by Cecilia Tan
Her lover is a flame and this is both joy and pain.
There are advantages. She can see him almost anywhere, anytime, so when they are apart she is never truly alone. A woman unaccompanied in a tavern is the object at times of unwanted attention, but at the Black Tabard the whispers keep her safe, about the time Tall John’s boots caught afire or that burn that kitchen boy received, what was his name?
The disadvantages come on lonely nights, when he is away, though. When the only chance for his touch comes with the single candle burning on the stones in front of the hearth. She sheds her clothes, baring a sex unencumbered by hair, meticulously shaved in his absence. She kneels before the candle, a delicate finger spreading her folds, exposing herself to the heat of his gaze. The fire roars.
She builds up a sheen of moisture, sweat across her skin and dew gathering between her thighs, spreading it over her pleasure, whispering his name. And then she rears up, the tongue of the candle flame licking at her wetted sex, until it becomes too much and she settles onto her heels again, her finger starting its travels through the wetness once again.
The fire roars.
Eventually even the slowest pace brings her to the inevitable peak, though, her desire consuming her, her edges curling in the heat, until it takes only one last swipe of her finger, or, if she has truly held back long enough, just the barest flicker of the candle near her nub sends her into spasms and gasps of ecstasy. She grinds her wetness against her palm then, igniting that heat again and again, until at last she lies sated before the hearth, soaked with sweat, her skin aglow.
And still the fire roars. He will be home soon.
Cecilia Tan is the founder of Circlet Press and the author of many erotic books and short stories. Details at ceciliatan.com.