Raucous in the Rain (Explicit)

Even with the festivities of the Love Festival on the air, and the full bloom of springtime on the horizon, the rain in Tiragarde Sound had yet to gain any warmth from the spring. Indeed, it was just as freezing cold as it had been all winter; It began as a subtle shift in the wind, the kind that old sailors always claim to feel in their bones. The day had been relatively calm, if passably cool, with the clouds looking akin to fine puffs of pipe smoke under a beating blonde sun. The wind picked up around dinner time, whipping up the cloaks of noblemen and commoners alike as they hurried home or to the nearest inn for a drink, and it wasn't long after that the sheet of rain passed over Boralus. The rain echoed on the metal roofs of Hook Point weren’t the soft, gentle drops of tears caught in a handkerchief; it was bashing shields of war, hitting the earth with a force enough to keep many inside, fearing the arrival of the flashing fangs of lightning and the terrible growl of thunder. The thermometer plunged farther down as a stranger withstood the cold, footsteps quickening through the main streets as the rain fell.

To the passerby, this was just an unlucky soul that got caught in a spring rain-storm, and that was the way Alia Atherton-Chess preferred it. She had only come to gather some belongings and tools of her trade from the Chess residence in the city, check up on the house, and return to the Argent Tournament grounds within Icecrown. It was not a place the Magna preferred to spend her days, but until they had received word from those working in the Shadowlands about Proudmoore's whereabouts, there was nowhere else Jon could be. And where Jon was, so Alia would be too. 

Alia was not the kind of fighter who could withstand long campaigns in the frozen wastes battling the undead. Her endurance was best used in mental pursuits, so when she was not flying in on the back of the red drake Rorikstraz for one supply drop or another, she was back in the Silver Covenant tent creating scrolls, enchantments, and other magical items to aid those in the thick of it. Such was her Dalaran training as an inscriptionist, but the Argent Crusade, for all their power, did not have the proper quality quills, inks, and reagents needed to do the work. And so Alia was here, trudging her way back home in the torrential rain, carrying a parcel of such needed inks from Scribes and Nobles. 

“With luck like this, who needs broken mirrors black cats?” Alia murmured.

The rain did not reply, only continuing to pour onto the woman’s head. It soaked past her cloak, through her clothes, and down to her bones. She could only pray to the Light that the parcel of inks and paper were not just as soaked, but she wouldn’t be holding her breath.

With barely a foot of visibility, Alia had no chance but to run, and run she did, down the streets of Hook Point and through the thoroughfare to the bridge, where people hurried around her to get themselves and their outdoor stalls out of trouble. The closer she got to Upton Borough, the more she dared not use her magic to Blink forward - there was no telling where we could end up, and she didn’t want ‘being trapped in a wall’ to add to the list of reasons why she was late in getting back to Icecrown. It was supposed to be a quick in and out of the shop, but a book signing today meant a line running out of Scribes and Nobles almost to Dampwick Ward (almost - no one was that eager to get their book signed), and now the rain meant she could not return to the portal room immediately, as was her plan. 

It should go without saying that water-soaked clothes and below freezing conditions do not mix well. So she trudged on, doing her best not to slip in the mud as she crossed the bridge and made a beeline through the Borough to graciously find the door to her and Jon’s home. Her shaking hands fumbled with the key, and it took a string of accented-Thalassian expletives and a good kicking of the hardened wood before the key finally clicked into place, and Alia was able to throw herself into the safety of the indoors. A thin layer of dust had accumulated on the furniture since the Chess’s had been gone, but with their normal house sitter also being in the Frozen Wastes, this was to be expected. Still, everything was exactly where they were supposed to be, and that was a comfort all unto itself. The second comfort was the fresh logs in the fireplace, taking but a single motion from Alia’s shivering hand to ignite, and cast everything in a soothing warm glow. The rain shower grew into a full-blown storm outside, with thunder starting to rumble in the far distance. “Well, at least we got inside before the worst of it, eh?” Alia spoke to the parcel, which had haphazardly been tossed onto the dining table, as is her way. Next was her cloak, which was hung over a chair by her boots next to the fire before Alia moved onto peeling the leather and padded cloth mix of armor off of her body, one piece at a time, which she patted dry and properly hung up next to the fire as well. After all that had happened, she didn’t need a lecture from Jon about not taking proper care of her armor... she might turn him into a sheep again. The thought made her giggle. Down to her underthings, her nipples rounded points through the wet fabric around the firm breasts prominent on her chest, she reached for Jon’s coat which had been left by the door, and made her way upstairs to the bed. If she was to wait out the storm before returning to Icecrown, she was going to do so warm and comfortable.

