."

Indry was enraptured, drinking in every salacious detail as Aden laid bare the truth about his mother's illicit forays into the flesh trade. As the words spilled forth, a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders, the burden of keeping such lurid knowledge to himself dissipating with each confession.