Months had passed since that fateful afternoon when Geralt of Rivia saved you from a monster in the woods, and you thought of the night you two had shared more often than you'd like to admit. You saw him everywhere; his eyes in the yellow poppies you planted in your garden, his silver hair in the reflection of light off water, the hitch of his breath in a gust of wind. You kept yourself busy, working late nights at Dedrik's tavern and chastising yourself for thinking so often of a man who likely didn't even remember your name.
"Y/N."
You paused at the deep voice, but didn't turn around. It sounded like his, but was probably just one of the regulars and you didn't have time to be wishful. "I'll be right with you, sir," you responded, continuing to polish the last of a stack of mugs.
"Take your time," he responded, and you obliged. It didn't take long though before you turned around and were face to face with that razor-sharp jawline. You had heard stories of witchers' heightened senses, rumours that they could hear heartbeats - if that was true, then Geralt definitely heard yours skip.
You cleared your throat and shifted your weight, "Back in town?" you asked, attempting to appear poised and unbothered by his long absence from your life. "Ale so good it brought you back for more?"
"Something like that," Geralt responded. He looked you up and down, but it wasn't thirst on his face; it was hunger. Slowly, he produced two coins and set them in front of you. "Drink with me."
With a tight lip you took the coins and set them beneath the bar before filling two mugs of ale. You gave one to Geralt and kept the other for yourself, nodding towards a secluded booth in the corner of the tavern. The two of you walked over to it, sitting across from each other in silence for a moment before you could muster up the courage to talk. "If not the ale," you asked, circling a finger around the rim of your drink, "then might I assume you've come for more repayment?"
He leaned back in his seat, taking another sip. "I was passing through town," he said, "thought I might find you here."
"Well, here I am," you responded, uncertain of how to feel. The fact that he had remembered you and thought to come find you sent butterflies through your stomach, but you were sure his intentions weren't nearly as romantic. "There are some rooms for rent upstairs if you're leaving soon," you continued on, "Dedrik charges by the hour."
Geralt cocked an eyebrow and you wondered if maybe you had actually misread his intentions. "I was hoping to spend the night in that cottage of yours," he said, "unless I'm not the only visitor you'll be having tonight?"
You couldn't help but laugh at his words. Other men had vied for your attention, sure, but your sheets hadn't felt the warmth of another since that morning months ago when you awoke and found that Geralt had left in the night. "Only you, witcher."
It wasn't long before the two of you had drained your mugs and you had to go back to tending the bar. You expected Geralt to leave, but were happy to see him sitting at that booth for the remainder of the night, sipping on a few more drinks. His back was to the wall so that he might see the entirety of the room, but whenever you shot a glance in his direction he was staring only at you. Soon the two of you were the only ones left in the tavern and you hurried to finish the last of the dishes, eager to get home. As you hunched over the washbasin you soon felt a pair of hands on your waist, rubbing soft circles against your hips. "I'll be done soon," you said, "and then we can head home."
"What if I don't want to wait," Geralt purred in response, nuzzling into your neck, "what if I want to fuck you right here and now?" There was alcohol on his breath. His hands continued to paw at you, growing more ravenous as he began to stray from your waist and hips down to your thighs and the supple curve of your ass. Your pulse began to quicken and you nearly dropped a dish. In your adulthood you had grown to become an independent woman and if you were nothing else, you were strong against the advances of men. But here you were, putty in the witcher's hands.