Jon’s coat was made of dark leather, worn and treated over years of action, mystery and strife, but surprisingly, (and by the grace of skilled tailors and leatherworkers), it had remained mostly intact. Alia didn’t mind though; each cut had a tale to tell, and every soft spot of wear and tear was a reminder of Jon and his story. Some of it good, some of it bad, but all of it him. She pulled it tighter around her body and let the scent of her husband fill her mind with the memories. Their paths had run alongside each other for a while, yet until a mutual friend had asked for her aid in freeing Jon’s from his addiction the two had not officially met. That was probably for the best, as Jon had the reputation of a rake that was whispered about enough to reach even the Magna’s ears, who generally kept out of such gossip circles. She couldn’t blame the ladies though. Jon Chess was a looker, though he may try to deny it; captivating green eyes with a handsome face capped off with a striking mop of silver-white hair. Worst was when he was trying to be charming, for then Jon could carry himself with the manners of a prince and likely sweep almost any woman off her feet. Alia didn’t stand a chance once his eyes set on her, and her relative inexperience in love compared to him was only to his benefit. Still, if Alia was to be honest with herself, she put up a good fight, flirting and playing the game of wits with him for longer than most without falling too far in love.

But then Jon had to cheat with the kiss. It wasn’t even a real kiss, least by fairytale standards, but it was the harbinger of her fall all the same. He didn’t kiss her lips, for that would have been far too forward. Nor did her kiss her hand, like a proper gentleman, but that kiss to the palm of her hand took her breath away all the same. It was soft at first, gentle, but he pressed his lips against her skin harder for just a brief, passionate, wet, moment before he released her. Her palm tingled and chilled at the same time. Her throat squeezed the voice out of her. Her lunges refused to breathe. Her heart pounded in her ears until it was all she could think about. It scared her... no… it excited her.

And then he just left her there, in a daze alone on a bridge in Stormwind while he ran off to do whatever the daring handsome rouge had been delayed from. Unsure of herself, Alia walked home, not stopping for any of the errands she had in the city as her mind reeled from the whiplash. She had a previous lover during the closing days of her apprenticeship within the Kirin Tor, so in no way was she a virgin - she knew all too well the feeling that was burning- no, boiling her blood red-hot. But that was an imagined lifetime ago, and Alia had little time after the relationships end to re-learn how to love herself, and even then, she had never felt that strongly about someone the same way she was forced to admit she felt for Chess…Light damn him. She ended that day lost in fantasies of what could be, her face buried in her pillow as she screamed Jon’s name for the first time as her two knuckle deep fingers buried themselves into her gushing cunt. Thankfully, the reality was so much sweeter than anything she thought of that night. Out of the crop of her erotic dreams, the couple's first late-night in the closed bower of her own Tower had to be the closest to perfection. They had enjoyed exploring each other's exposed flesh with lips, teeth, and tongue, "necking" in the semi-privacy of dark corners, but it was the first time he had touched her with such... careful, almost timid intimacy, halting her work to bite and suck on her neck before carrying her to the bedroom. There, he stripped her off all her clothes save for her brassiere, and had her reclined, her back nestled against his scarred chest while he told her what was the first of their cherished habit of a ‘bedtime story’. Nothing involving three little pigs either; instead he whispered tales of a particularly interesting case where his client, a woman with a magical affliction, was being compelled to near-uncontrollable arousal with the ultimate goal of her seeking out a cock with which to breed. While Jon told Alia of this encounter, his hands explored her body, cupping her breasts, and pulled and twisted her nipples to her delectable moans before reaching further down to find her soaked, hot, smoothly-shaved nectar-soaked open peach... To Alia’s guilty pleasure, she enjoyed stories similar to what he was telling; stories where the woman takes both her lover's cock and his seed into her womb, and she could not hide this secret from Jon when he used his talented fingers on her clit and entrance, rubbing the trigger of her pleasure, fingering her to climax after climax before he was sated and allowed her to rest. 

