Chapter 3: Submission
The quiet that settled after the aurora was different. It wasn't the empty silence of before, but a thick, humming thing, full of unspoken words and charged glances. They moved around each other in the cabin with a new awareness, like planets whose orbits had suddenly tightened.
Matthias tried to focus on the mundane. He washed the stew pot, the clatter of the enamel loud in the room. He stacked logs by the fireplace, the rough bark catching on his palms. But his mind kept replaying the feel of her hand in his, the cold air on their linked fingers, the tears on her face gleaming with otherworldly light.
Tektah, for her part, seemed content to simply exist within the warmth. She sat on the couch, knees drawn up, staring at the flames as if reading portents in their dance. But her earlier ease was gone, replaced by a watchful tension. Her eyes tracked him as he moved.
“You are restless,” she observed, her voice cutting through his frantic tidying.
“Just… cleaning up.” He wiped the already-clean counter with a dishcloth.
“You cleaned that surface three times.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “The silence bothers you again?”
He stopped, the cloth limp in his hand. “No. It’s not the silence.”
“What, then?”
He met her eyes across the room. The green seemed to capture the firelight, holding it. “You know what.”
She held his gaze, the smile fading into something more serious, more searching. She uncoiled from the couch with a predator’s grace and walked to the large window, her back to him. The reflection of the flames danced on the glass, superimposing her form over the endless dark outside.
“On my world,” she said, her voice low, “such attractions are… complicated. They are transactions. Alliances. Or they are secrets, stolen in shadows. They are rarely simple.” She turned, leaning against the glass. “Is it simple here, Matthias?”
His mouth was dry. “I don’t know. I’ve never really… had one. An attraction. Not like this.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Never?”
He shook his head, heat creeping up his neck. “I’m not… I live out here. I take pictures of bears. It’s not a great dating strategy.”
A genuine laugh escaped her, rich and surprised. “And yet, one falls from the sky into your snow.”
“Yeah.” He took a step toward her. “One does.”
The air between them compressed, grew heavy. He could see the rapid flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. Her earlier confidence was a facade; he saw the uncertainty beneath it now, the fear of rejection that mirrored his own.
“I should clean myself,” she said abruptly, pushing off from the window. “The scent of battle and travel still lingers.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, just turned and walked to the bathroom, closing the door with a soft, definitive click.
The sound of the shower starting moments later was a torment. Matthias stood frozen in the middle of the room, the cascading water a white noise that filled his skull. His heart was a frantic bird against his ribs. He paced. He put another log on the fire. He listened to the water run, imagining the steam filling the small room, clouding the mirror.
He was a statue when the water finally stopped. The ensuing silence was absolute, screaming.
The bathroom door opened.
A cloud of warm, damp air drifted out, smelling of his plain soap and something else, something inherently her—wild and herbal. Then she emerged.
She was wrapped in one of his large, cream-colored towels. It was tucked securely above her breasts, but it ended mid-thigh. Her skin glowed from the heat, golden and damp. Water droplets clung to the slopes of her shoulders, beaded along her collarbones, traced paths down her toned legs. Her blonde hair was darker wet, plastered in sleek strands to her neck and shoulders. Her pointed ears seemed more pronounced.
And the towel, pulled snug, did not hide the pronounced, soft bulge at the junction of her thighs.
Matthias’s brain short-circuited. All the theoretical knowledge, the shocked glimpse from the morning, collapsed under the visceral reality of her. She was utterly, breathtakingly female in every curve, in the arch of her neck, the sway of her hips. And yet, the evidence of her otherness was right there, undeniable, outlined against the soft terry cloth.
She stopped a few feet away, not approaching, not retreating. She just stood there, allowing him to look, her chin lifted in that same defiant challenge. But her eyes betrayed her. They were wide, vulnerable, waiting for the flinch, the look of disgust, the moment the acceptance shattered.
He didn’t flinch. He couldn’t move.
All the longing, the loneliness, the sheer dizzying wonder of the past days coalesced into a single, white-hot point of want. It bypassed his shyness, his inexperience, every nervous thought. It was a pure, physical pull.
