Chapter 6: Morning Devotion
Alex woke to a strand of sunlight painting a sharp, gold line across the rumpled furs. The air was still, quiet except for the low pop of dying embers in the hearth. For a disorienting second, he didn’t know where he was. Then the warmth at his back resolved into the solid, sleeping form of Valera, her arm a heavy, possessive weight across his ribs.
He lay perfectly still, savoring it. The smell of her skin, the sheer reality of her. The memories of the night before played behind his eyes, vivid and humbling.Love. They’d said it. The word still felt like a living creature in his chest, fluttering and new.
He shifted gently, turning onto his back. Valera murmured in her sleep, her arm sliding down to his hip. Her face was smoothed of its usual sharp confidence, softer in repose. Peaceful. Beautiful.
His gaze traveled down. The sheet had slipped low on her hips. In the clear morning light, the shape of her was unmistakable beneath the thin linen—full, even in relaxation. A heat that had nothing to do with the room’s residual warmth bloomed in his belly. Last night had been about her guiding him, her taking control. The trust, the surrender, had been a gift he’d never known he wanted to give.
A new, quiet certainty settled over him. He wanted to give something back.
Moving with a care that felt sacred, he eased down the fur. He watched her face, ensuring she remained asleep. The early light gilded her, highlighting the powerful lines of her stomach, the curve of her hip. And there, resting against her thigh, was her. Thick, full, magnificent even in stillness. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm of want and nervousness.
He leaned down, his dark hair falling forward to curtain his face. He pressed a soft, experimental kiss to the inside of her thigh. Her skin was warm, smooth. She made a small, sleepy sound. Emboldened, he kissed a path upward, his breath hitching as he drew closer. The scent of her, musk and spice and pure Valera, filled his senses.
He took her into his mouth.
It was slow, tentative. He focused on the feel of her, the weight on his tongue, the silken texture. He heard her breath catch, a sharp intake. He glanced up. Her eyes were still closed, but her brow was furrowed, lips parted. Her hips gave a tiny, unconscious jerk.
He closed his eyes and sank deeper, letting instinct guide him. He used his tongue, his lips, learning her shape. A low groan rumbled from her chest, vibrating through him. One of her hands fisted in the sheets, tendons standing out on her forearm. Her other hand came down, not to push him away, but to tangle roughly in his hair.
“Alex…” His name was a hoarse whisper, thick with sleep and shock.
He didn’t stop. He hollowed his cheeks, taking more of her, motivated by her reactions, by the sheer power of making her gasp and tremble. Her grip in his hair tightened, not painful, but anchoring. Guiding. A primal sound escaped her, halfway between a moan and a growl.
“Gods… you… where did you learn…” Her words fragmented as her back arched off the bed.
He couldn’t answer. He was lost in the act, in the taste of her, in the sheer intimacy of it. This wasn’t the library, wasn’t anxiety. This was a language of touch he was suddenly fluent in. He felt her swelling, hardening completely in his mouth, and the knowledge that he’d done that, he’d drawn that response from her, was intoxicating.
Her control, so absolute last night, was unraveling. Her breathing came in ragged pulls. She was fully awake now, her bright green eyes dazed and burning as she looked down at him. The sight of him, between her thighs, his lips stretched around her, seemed to undo her completely.
“Enough,” she gasped, her voice rough. “Come here. Now.”
She tugged on his hair, pulling him up. He released her with a soft, wet sound, his own desire a sharp, aching pull. He crawled up her body, meeting her fierce, searing kiss. She tasted of herself and of his own boldness.
“You are full of surprises,” she breathed against his mouth, her hands roaming his back, his sides, as if re-mapping him.
He nuzzled into her neck, drunk on his own nerve. “You wouldn’t dare to fuck a poor human into the mattress right now,” he murmured, the words slurred with sleep and daring. “I’m still waking up.”
The effect was instant.
She went very still. Then a slow, predatory smile spread across her face. It was the look from the fountain, the one that promised conquest. “You did not just say that.”
“I might have,” he said, a giddy thrill shooting through him.
“Challenge accepted.”
In one fluid, powerful motion, she flipped him onto his stomach. The world spun. Before he could process it, she was over him, her weight pinning him to the furs. One hand gripped the back of his neck, not hurting, but holding him firmly in place. The other guided herself to him, the broad, slick head pressing against him.
He gasped into the fur, his fingers clutching the bedding. This was different from last night. This was raw, immediate, driven by a playful threat that was quickly becoming very, very real.
“You want me to dare?” she purred, her voice low and hot in his ear. She pushed forward, just an inch, a slow, deliberate invasion that stole his breath. “You want me to ruin you for this mattress?”