A flash of lightning broke Alia free of the memory and stopped her hand from tracing a line down her neck to the space between her breasts. Her nipples were still noticeable points underneath the wet brassiere. It gave her an idea. Grinning, she crossed the threshold into the bed-chamber, throwing Jon’s jacket off long enough to slide on a new set of lingerie on her body. It was a familiar one, made of dark violet Mageweave that hugged her body and stimulated her nipples and clit when she walked. Alia rationalized the decision away, reminding herself that it was all that was clean and that it was this or the wet one, but her cheeks grew pink as she reveled in the fabrics feeling all the same. A gift from Jon, it was a reminder that she had a right to feel beautiful and desirable without needing his presence to do so. She was just following his advice, right?

* * * * *

The fellow named Jonathan Chess had been worried about his late wife - approximately two hours late, to be specific. He had finished his own assignment ahead of schedule, and when he had gone in search for his brilliant, talented mage, he had been informed by Jaina’s staff that she had decided to run an errand in Boralus at Scribes and Nobles, and would return via portal room at a certain time. When that time had long since came and gone, Jon had decided to go searching for her; Scribes & Nobles was on a city block whose frontage was adjacent to the food market, but the backside was the border between the well-to-do Hook Point and the rather more infamous Dampwick Ward, the battleground between the Ashvane Trading Company and the rest of the city. Based in the Kelp Club, where rich partygoers go to forget their troubles through music, dance, drink, and the occasional illicit chemical substance, the area is dominated by the Scrimshaws, a criminal gang notorious for various criminal enterprises like racketeering, loansharking, and extortion. Jon had a long history of conflict with the Scrimshaws, and had standing orders from Don Adams, their leader, to avoid Chess under penalty of death (administered by Jon himself). And so he worried, taking to the rooftops, to see better and further than trying to search from the street level. He had barely reached the edge of Hook Point when the sky opened, and the not-uncommon rain storms to which Boralus was subject began to lash those on the street with wet lashes of water. Jon pulled up the deep hood of his cloak to minimize his own discomfort as he searched. He was crossing the tower bridge which cut over the water when he saw a familiar figure crossing the bulwark bridge east of his own position, carrying a stack of parcels and heading towards the neighborhood of Upton Burrough, where the two of them rented a cozy apartment convenient to Proudmoore Keep. Jon smiled, and continued across the bridge, using his grapple hook and lightweight blended silk and mageweave rope to ascend to the rooftops once again. Jon swiftly but safely - the wind and the rain introduced hazards to the unwary! - made his way to various vantage points, following the cloaked woman he believed to be his wife as she made her way through the cobbled streets to their apartment. He watched her unlock the door, dispel the magical wards, and enter the building. He smiled and was about to descend to the street and join her when he spied her through their bedroom window. He paused to enjoy watching her; as always, he was struck by how much he adored and cherished his wife. He had avoided telling her that he had spent many evenings in Stormwind before approaching her; for Jon had been enraptured once he met her after the recovery from breaking off his addiction to Sa’Diablo, a fel-laced narcotic healing potion he had been forced to make use of or die. He had hesitated to inflict his presence on her and to court her in earnest because he was ...well, a street rat from the slums of Stormwind who had embraced his life of being a spy and assassin for Alliance paymasters. She deserved someone better… someone, who could appreciate her many talents.

Fortunately for him, his attempt at being virtuous and solicitous of her future had faded when a pair of grifters tried to lure her into a place where they could have their way with her, with or without her own consent. Jon had made them aware of how… poor a life-choice that would have been and had instead taken her to his favorite book shop. He watched as she changed from wet clothes into more comfortable lingerie. He knew he shouldn’t spy on his own wife, especially when he could just as easily join her, but there was something more exciting about watching her from concealment, and he felt a familiar stirring in his leather trousers.