His knees felt weak. Not from fear. From surrender.
He crossed the space between them in two strides. He saw her breath catch, saw the defensive tension coil in her shoulders. He didn’t reach for her. Instead, he slowly, deliberately, sank to his knees on the worn rug before her.
He heard her sharp intake of breath. He looked up, meeting her wide, stunned eyes. The firelight cast her in gold and shadow.
“Matthias…” His name was a whisper, a question.
He didn’t answer with words. He brought his hands up, trembling slightly, and placed them on her hips. The towel was warm from her skin. He felt the solid curve of her pelvic bone beneath his thumbs. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the soft towel just below her navel. He breathed in her scent—clean skin, damp hair, that wild, elusive spice.
A shudder ran through her. Her hands came up, hovering near his head, unsure.
He turned his head, his cheek resting against the towel, against the softness of her lower belly. He nuzzled there, a silent, aching affirmation. Then, his heart hammering so hard he felt it in his throat, he moved his hands to the edge of the towel tucked at her hip.
He paused, looking up at her again, asking for permission with his eyes.
Her expression was shattered. All the defiance, the armor, was gone. In its place was raw, naked vulnerability, and a dawning, awe-struck hunger. She gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.
He loosened the towel. It fell away, pooling softly around her feet on the floor.
He didn’t stare. He simply looked, taking her in. The smooth planes of her stomach, the elegant line of her hips, the full, perfect curve of her ass. And between her legs, nestled in damp, golden curls, was her cock. It was thick, heavy in its flaccid state, a part of her as inherent as the pointed ears or the green eyes. It was not grotesque. It was simply her.
A low, choked sound came from her. It might have been a sob. It might have been his name.
He leaned in. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh. Her skin was impossibly smooth, hot. She jerked, a full-body spasm.
“Matthias…” she breathed again, and this time it was a plea.
He moved inward, his kisses trailing higher. He felt her tremble under his lips. He nuzzled the coarse, soft hair, then finally, with a reverence that stole his own breath, he pressed a kiss to the base of her shaft.
She cried out, a short, sharp sound. Her hands flew to his hair, her fingers tangling in the dark strands. Not pushing, not pulling. Just holding on.
He looked up the length of her body. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, her lips parted. The firelight gilded the line of her throat. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Driven by an instinct he didn’t know he possessed, he opened his mouth and took her into it.
She was soft, velvety. She tasted of clean skin and soap and something muskier, uniquely her. He heard a guttural moan rumble in her chest. Her grip on his hair tightened, a guide, not a command.
He explored tentatively, using his tongue, learning the shape and feel of her. He was clumsy, inexperienced, but utterly focused on her reactions. With every swipe of his tongue, every soft suck, she made another sound—a gasp, a sigh, a broken moan that vibrated through her and into him.
He felt her begin to change. She grew fuller, heavier on his tongue, beginning to swell and harden. It was a slow, relentless awakening. The power of it, the sheer responsiveness, sent a jolt of pure heat straight through him. He was making this happen. He was causing this fierce, otherworldly woman to come undone.
“Yes,” she hissed, her voice strangled. “Just… yes.”
Encouraged, he took more of her, relaxing his jaw as she thickened and lengthened in his mouth. He could no longer take all of her; she was too large. But he worked what he could, one hand coming up to gently cradle the soft weight of her massive testicles, the other wrapping around the base of her shaft, following the rhythm of his mouth.
Her hips began to move, tiny, abortive thrusts. Her breathing grew ragged. The sounds she made were not elven or elegant; they were raw, human, desperate. Her dominance wasn't in force, but in surrender—to the sensation, to his ministrations, to the terrifying vulnerability of allowing someone to see her, all of her, like this.
“Look at me,” she gasped.
He opened his eyes, meeting her blazing green gaze. Tears were streaking from the corners of her eyes, tracking down her temples into her hair. Her expression was one of utter shock, of overwhelming pleasure, of a deep, seismic relief.
“Don’t stop,” she commanded, her voice trembling.