He could only nod, a frantic, desperate motion.
She laughed, a dark, joyous sound. “Then say please.”
“Please,” he choked out.
She sank into him in one long, relentless stroke, filling him utterly. He cried out, the sound muffled by the furs. She didn’t pause, didn’t give him time to adjust. She set a ruthless, deep rhythm, each thrust rocking him forward. The hand on his neck held him down, a claiming. The other braced beside his head, her bicep corded with strain.
It was overwhelming.It was everything. The soreness from the night before was burned away by a sharper, more urgent fire. He was helpless, taken, used for her pleasure, and it was the most liberating feeling he’d ever known. He pushed back against her, meeting her thrust for thrust, a wordless plea for more.
“That’s it,” she grunted, her control slipping into something fiercer.“ Take it. Take all of me.”
Her pace was punishing, glorious. The sound of skin on skin, her ragged breaths, his own broken whimpers filled the sunlit room. The mirrored walls reflected the frantic motion, a thousand copies of them locked together. He was losing himself, piece by piece, in the sensation, in the surrender.
Her rhythm stuttered. She leaned down, her chest pressed against his sweaty back, her mouth at his ear. “Look,” she commanded, her voice trembling with strain.
He forced his eyes open, turning his head. The nearest mirror showed them: her powerful form curved over his slighter one, her blonde hair wild, her face a mask of ferocious ecstasy. He saw himself, eyes wide and dark with want, mouth slack. The visual was a shock, a potent aphrodisiac that tightened the coil in his gut unbearably.
“See what you do,” she gasped, her thrusts becoming erratic, deeper. “See what we are.”
He came apart. Pleasure tore through him, violent and blinding, his shout swallowed by the furs. His body clenched around her, dragging her over the edge with him. She cried out, a sharp, elvish word that sounded like a prayer or a curse, her hips slamming into his as she shuddered through her release.
Collapse was gradual. She slumped onto him, her weight a welcome anchor as they both fought for air. Her grip on his neck softened to a caress. For long minutes, the only sounds were their gasping breaths and the crackle of the hearth.
Slowly, she rolled off him, gathering him against her side. He turned, burying his face in the hollow of her shoulder. They were both slick with sweat, trembling in the aftermath.
“Still waking up?” she asked, her voice raspy but laced with deep amusement.
He managed a weak laugh, a puff of air against her skin. “I’m awake. Very, very awake.”
She kissed the top of his head. “Good.” Her fingers traced nonsense patterns on his shoulder. The silence that fell was comfortable, charged with a new understanding.
“I have to go to the Archives today,” he said eventually, the real world creeping back in at the edges. “Professor Meridus has a stack of ley-line charts that need transcribing. It’s basically punishment for falling asleep in his lecture last week.”
Valera groaned. “That old windbag. His charts are drier than Netherstorm dust.” She propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at him. Her expression was serious now, the playful glint replaced by something softer. “Do you want me to come with you?”
The offer startled him. “To the Arcane Archives? You’d be… bored to tears.”
“I wouldn’t be bored.” She tapped a finger on his nose. “I’d be watching you. And scandalizing all the stuffy apprentices. And holding your hand under the table.” A smirk returned. “Maybe more.”
The image was tantalizing and terrifying. Him, in his plain student robes, working alongside Valera Sunflare, in all her radiant, imposing beauty. The whispers would be immediate, deafening. He saw the challenge in her eyes—she was offering to walk into his world, to be seen with him there. It was a bigger declaration, in some ways, than anything they’d done in this room.
“They’ll talk,” he said quietly.
“Let them.” She shrugged, a roll of smooth muscle. “I’m used to it. The question is, are you?”
He thought of the students’ stares, the probable jealousy, Meridus’s disapproving glare. He thought of hiding in the stacks, alone, while the memory of her faded like a dream. Then he looked at her, at the genuine offer in her eyes, the vulnerability she was trying to mask with bravado.
He took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said, the word firm. “I am.”
Her smile was like the sun coming out.“Good. Then get dressed, scribe. Your punishment awaits.” She gave him a light shove. “But first, a shower. Together. Because we’re a disaster.”
As they stood under the warm, magical spray in her lavish bathroom, washing the night and morning from each other’s skin, Alex felt the shape of his world fundamentally alter. The anxiety was still there, a familiar hum. But beneath it was a new current, steady and strong. It was the feeling of her hand in his, the sound of her laugh in the steam, the promise of her presence waiting for him in the silent, dusty rows of the Arcane Archives. He wasn’t just a student anymore. He was the human boy who had dared, and who was loved, in return, by a flame he had no intention of ever letting go out.
