Ah, My Seductive Cheese Wheel

I glide my fingers over your pliant muscles, oiled in the sweat of our mutual exertions. You never speak my name, yet I see it poised at your kiss-bruised lips. “Sandoval.” Yes, whisper it soft as a dagger sliding in the dark. My maleness is that dagger, buried to the hilt inside the tightness of your night.

I pinch a nipple— how you quiver! You are as jelly in my hands, strawberry perhaps, or orange marmalade. My sweet delight, I should enjoy you in small doses, snatched in the dead of night where the guards shan’t see. But I am not satisfied with breaking the lock of your front door and stealing you from the silver platter at your master’s bedside, like a creme tart. No, I must hoard you, until day and night hold no meaning for us, just the breathy heat between our bodies as I thrust my horker tusk into the glazed passage of your moist sweet roll.

I run the pads of my fingertips over the scruff of your chin, bristled and damp. Then the firm ridges of your dark eyebrows, and finally to scythe my fingers through your drenched straw-colored waves. When the tidal wave of my elven love begins to crest, I draw my fingers tight, stifling that word before it leaves your lips. No, no, my love. I shall whisper yours instead, easily as a dark melted fudge might drip between your thighs.

Mercer, you knave, you have stolen my heart.

Enchanting bardess! How bashfully you refuse my advances.

A kiss, my sweet!

*GASP* She’s been poisoned!