He didn’t. He lost himself in the rhythm, in the taste of her, in the symphony of her gasps and the crackle of the fire. His own arousal was a distant, throbbing ache, unimportant. This was for her.
Her movements became more urgent, her thighs trembling against his shoulders. Her moans climbed in pitch. Her fingernails scraped gently against his scalp.
“I’m… I am…” She couldn’t form the words.
He hummed in response, the vibration drawing a shattered cry from her lips.
It happened suddenly. A tremor became a quake. Her back arched spectacularly, a tense bowstring against the firelit room. A raw, throaty shout tore from her, part Elvish, part nonsense. He felt her pulse, fierce and rapid, against his tongue, and then the hot, salty release flooded his mouth.
He stayed with her, gentle, until the last shudder passed through her and her grip on his hair went slack, falling to her sides. She swayed on her feet.
He slowly drew back, releasing her with a soft, final kiss. He looked up.
She was breathing as if she’d run for miles, her chest heaving. She looked down at him, her eyes hazy, unfocused, swimming with tears and wonder. Slowly, as if her bones had turned to liquid, she sank down to the rug in front of the fire, collapsing beside him in a heap of warm, sated limbs.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of the fire and their mingled, ragged breaths. She reached out a trembling hand and cupped his cheek. Her thumb stroked his lower lip.
“You…” she began, then shook her head, a slow, dazed smile spreading across her face. “You are full of surprises, Matthias.”
He captured her hand, kissed her palm. His whole world had narrowed to this circle of firelight, to her skin, to the taste of her still on his lips.
“So are you,” he whispered.
She pulled him down beside her, onto the soft rug, and curled into his side, her head on his chest. Her body was pliant, warm, utterly relaxed for the first time since she’d arrived. One hand rested possessively on his stomach.
“Your world,” she murmured drowsily, her eyelids fluttering shut. “It has its wonders.”
He held her close, watching the firelight play over her pointed ears, her damp hair, the peaceful curve of her mouth. The silent wilderness outside felt very far away. Here, in the warmth, there was only the sound of her breathing, slowing into sleep, and the profound, echoing certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.
Here, in the warmth, there was only the sound of her breathing, slowing into sleep, and the profound, echoing certainty that nothing would ever be the same again. Matthias must have dozed off too, the exhaustion of emotional whiplash pulling him under. He woke to her fingers tracing the waistband of his jeans.
The fire had burned lower, casting the room in deep, pulsating orange. Tektah was propped on one elbow, watching him. The sleepy satiation was gone from her eyes, replaced by a smoky, focused intensity. The towel was gone. She was just skin and firelight and intent.
“You’re still dressed,” she murmured. Her voice was rough from sleep and shouting.
“I, uh…” He was painfully hard, the denim tight and restrictive. The evidence pressed against his zipper, obvious.
“This is unfair.” Her hand splayed flat on his stomach, fingertips dipping beneath the fabric. He sucked in a breath. “I have been seen. I have been… known.” Her green eyes locked onto his, unblinking. “I would know you.”
He couldn’t speak. He just nodded, a quick, desperate jerk of his chin.
She sat up, moving with that liquid grace. She nudged him onto his back and knelt over his thighs, her own powerful legs caging him. Her gaze didn’t waver as her hands went to his belt. The buckle clinked softly in the quiet cabin. The rasp of his zipper was obscenely loud.
Her cool hands pushed the fabric down his hips. He lifted himself to help, his breath coming in short bursts. The air hit his heated skin, and then her eyes did.
She looked at his erection with a hunter’s appreciation, a sculptor’s calculation. “Beautiful,” she said, the word simple and devastating.
She leaned down, her blonde ponytail falling over one shoulder to tickle his thigh. She didn’t kiss him there, not right away. She nosed along the length of him, inhaling softly. “You smell of nervousness,” she whispered against his skin. “And pine. And me.”
Then she took him into her mouth.
Matthias gasped, his back arching off the rug. Her mouth was hot, wet, impossibly skillful. There was no tentative exploration, no clumsiness. She knew what she was doing. She applied a devastating suction, her tongue swirling around the head before sinking down, taking him deep.