The shower was a revelation. The steam held the scent of her sandalwood soap and his nervous sweat, washing away in rivulets down the drain. He watched, mesmerized, as water traced the powerful contours of her shoulders, the dip of her spine, before she turned and pulled him under the spray with her.
“You’re staring,” she said, her voice echoing off the polished stone. Her fingers worked shampoo into his dark hair.
“Can’t help it,” he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the suds sliding over her collarbone. “You’re… you.”
She rinsed his hair, her touch surprisingly gentle. “And you’re you. The boy who dared.” Her thumb traced the shell of his ear. “Remember that when we walk out that door.”
The walk to the Arcane Archives was a study in surreal tension. Dalaran’s perpetual twilight glowed on spires of violet stone, but all Alex could feel were the eyes. Students in Kirin Tor robes paused their conversations, their heads swiveling like owls. A group of junior enchanters actually dropped a stack of luminous parchments, scattering them across the cobblestones as they gaped.
Valera didn’t so much as glance their way. She held his hand, her grip firm and warm, her stride confident. She wore a simple, elegant tunic and leggings that did nothing to hide her athletic build, her blonde hair a bright beacon in the muted city.
“Breathe, Alex,” she said softly, not looking at him. “Your hand is crushing my fingers.”
He forced himself to relax, taking a shaky breath. “They’re all looking.”
“They looked when I walked alone. They’re looking now because the most interesting thing in this floating rock is wondering what I see in you.” She finally glanced at him, a smirk playing on her lips. “Let them wonder.”
The grand hall of the Archives was a cavernous space of hushed whispers and the smell of aged vellum. Towering shelves stretched into gloom, lit by floating orbs of cold, blue light. Professor Meridus, a wisp of a man with a beard that looked like spun glass, stood guard at a central lectern. His magnified eyes widened behind crystal lenses as they approached.
“Mister Cade,” he wheezed, his voice like dry pages rubbing together. He acknowledged Valera with a stiff, suspicious nod. “Miss Sunflare. This is… a place of study. Not a social salon.”
“Alex has charts to transcribe. I have reading to do,” Valera said, her tone coolly polite. “We’ll be quiet as ghosts, Professor. You won’t even know we’re here.”
Meridus spluttered, but Valera was already steering Alex towards a isolated carrel at the back, her heels clicking a definitive rhythm on the marble floor. She plucked a dense, gilt-edged tome on draconic geomancies from a shelf and dropped it on the table with a thud that echoed.
“Right,” she whispered, pulling a chair close to his. “Punishment time. Let’s see these charts.”
For the next hour, Alex worked. He traced the intricate, branching lines of magical ley energy onto fresh parchment, his hand slowly finding a steady rhythm. Valera sat beside him, one arm draped over the back of his chair, her chin nearly on his shoulder. She pretended to read her book, but mostly she watched him work, her presence a warm, distracting hum against his side.
Occasionally, she’d point to a symbol on his chart. “This convergence is off by a half-degree. See how the energy fractals here?” Her breath was hot against his ear. “Meridus would mark you down for that.”
He’d correct it, his heart pounding. Her proximity was a sweet torture. Once, her hand slid from the chair back to rest on his thigh, a casual, possessive weight that made him jump and blot the parchment.
“Sorry,” he whispered, face burning.
“Don’t be.” Her fingers gave a gentle squeeze. “I like knowing I can still fluster you.”
The stares continued. Whispers slithered between the stacks like serpents. Sunflare… the human boy… what does she… Alex tried to ignore them, focusing on the lines on the page, the feel of her hand on his leg, the solid reality of her beside him. He was here. With her.Let them talk.
As the last of the blue light orbs brightened for the evening cycle, Alex finished the final chart. His hand ached, but a strange satisfaction settled in him. He’d done it. He’d sat here, in the heart of the Academy’s judgment, with her, and he hadn’t vanished.
“Done,” he said, rolling the parchment.
“Good.” Valera closed her book. “Now, we eat. I’m starving.”
They ate at a small, public tavern near the Spire, a place bustling with off-duty guards and mages. The food was simple, hearty. Valera laughed loudly at a joke a passing dwarven rune-smith made, her voice cutting through the din. Alex sipped his cider, watching her. In this world of boisterous noise and public scrutiny, she was still utterly herself. He felt a bubble of quiet pride. He was learning to be himself, too, beside her.
Back in her chambers, the perpetual enchantment of the place had lit the hearth and scattered soft, glowing orbs near the cushions. The silence was a living thing, thick and warm after the day’s exposures. Valera poured two glasses of deep red wine, handing one to him.