* * * * *

The jacket back over her shoulders, Alia crawled into bed, humming pleasantly as the extravagant silk sheets contrasted with the roughness of the leather on her bare skin. Shortly after he had made a habit of sharing her bed, Jon had bought the sheets of midnight blue as a gift, and once she put her pride aside, they became one of her most cherished possessions. They still felt just wonderful when he first presented them to her that night than they did now, under her fingers as she pulled the blankets around her. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine Jon there beside her, his strong arms holding her close. What else might he do, if only he were there… Alia imagined him running his fingers through her soft hair, and her hands echoed the thoughts, tracing a line up her long neck and into her hair. Jon was always fascinated by her chestnut hair. She held onto the strands for a moment, before letting the brown locks slip through her fingers and fall back onto the pillow under her head.

She brought her arms back down her neck in light, swirling, tracing movements before settling on her breasts. The tip of her nails scraped against the flesh in circles around her nipples. Alia gasped in pleasure as the pad of her finger noticeably rubbed the fabric of her brassiere against her nipples, still erect from the cold and her ministrations. Her hands shifted to cup the underside of her breasts and inhaled sharply. Jon had once declared her breasts to be ”the most perfect tits in Azeroth,” and while she begrudged the hyperbolic phrase, her breasts were indeed quite sensitive to touch. When roughly treated, her nipples sent bolts of pleasure down her spine straight to her cunt. Her hips thrusted forward uncontrollably as she squeezed each breast in turn, pushing and pulling on the flesh, imagining Jon’s hands were hers, grabbing and rolling a nipple between her fingers, squeezing hard and tugging in this or that direction. His teeth were her pinches, biting into her soft skin with the brazen intent to leave marks. His mark; Jon loved to leave love bites, and Alia loved to get them.

Jon had made two errors in judgment in assessing the situation, that night in the Tower. Firstly, he had not taken advantage of the fruits of his suggestive storytelling and thus had left his own, lustful thirsts for her body unslaked. Secondly, he then compounded his first error by not accurately assessing how vehemently Alia would react to his first mistake. The next morning, she began the process of educating the Agent of Cheese in the Magna-tude of his lapse in judgment. Alia and Jon had gone on a walk together next to the canals outside the Cathedral district. With the skill of an accomplished stage actress, she feigned urgent terror, claiming that she heard a group of enemies they had made the week before searching for them around the bend.  She had led them down an alleyway and into an enclosed grove at the end of the street. The danger to them was real - they had made enemies who were searching the city of Stormwind for them, but while in fact there was the potential for trouble, the potential had not been realized. Alia had practiced deceit and trusted in Jon's imperative to keep her safe to allow her to guide their path.

She had initially only intended to steal some time and semi-privacy, to continue the hungry, almost desperate need to feed off the other, sharing breath and lips and bites... and in the process to simply understand why Jon had led them further down the trail emblazoned by the fire of the blazing passion.  As it turned out, the fire of their passion and lust had merely been banked and no sooner had they begun to taste each other in earnest, it had exploded into a raging conflagration. Her body betrayed her when Jon’s lips met hers, and her thoughts quickly turned toward taking his cockhead into her mouth to prove to him as well as herself as she could give as good as she was given. It escalated swiftly from there, with her twat roughly taking his fingers, his tongue, and finally his hot... thick... hard cock in one afternoon, orgasming with every new technique he introduced. She couldn’t walk correctly for a few days; she felt as if he had split her open with his cock and the fierce pace of their lust in mutual rutt. She was forced to wear her highest collars her wardrobe allowed to hide the dark, possessive love bites he left across her chest, her thighs, her neck, and virtually every inch of intimate flesh she possessed... but oh ooh oooh did she love tracing her fingers over them every morning and night, her cunt growing increasingly wet as she allowed herself to fully remember their causation.