“Tektah—” His hands flew to her hair, fumbling with the tie until it loosened. Blonde silk spilled over his thighs.
She hummed, the vibration shooting straight to his core. She set a ruthless, perfect rhythm. Up and down, her lips tight, her hand working the base in counterpoint. He was losing his mind. The world narrowed to this point of wet, slick heat, to the sight of her head moving in his lap, her pointed ears pale in the dim light.
It was too much. He was hurtling toward an edge, a raw, screaming climax built from years of loneliness and days of surreal tension. His thighs started to tremble. A warning groan tore from his throat.
She released him with a soft, wet pop. He whimpered at the loss.
Tektah looked up, her lips swollen and gleaming. Her expression was fierce, possessive, and unbearably tender. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a strangely casual gesture amidst the electric tension.
She shifted her weight, straddling his hips properly now. Her own thick, semi-hard length lay heavy against his stomach, a parallel claim. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest. Her hair formed a curtain around their faces.
“I’m not sure if this counts as a proper first time for you,” she said, her voice cheeky but her eyes serious, searching. “Let me fix that.”
Before he could process the words, she was on him again. Not with her mouth this time. She reached between them, guiding him. He felt the blunt head of his cock press against her. Not where he expected. Lower, between the curve of her ass.
She met his wide, questioning eyes and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head. Not there. Then she adjusted, the tip of him nudging against a different, tighter, hidden place nestled just beneath the base of her shaft.
Understanding, shocking and electric, jolted through him. He cried out as she sank down.
It was a slow, inexorable descent, a silken, burning fit. She was impossibly tight, stretching to accommodate him. Her eyes never left his. He saw the brief flicker of vulnerability, the anxiety that he might reject this, that he might find it wrong. Then he saw it vanish, burned away by a blazing, shared triumph as she took him all.
She was fully seated, every inch of him buried inside her. They were joined in a way he could never have imagined. He was inside her, and her own heavy cock lay against his belly, twitching against his skin. The intimacy was total, overwhelming.
“You see me,” she breathed, not moving, letting him feel every internal flutter.
“All of you,” he gasped, his hands gripping her hips. “You’re perfect.”
A true smile, unguarded and bright, broke across her face. Then she began to move.
She rode him with a masterful, rolling rhythm. She knew every angle, every tempo to wring pleasure from them both. She would clench around him, drawing a ragged moan from his throat, then grind down, rubbing her own length against his abdomen. It was a symphony conducted by the flex of her thighs, the roll of her hips.
Matthias drowned. He drowned in sensation, in the sight of her above him—powerful, beautiful, otherworldly—claiming her pleasure from his body. He drowned in the smell of sex and woodsmoke, in the sound of her breathy sighs, in the soft, wet sounds of their joining. His hands moved from her hips to her ass, kneading the firm muscle, learning the shape of her.
He was going to shatter. The pressure was coiling too fast, too tight. “Tektah, I can’t… I’m going to—”
“Look at me,” she commanded, her pace never faltering.
He forced his eyes open. Her face was a mask of fierce concentration and deep pleasure. Sweat gleamed on her collarbone. Her pointed ears were flushed.
“Come for me,” she said, and it was not a request.
It broke him. A white-hot wave detonated at the base of his spine and tore through him. He shouted, a raw, messy sound, as he pulsed inside her, his hips bucking off the floor to meet her relentless ride. The world blurred at the edges, defined only by the clamp of her body and the green fire of her eyes holding his through the storm.
As his own climax subsided, he felt her rhythm grow frantic, erratic. Her internal muscles fluttered wildly around his softening length. Her breath hitched. Then she stiffened, a sharp cry escaping her as her own release washed over her. He felt the hot streak of it spill across his stomach, a final, wet claim.
She collapsed forward, catching herself on her elbows above him. She was trembling. They both were, slick with sweat and other things. Their harsh breaths mingled in the space between their mouths.
She rested her forehead against his. “Now,” she panted, a thread of smug satisfaction in her ruined voice. “Now it counts.”