“You survived,” she said, clinking her glass against his.
“Barely,” he replied, taking a sip. The wine was rich, spicy. “I think Professor Meridus may have an aneurism.”
“He’ll live.” She kicked off her boots, sinking onto the large cushions by the fire. She patted the space beside her. “Come here.”
He settled next to her, the events of the day washing over him—the daring, the anxiety, the sheer, defiant joy of it. He felt simultaneously exhausted and more alive than ever. The firelight danced over her features, softening the sharp edges of her beauty into something contemplative.
She was quiet for a long time, sipping her wine, staring into the flames. The confidence she wore like armor seemed to settle, revealing the person beneath. She swirled the dark liquid in her glass.
“Alex,” she began, her voice quieter than he’d ever heard it. “You know how much I love to put my cock in your ass.”
The crude, familiar words, spoken in this tender tone, sent a jolt through him. He nodded, unable to speak.
She looked at him then, her green eyes holding the flickering firelight. “But tonight… I want you to take me.” She took a steadying breath. “I want you to be the first. I’ve never allowed this before.”
The world narrowed to the space between them. The crackle of the fire, the scent of wine and woodsmoke, the profound vulnerability in her eyes. Alex’s heart, which had been beating a calm, satisfied rhythm, suddenly launched into a frantic, panicked gallop. He wanted this. Gods, he wanted it so badly his hands trembled, sloshing wine onto his thigh. The thought of being inside her, of her surrendering to him in that most intimate way, was a blinding white heat of desire.
But his doubts awoke like a shriek of alarms. Can he satisfy an amazing woman like her with his inexperience? He’s never done this before. Will he fail? She is so much bigger. Is his cock enough to satisfy her? Will he maintain an erection with these doubts?
His own body felt suddenly alien, inadequate. He was just a boy. She was a force of nature, experienced, powerful, her body a testament to a different kind of strength. The memory of her, thick and substantial in his mouth, fueled a crushing sense of comparison. What if he couldn’t? What if he lost himself in the fear and shame and left her wanting, exposed in her own rare vulnerability?
He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes—the same fear he knew lived in his own. The fear of rejection, of not being enough. She had given him this gift, this terrifying offer, and his silence was stretching too long.
He set his wine glass down with a clumsy click. His mouth was dry. “Valera, I… I want to. More than anything.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “But I’m scared I’ll… I don’t know how to…”
She reached out, her fingers brushing his jaw. “I’m scared too,” she admitted, the words seeming to cost her. “That’s the point. We don’t have to know. We just… try.”
He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm. The simple touch grounded him. This was Valera. Who had seen his anxiety and called it courage. Who had chosen him.
He leaned in, capturing her lips with his. It was a slow, searching kiss, pouring every ounce of his fear and want into it. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “Okay,” he breathed. “Tell me… tell me what you need.”
A shaky smile touched her lips.“Just you. However you are.” She took his hand, guiding it to the fastening of her trousers. “Start here.”
His fingers fumbled at first, all thumbs. She covered his hand with hers, stilling him, then gently guided him through the motion. The fabric parted. He pushed it down over her hips, his hands skating over the warm skin of her stomach, the sharp planes of her hips.
And then he saw her, fully aroused in the firelight. She was magnificent, thick and proud, a testament to her unique beauty. The sight sent another wave of anxious heat through him, but this time it was mixed with a fierce, protective tenderness. This was her, offering him all of herself.
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, then another, higher. He heard her breath catch. He kissed the base of her, his lips traveling slowly upwards, worshipping the length of her with a reverence that quieted the screaming in his mind. His own arousal, a persistent, nervous throb, began to harden further, responding not to comparison but to her soft gasps, the tremor in her thighs.
He moved over her, bracing himself on his arms. Her eyes were wide, watching him. He positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance—a different, taut heat than he’d ever known.
“I might be… I don’t know if I can…” he stammered, the physical reality overwhelming.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels pressing into the small of his back. “Just be here,” she whispered, pulling him down for a kiss. “Be with me.”
He pushed forward. The resistance was immense, a tight, clutching heat that made him gasp into her mouth. He felt her body tense beneath him, a sharp inhale against his lips. He froze, panic surging. “Did I hurt—”
“No,” she breathed, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He pushed again, deeper, a slow, inexorable slide that stretched them both. Her head fell back, a choked sound escaping her throat. He was inside her. Fully. The sensation was beyond anything—a pressure, a fullness, a connection so profound it momentarily silenced every doubt. He was buried in Valera Sunflare, and she was holding him, her eyes screwed shut, her expression one of pained, overwhelming ecstasy. He was there. He was inside her. And he hadn’t failed yet.