The brash exhibitionism of it, something so out of character for the usually well put-together mage, still gave her goosebumps to this day. The familiar ache between her legs started to grow, demanding attention. The Magna’s fingers could not be idle any longer. One hand remained to fondle her breast, while the other dove under the sheets to the gusset of her panties, finding the fabric thoroughly soaked. Gleefully, she pushed down and dug her fingers till they made contact with the sensitive nub of her clit.

It was reminiscent of one of their next memorable encounters. By this point, the two had become one in a hurried marriage ceremony within the Northshire Abbey, and Alia’s fantasies of her womb being filled with cum had progressed into a deep yearning to be fucked ruthlessly and bred by Jon, with little mercy given till after she caught. However, there was a catch that prevented her from sharing it with her new husband. Jon drank a herbal tea that, among other properties, hampered the potency of his sperm, so when he did release inside of Alia’s womb, it severely prevented any of it from taking root; great for ensuring no child would be born while the two were in active duty in service to the Lord Admiral, not as helpful when it came to satisfying the itch this new fantasy left her. 

So, after one too many drinks one late night alone, she hatched a scheme in the hope of rectifying the issue.

See, Jon had taught Alia a rudimentary knowledge of his various poisons and their subsequent antidotes, to which Alia turned around onto her unsuspecting husband. Several weeks beforehand, she switched out his tea spiced with a version that did not contain the contraceptive and hid the leaves within her inscription supplies. She then practiced adding Lethargic Root to her own drinks until she was confident Jon would not notice the small dose in his tea (or at least take it as a gesture of kindness and ignore it), and once again like the secret actress she was, she made sure there was nothing amiss for Jon to sense until the night of her plan arrived, and his unexpected night-cap of Lethargic Root lulled him into a deep sleep.

She led him to the bed, stripped him of his clothes before tying him with silk sashes to their marital bed, taking her time to ensure that his limbs were relaxed while they were at their maximum extension. Nervous about what was to come, Alia poured a glass of [Lagrave Stout] and began to sip it carefully, being a known lightweight. This didn’t stop her from becoming tipsy. Emboldened by the alcohol, Alia started to avail herself of her and Jon’s bodies, rubbing her self against him and grinding her panty covered clit against his bare cock. She stopped only when she grew too close to cumming, and filled the time sipping on her wine to get even more inebriated, lowering her inhabitants further. When Jon finally awoke, his first sight was Alia perched on his chest, fingers in her soaked cunt, just mere inches from his hungry mouth. She teased him with her scent, smearing her nectar on his lips, and let him suck on her fingers multiple times, knowing that it was a powerful aphrodisiac for him.

Then, when his cock was a silken shaft, hard like iron and the tip of his manhood was dark and purple, she turned around on his chest and swallowed his cock, deep throating as much of his manhood as she could, before coming up for air. While she regained her breath, she’d stroke him with her hands tightly, the slight pain from her grip denying him the pleasure of his release. Toward the end, she finally let him feast on her cunt, tongue-fucking her snatch while she gapped and gasped, but prevented any other clemency as she used his body as her own personal toy for hours on end until he was straining at his bonds and growling like he himself was among the Afflicted of his Gilnean countrymen. 

Finally, when they were both nearly lost in their animalistic lusts, did she spring her trap on him; confessing her crime of switching the teas as she squirted onto his lips. She told him that her wish was for him to breed her, to seriously try for a child borne of their mutual adoration for the other as she slid down his body to impale herself on his cock. Miraculously, Jon did not resist, and did not hesitate to spend all he had in her tight, eager twat, nor did it stop the many rounds of rough, sticky cum-soaked sex they had long into the morning, the light which revealed her prize of a body covered head to ass in dark, unmistakable love bites.

In the present-day, Alia brought her fingers to her lips and ran her tongue along her fingers to lubricate them before sliding them to the source of her juices, underneath her panties. She spread her legs wider, gasping for air when she found her clit engorged and overly sensitive to the touch, her saliva adding an extra slickness that felt too good to stop there. She eeked out every bit of pleasure while she slid her finger down back and forth to the sensitive patch of skin between her lips and her sphincter of her anus. The urge to plunge her fingers between her lips was strong, but she held out, just reveling in the slow teasing torture while making tight circular motions around her clit. She shifted her body; The storm outside was getting worse. The winds had picked up considerably, the rain slamming against the window, and the thunder was closer now more than ever.

