Chapter 1: The time under the stars in the snow.
The Jerall Mountains loomed silent and ancient around them, their jagged peaks clawing at the bruised twilight sky. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, the distant howl of a wolf lost in the wilderness cutting through the quiet like a blade. Snowflakes, fat and heavy, began to drift down from the heavens, settling on the skeletal branches of the towering oaks that ringed their camp. Forge had built the fire low, its embers glowing like embattled eyes in the dark, casting long, shifting shadows across the canvas of their shared tent. Inside, the warmth was a living thing, a breath of comfort against the biting cold outside.
The tent was a sanctuary of sorts, filled with the soft rustle of their shared bedroll and the faint, lingering scent of their bodies. Forge lay on his back, one arm folded beneath his head, the other resting on his bare chest. His eyes were closed, but his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more vivid than the last. He could feel Salem's presence beside him, her body heat a beacon in the chill, her breath a soft, steady rhythm against his skin.
Salem, for her part, was propped up on one elbow, her head resting in her hand.
She was watching Forge, her light blue eyes reflecting the dance of the firelight. Her pale platinum hair was a waterfall of silk against her fair skin, her body a landscape of lean muscle and soft curve. She was a warrior queen, a mage of untold power, and yet, in that moment, she was simply a woman, her gaze heavy-lidded with desire.
"Septim for your thoughts," she said, her voice a low purr, a sound that seemed to resonate in the very air around them.
Forge opened his eyes, turning his head to look at her. His emerald green gaze was intense, a storm of emotion held in check.
"I was thinking about how we could’ve just stayed inside the cave and let the trolls have each other," he murmured, his voice rough with amusement. "Would’ve saved us the trouble of tearing them apart limb by limb."
Salem’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. "You mean our trouble," she corrected, her fingers trailing down his chest, brushing over the scars that crisscrossed his skin like old battle wounds. "Because I remember you enjoying the view when I took out that matriarch troll with my fireball for didn’t you say something about how I look after getting up from being knocked on my ass by it before I incinerated it? Like because of my stance you said it made my ass look like it was in a vice and that you could see my pussy lips through my leather pants?" Salem's smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
Forge chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to resonate in his chest. "Well, I did say that," he admitted, his gaze dropping to her lips, then lower, to the swell of her breasts, barely contained by the sleeping roll. "But I also said you looked like a goddess, fierce and untamed, with that fire in your eyes and your hair wild around your shoulders. And don’t you forget i made your armor and clothes to your request so it your fault that they hug you so tightly." Salem’s fingers traced the outline of his ribs, her touch deliberate, teasing. "And when you were fighting that goblin shaman , you seemed to be enjoying yourself quite a bit. I thought you were going use the Thu’um to turn him into paste , but instead you just used it to make him dance like a puppet on a string before you punched him through the wall," Salem said, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper as she leaned closer, her breath hot against his ear. "I remember how your hands were shaking a little after—like you were trying to hide how much you enjoyed seeing him scream."
Forge’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening instinctively around the edge of the bedroll. The memory of Salem’s voice, the way she’d watched him with that hungry, knowing look—it was a damn sin.
Forge’s cock twitched beneath the thin layer of fur-lined blankets, thick and heavy, already half-hard from the way Salem’s fingers had traced the scars along his ribs like she was memorizing every inch of him. He could feel the heat of her body pressing against his side, the way her breath hitched when she remembered the way he’d *used* that goblin shaman—how he’d made him dance, made him beg, before he’d finally shattered his skull against the cave wall.
Salem’s lips parted, her tongue darting out to wet them before she spoke again, her voice a low, smoky growl.
"You know, I've been thinking about something."
Forge raised an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving hers. "Oh, yeah? And what might that be?"
Salem's hand moved lower, her fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen, dipping into the grooves between his muscles. "I've been thinking about how you've never let me return the favor."
Forge's breath caught in his throat as her fingers brushed the base of his cock, his body tensing in anticipation. "The favor?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Salem nodded, her eyes gleaming with a wicked light. "Mmhmm. Of how you made my gear to be pretty much painted on me so I could always show off my body to use as a weapon. Of how you made me a belt that holds my mana potion vials so close to my thighs that I can reach them without breaking stride. Of how you made me pants that show off my ass when I bend over. Of how you made me a corset that shows off my abs and perfectly supports my tits you so love in all there e cup glory.” Salem said, her voice dropping to a throaty whisper as she leaned in, her breath ghosting over Forge’s ear. Her fingers slid lower, teasing his waist and abs , tracing the lines of his muscles like a sculptor would clay. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel, Forge. I want to hear you moan, to see you lose control.”
Forge’s breath hitched, his body tensing as Salem’s fingers brushed the head of his cock, now fully erect and straining against the blankets. He could feel the heat of her body, the softness of her breasts pressed against his side, and it was all he could do to keep from rolling her onto her back and driving into her right then and there.
“Salem,” he growled, his voice a warning.
“You’re playing with fire.”
She smirked, her fingers wrapping around his cock and giving it a slow, deliberate stroke. “I know,” she purred, her breath hot against his ear as she leaned in closer. “But I *like* fire.”
Forge’s fingers dug into the bedroll, his body tensing as Salem’s hand moved with deliberate precision. She knew exactly how he liked it—how he liked the slow, teasing build-up, the way his breath would hitch when her lips brushed the sensitive underside of his cock. She knew how he liked the way her teeth would graze his skin when she was close, how he’d groan when she finally took him deep into her mouth.