His fingers were so close to touching them. I raised his right hand and put it on my panties. He left his hand there. I spread my legs a little. When ... did, his hand fell between my legs. I took a hold of his hand and pressed it against my panties. My sons’ hand was now on my panty covered pussy. I could feel myself getting wet. I wanted more. When I removed my hand, he left his hand on me. He wasn't moving it around or anything. He was just letting his hands rest on my pussy. I waited for him. He smelled so good, of sweat and leather and steel and masculine musk. How had she never noticed before? He smelled of violence and war and blood, and even as disturbed as she was by blood right now that smelled good, too, because it smelled of him. She could practically taste him on the air. Shaking, warring with herself. No, no, no. Not now. Not here. Not him, gods please, have mercy. Silmaria fought for control. She tried to push the primal, overwhelming longing and need flooding her veins. More

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