*  *  *  *  *

The thunder and lightning went almost unheeded by Jon Chess, who was perched on the edge of the roofline of the building opposite, his fascinated gaze firmly locked on the sensuous writhing of his seductively attractive mage wife. From the first time he beheld her - well, the second time, the first time was when he was half-conscious, wracked in agony as she and her paladin ally healed his body of his Sa'Diablo-enabled Fel addiction - her purple eyes, twinkling with humor, intelligence, and a warmth that made the Great Forge at Ironforge a frigid wasteland in comparison had captured his soul, soothing a chasm of grief and loneliness to which he had become numb. Watching her pleasure herself captivated him, and he leaned forward over the chasm that separated their bedroom from the rooftop opposite.

"I do need to find some good shutters for when I am not around to enjoy the view" he mumbled to himself. And what a view he had; though the rain was heavy and the bedroom dark, he could see her chest, rising and falling sharply as her pleasure rose. Her hands were clearly preoccupied under her lingerie; Jon felt the hunger rise in his blood. Were her fingers deep in her cunt, churning her core until she squirted her pleasure all over the sheets? What torrid affairs, real or imagined, had inflamed her so? Was she whimpering his name as she approached the edge of pleasurable oblivion?

The shift in weight proved too much for the poorly-beset rain gutter, which snapped its moorings, sending Jon plummeting to the stone below.  Acting reflexively, his left arm sped forward and the Gnomish forearm device shot another adamantine grapple hook into the night.  It impacted the stone and wood of his own building, arresting Jon's perhaps fatal plummet and swinging him into the side of the building with the accelerated torque of a pendulum cut short, and Jon hung there, a mere six feet from where his body would have struct the stone.

He hung there, stunned and aching. "When the shock wears off, this is going to hurt," he thought as he detached himself from the tether of the grapple hook. Shaking himself, he discovered that nothing had actually been broken by the impact. He consumed one of the healing Crimson Vials he always carried in a hidden pocket and felt the magical healing draught fight back against the cold and the aches from the impact.

He grinned.  He had a wife to ravish.

*  *  *  *  *

The Masquerade; the events of that night were only six months ago, yet they were burned into Alia’s mind like a hot iron, not only because of the fop who thought forcing a kiss on an unwilling woman was gentlemanly behavior. No, it was the first time she had ever seen Jon jealous…it was the first time she had been irrationally jealous too. It was a hot night, and the drinks were aplenty, and despite the importance of Jon’s mission and the role Alia played in ensuring that he could carry on that mission freely, the Chess couple could not keep their hands off of each other. The final days of the war had meant something of a dry spell for them, so busy with their duties they were often far apart for long periods of time. But that night, finally together, they gave new meaning to the phrase “Idle hands make the devil's playthings”.

They pawed and groped at each other’s bodies on the dance floor, like two birds in an odd courtship display. Alia had never seen the fire in Jon’s eyes so hot, she was sure if they weren’t surrounded by a ballroom full of nobles, he would have pinned her and her butterfly mask to the floor and taken her right there. She wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have. But instead, they spent the night circling each other; every time another eager potential suitor came near one, the other was quick to swoop in and scare them off in some form or another until one didn’t get the hint.

Alia sat up in bed, remembering the way Jon took her, roughly and with slight force, against the desk that night. They shouldn’t have; they were working and not anywhere close to the privacy of their home. But Jon had to have her then and there, and Alia couldn’t say no to him. The way they kissed was like a hunger all until its own, that their lips were the antidote to life’s poison, and they were both drowning in it. The memory shook her to her core with desire. She stroked her entrance with one finger at a time and then slid a couple of fingers inside, gasping at how wet and hot she truly was. She curled them slightly, putting pressure on her g-spot before pumping them in and out of her cunt. Grinding her hips as she pleasured herself, Alia began to pick up the pace, and soon she was working her fingers as quickly as she could. The intense feeling in her pussy made her writhe with ecstasy, but she felt like something was missing-

A bolt of lightning crashed against the water surrounding the Stormsong Monastery, and brightened the whole sky around the house, piercing the window to illuminate the door frame. There was a figure standing in the doorway suddenly. Alia screamed, and prepared to defend herself from the figure, but when the light faded, she halted her hand.