Her forehead stayed against his, a point of anchor as their breathing staggered into sync. The heat between their bodies was a tangible film of sweat and release, merging them further in the quiet aftermath.
“Wow,” Matthias finally exhaled, the word stupid and perfect and all he had.
Tektah’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh. “An accurate assessment.” She shifted slightly, a wince flitting across her face. The movement stirred the scent of sex and woodsmoke, a primal perfume that made his spent body stir again with interest. “The rug is less comfortable than I recalled.”
“The bed’s probably better.”
“Probably.” She made no move to get up. Her gaze traced his face, as if memorizing the architecture of his wonder. “You are not… disturbed?”
He knew what she meant. Not just the sex, but the mechanics of it, the reality of her body. He replayed the sensations—the tight, hidden heat, the weight of her against his stomach. “Disturbed?” He shook his head, his nose brushing hers. “I feel like I just discovered a whole new… ecosystem. And it’s incredible.”
She kissed him then, a slow, deep claiming of his words. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright. “A photographer’s answer. I like it.” Finally, she pushed herself up, groaning softly. She looked down at the mess on his stomach and hers, a faint blush coloring her tanned cheeks. “A bath would be good. For both of us.”
The shower was barely big enough for one, but they made it work. They stood under the hot spray, and it was different from before. There was no tension, only a sated, curious tenderness. He soaped her back, tracing the fading bruises and the strange, elegant scars that told stories he desperately wanted to hear. She washed his hair, her fingers surprisingly gentle on his scalp.
“Your world has no magic,” she stated, rinsing suds from his shoulders. It wasn’t a question.
“Not like yours. We have… science. Technology. Which is basically magic we’ve explained, I guess.”
“Hmm.” She considered this, turning off the water. “Your ‘technology’ cannot heal a wound with a word. Cannot open a portal between worlds. It is… quieter.”
They toweled each other dry, the touches pragmatic now, but still charged with the memory of what they’d just done. In the bedroom, she climbed under the heavy duvet without putting clothes on. He followed, the cool sheets a shock against his skin. She immediately curled into him, her back to his chest, her head fitting under his chin. Her damp hair smelled like his shampoo.
The wind picked up outside, a low moan against the glass.
“Will they come for you?” he asked into the dark. The question had been gnawing at him since she’d mentioned enemies.
Her body went very still. “I do not know. The spell was… chaotic. It may have severed the trail.” She paused. “If they do, they will not come politely.”
“What would they do?”
“Kill me. For desertion. For existing.” Her voice was flat, devoid of its usual cheek. “Kill you for harboring me. Burn this place to the ground for the fun of it.”
He held her tighter. The cabin, his sanctuary, felt terribly fragile. “What do we do?”
“We?” She twisted to look at him, her green eyes catching the faint ambient light from the main room.
“Yeah. We. You’re not… a subject I’m documenting. Not anymore.”
She searched his face for a long moment, then settled back against him with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of two worlds. “We live. For now. I need to heal. Fully. Then… I can teach you to set wards. Simple traps. Your world may lack magic, but its materials can still hold intent.”
The practicality of it, the shift from lover to survival instructor, was jarring. It also felt necessary. Real. “Okay.”
“And you will teach me of this world. Its rules. Its dangers that are not elves with knives.”
“Bears,” he said automatically.
“Bears,” she repeated, a hint of amusement returning. “I have faced drakes. I believe I can manage a bear.”
“You haven’t seen our bears.”
She chuckled, the vibration humming through his chest. They lay in silence, listening to the wind. His mind replayed the evening—the aurora, the fire, the impossible rightness of her body against and around his. A deep, visceral calm settled over him, intertwined with a new, sharp thread of fear. He had something astonishing to lose now.
Her breathing evened out into sleep. He stayed awake, staring at the ceiling’s shadows. The cozy cabin was a fortress and a trap. The woman in his arms was a miracle and a target.
Tomorrow, they would begin. Tomorrow, the lessons would start.
But for these few, precious hours of darkness, he simply held her, warming the space between them against the vast, cold world outside.