The Herald and The Apostate

VI

Maeve nibbles the tip of Solas' ear lightly, earning a low, quiet moan at the touch of her teeth.

She is perfection in its purest form.  

But he cannot let her distract him as such right now.  The others are too close.  Cassandra and Bull are only a few paces ahead of them.  The Qunari wanted to come looking for the dragon that roams the Hinterlands.  He was feening for it, lusting for the kill.  

The rage in him at the thought of it is apparent in his rugged tension.  But Maeve sees none of that.  She's taking her sweet time in teasing Solas with the others so far ahead.   

Her teeth and tongue and lips tug and touch him, pushing and pulling him vigorously toward the edge.  

Cassandra turns her head, looking back at them with a small smile.  Maeve simply puts her arm in Solas', looping their elbows and grins at her.  The Seeker sees none of Maeve's devious doings.  She is good at hiding them, and Cassandra returns her gaze ahead of her, assuming their attentions utterly innocent.  

But Maeve can't hide what she's doing to him, the... constraints she causes.  

Her eyes shift downward to the growing erection in his trousers.  He can all but see her mouth fill with saliva, her legs become jelly, her stomach plummet into need, and her core fill with that sweet, sticky nectar.  

Just one look at him.  

Just one thought of his length and the stiffness of it, the ache he must be feeling and she's as wet as snow is cold.  

She kisses the space on his cheek just in front of his ear, bordering on his jaw, and whispers, "I am so fucking hot for you, right now."  

The words are like pinpricks in his hypersensitive ears.  Every syllable of them a siren's song, calling him into the depths. 

Her depths. 

They continue walking, though it's difficult to keep his steps straight and unaffected with the hardening in his groin. 

Maeve only continues to provoke him.  Her thin, fine hands move with blissful leisure over the contours of abdominal muscles.  She traces every inch that rippling, rigged flesh, that hard, flexing, pulsing might of him.

Every curve is a valley.  Every edge is a cliff, a sturdy, thrumming mountain top.  Every breath close to her face is a hot wind come to seduce her. 

Solas growls, a hot, ragged growl deep in his throat, furious with the throbbing desire in his blood.  And Maeve breathes a slow, taunting and amused sigh.

"You should watch that mouth of yours, Vhenan."  The tip of her tongue caresses the point of his ear, blowing her hot breath over the wetness her mouth leaves there.  

"Should I, now?  Does it bother you?  Is it... filthy?"  Her voice is sultry, like a velvet chasm of fire, giving askance to whether he might jump it it.  

Solas takes a deep breath, steadying himself as she touches him, toying with him most delectably.  "You are making things incredibly difficult for me."  He whispers back, his mouth barely touching the side of her face as they walk in tandem.  

Bull says something about the treeline up ahead to the group but neither he or Cassandra look back at the Inquisitor for approval or instruction.  "Am I, now?  Am I making it very,... hard?"  

He does something daring, then, praying that the other two don't look behind them.  He takes her hand and forces their bodies together, pressing her palm against the stiff bulge in his trousers.  "Quite hard, indeed."