The figure was Jon, and he was dripping wet from the rain outside. 

“Tides Jon!” Alia rushed forward to dry him off with the towel still damp from her own rain adventure, What are you doing in Boralus?” 

Jon laughed, shaking the water out of his hair. She only got as far as a short pat-down before Jon grabbed her wrists. He gently took the cloth from her hands and turned her palms toward him. “I came you, Beloved. You were late coming back - now I see why.”

“You shouldn’t have! Oh look at you, you're dripping wet.” His wife whined, taking in her wet Gilnean husband with a pout.

Jon kissed both her palms, before tracing his lips up to her cunt-juice soaked fingers and taking them into his mouth, reveling in her taste. Jon loved the taste of Alia’s arousal more than anything “...So are you, Beloved.”

Alia blushed a deep red, and she felt her pussy flush hot with desire. “Well, I had to heat up somehow.” She then grinned, and with his hands still around her wrists, she cupped his stubbled jaw in her hands, “You can catch a cold in this weather.”

“Then we need to make sure that doesn’t happen, now does it?” He kissed her softly at first, with love, but shortly his lips got rougher and more demanding. The stark contrast of the cold icy rainwater and their hot mouths sent shivers down her spine and jolted her system. Slowly, she tore her mouth from his and move down his neck, unbuckling the various pieces of armor with her warm hands until they touched near-freezing skin. The temperature difference nearly burned her, but the rush of sensations through her fingertips made her moan. The icy rain still loose on his person fell down underneath her lingerie and Alia gasped, shivered, pressing closer to Jon. He took the invitation to start sliding off his jacket from her shoulders.

“...Would you like to watch me, love, continue what I was doing?”

“I must confess, mi corazon, I already was. From the window, across the way.” Jon gestured to the window behind them, as they move together toward the bed.

”Fuck,” Alia whispered, “ I would have never…” She paused, steeling herself to lock eyes with him. “Did you like watching me, Jon?” Her voice lowered with a hunger to hear the answer she had already guessed at, “Does it turn you on to watch your wife touch herself when she thinks she’s alone?”

He chuckled softly. Dangerously. That was answer enough. He helped Alia recline on the bed, her beautiful, long legs spread before her husband. Gone was any sense of modesty between them as she saw once again her effect on him; his painfully erect cock strained against his trousers, and his eyes, usually controlled and calm, held a raging, lustful beast, and right now those handsome green eyes were focused on her delightful and delicious quim. His mouth moved to her collarbone. Then her neck. Then her breasts, raking his teeth against her salty skin, slipping down to her nipples to suck on them before traveling further down to her delicious intimate flesh. He knelt between her legs, tasting her, stroking her with his fingers. She moaned and opened her legs a little wider as he sucked her intimate flesh into his mouth where his tongue could stroke her engorged clitoris, sending pulsating waves of pleasure to her core. His fingers worked their way into her tightness, stroking parts of her cunt that rarely were stimulated by anything except by his fingers… or his cock.

Alia gasped, feeling her orgasm take over her being all at once. Her need, bottled up for so long and had been repeatedly edged throughout the stormy night, roared through her body. She cried out, pushing Jon’s face into her folds, which he let her ride it out on his tongue, licking up her juices with total abandon, pushing her towards another orgasm - how fortunate that she had a lover who considered orgasms for her as foreplay.

“Alia... Atherton-Chess?”

“Yes, Jonathan... Chess?”

"Look at me."

Eyes fluttering widely, still in a haze, Alia stared up at him. Jon was on top of her now, wearing only his mageweave undershorts, his armor having been long since discarded in the passionate chaos. She watched as Jon tugged the mageweave down, fishing out his hard, purple-tipped, gorgeous cock and stroked it for her. All she could do was moan, her mouth agape as she obsessed in her mind about taking him as far into her throat as she could, just to see how much she could handle before she choked.

Jon spread her thighs apart. Grasping his member at the base, he ran the head through her labia lips and rubbed her clit with it, "Mrs. Chess, I’d very much like permission to breed you now.”

Alia chuckled airily, taking deep breaths as she felt the head slip in between her slit. Her pussy clung to his thickness as he penetrated her easily.  She always reveled in the heavenly feeling of being pulled apart, if only slightly, from her husband's cock the first time he entered her, and nothing would ever change that. It was the feeling of slowly being stretched out after being sore for so long. The feeling of finally being able to relax - of coming home.

“Do you think it will take this time, Mr. Chess?” Alia sat up so they were practically eye to eye, and wrapped her body around his, pulling him close with her legs locked around his back. Jon snarled, she hissed, but they both stammered their cries and expletive words as she impaled herself on his cock.

“Only one way to find out.” He kissed her, biting and pulling her lip. She started slowly humping his cock, building in pace as they found their rhythm together. 

Alia blushed at their shamelessness, for in their own wanton nature the window had still been left uncovered. What is some naer-do-well decided to travel the rooftops, as Jon did, and glance within the window? What would they see? Simple... they’d see a passion shared, a flame joined together and which can never be extinguished, only temporarily banked…

Jon started to take over now, pinning her back to the bedsheets by her wrists as he fucked her into oblivion, heavy and hot and hard as was his way when he was close. Crouched over her, one hand mauling her breast, the other holding both wrists, he took his time to thrust deep, slamming home at the entrance of her womb. Where their child would grow, with luck. The contact made Alia shudder, and she ground on his cock each time to great effect. His cock throbbed and pulsed within her. Without warning, he twisted her hair back sharply, coercing her to arch her back and bear her neck for him. He marked her like a wolf marks his mate. Like an Afflicted would rut with another of his pack. He growled into her ear, biting the lobe till she whimpered in pain. Her nails created pin marks in his hand. They were both sweating and lost in the moment.

“Alia-”

“Jon- Jon cum in my cunt. I’m right there love, just... please... cum for me.”

Jon had no words for her, save the low moan for the rush of warmth inside of her as Jon spent ropes of his cum into his wife's eager womb. The way his cock twitched and spasmed heavily inside of her had Alia’s imagination run wild. She imagined that this was it, as his release coated her insides, that one of these would be the one to breed her, and that by the time they were on the gryphon back to the Tournament Grounds she’d be carrying his child… All at once, her own orgasm was dragged out from under her. She came hard and suddenly, her walls sucked every last drop of her husbands' seed into her body, letting nothing go to waste, helping her feverish fantasy become a potential reality. She felt weightless in Jon’s arms, and she held onto him tightly, as if she might float away from the intensity of it.

They collapsed into a sweaty heap onto the cold silk sheets, to which Jon rolled off his wife so she wouldn't be totally crushed by his weight. He took the opportunity to tucked both of them under the covers, and pull the blankets around them. The separation didn't last, as before too long the Magna had tucked herself back into his chest, one leg draped over another one of his in her own gesture of possessiveness. A satisfied grin spread across Alia’s face, and her tongue wetted her lips eagerly as she replayed it all in her head. Her trip down memory lane was only interrupted by the occasional stroke of her hair or a series of long, tender kisses from Jon. Outside, the worst storm had passed, and together they watched essentially in silence through the window as the sky turned from black, angry thunderheads, to thinner, gray clouds, to a soft yellow sunset as the last of the rain fell on Boralus. 

“The storm is ending, but portal room ought to be closed by now.” 

Jon nodded, groaning as the Crimson Vial he had ingested earlier started to wear off. "Had a rough time getting here. I wouldn't mind the rest in a real bed tonight."

Alia leaned forward to kiss Jon, her tongue teasing his before they parted for air. “So... round two after a nap?”

He laughed, pressing his forehead against hers with a long-suffering but joyous smile. Jon held her close to him. “With pleasure.”

((Happy Valentine's Day, all you couples and single people alike! <3 ))