The weeks following Elya’s eighteenth birthday were unlike anything she had ever known. Happiness, real and unburdened, wove itself into her daily life like golden threads in a tapestry. The world seemed softer, warmer, filled with stolen moments that she would have never allowed herself to savor before.

  Naia had become a constant presence, her laughter lingering in the air like a song, her teasing remarks sending shivers down Elya’s spine. Their hands would find each other absentmindedly—brushing fingertips while passing in the market, lingering against skin when saying goodbye at the healer’s station, gripping tighter in the cool hush of evening walks beneath the moonlit sky. Each touch, though brief, carried meaning, a silent promise of something more waiting to be explored.

  The transition from lingering touches to something deeper was unspoken, natural in the way the tide pulled the shore. Kisses stolen beneath the shadow of Elya’s doorway grew longer, more languid, filled with quiet longing. Naia’s lips explored the corners of Elya’s mouth, the pulse of her throat, the sensitive space behind her ear that made her breath catch. Flirtation deepened, words laced with suggestion, but always with patience, always leaving Elya room to decide.

  Then, one evening, as the last traces of twilight melted into the dark, Elya knew she was ready.

  She had thought she would be nervous, that hesitation would weigh heavy on her shoulders. But as Naia traced slow circles over her wrist, watching her with eyes full of warmth and unspoken devotion, Elya only felt a steady certainty.

  They retreated to the quiet sanctuary of Elya’s home, the room bathed in flickering candlelight, casting soft golden hues over the sheets. Naia was careful, attuned to every breath, every shift of Elya’s body as she leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was neither hurried nor uncertain. There was no rush, no urgency, only the slow unraveling of barriers that had never been allowed to fall before.

  Elya’s fingers trembled slightly as they traced the fabric of Naia’s tunic, undoing the ties with deliberate care. Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear but from the exhilarating realization that this was real. That she could have this, that she could want this.

  Naia’s hands slid over Elya’s arms, down her sides, mapping the places where her skin was most sensitive. Every touch sent sparks beneath her skin, heightening the awareness of their bodies pressing closer, of the intoxicating warmth shared between them. The contrast was striking, Elya’s softness meeting Naia’s sureness, the gentle exploration melting into something deeper, more desperate, as the tension between them reached a breaking point.

  Elya had never felt so exposed, so seen, yet it did not bring fear. Naia’s gaze held nothing but reverence, admiration, a silent vow to cherish every moment. When Naia’s fingers ghosted over her bare skin, tracing the places she had never let anyone touch before, Elya shivered, but she did not pull away.

  Their bodies moved in quiet harmony, guided not by experience but by instinct, by the need to know and be known. Elya gasped at the sensation of Naia’s lips against the sensitive skin of her collarbone, the contrast of gentle touches and firm caresses awakening something in her that had been long buried beneath duty and survival.

  She was lost in the moment, in the way Naia whispered her name like a prayer, in the way their hands found one another even as their breaths turned uneven. Everything was heightened, the warmth of skin against skin, the way Naia’s touch left trails of fire in its wake, the taste of her lips between shallow gasps of air.

  Elya had never known she could feel like this, that desire could be both overwhelming and tender all at once. As Naia’s hands explored her body, she let herself surrender, let herself revel in the way she was wanted, cherished.

  There was no fear, only trust. No doubt, only certainty. And as their bodies moved together, the world outside faded into nothing.

  She had spent her life waiting, waiting to be strong enough, waiting to be free, waiting to finally take what she wanted without hesitation.

  The night stretched long and languid, a slow unfolding of sensations neither of them had ever truly explored before. The space between Elya and Naia had been narrowing for weeks, the tension building in each glance, each touch, each stolen breath between words. And now, there was nothing left to hold them apart.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Elya’s breath hitched as Naia’s fingers moved with delicate precision, tracing patterns of fire along her skin, learning her, worshipping her. Every touch sent a ripple through her, a wave of warmth sinking deeper, curling into places she had never allowed anyone to reach before. Her body ached with the weight of sensation, with the pull of something vast and unknowable, something she could not name but did not want to resist.

  Naia moved slowly, watching her, searching her expression for any hint of hesitation. But Elya didn’t hesitate. She lifted her hand, letting her fingers roam across Naia’s bare back, her own touch hesitant at first, then bolder as she found the places that made Naia sigh against her. The smoothness of her skin, the way her body pressed into hers—it sent another rush of heat spiraling through her.

  She felt the shift in the air between them, the growing urgency tempered by tenderness. As Naia’s touch deepened, Elya gasped, her body tightening around the intrusion, adjusting, accommodating. It was foreign and overwhelming, but there was no fear, only a raw, breathtaking need. She grasped onto Naia’s shoulders, grounding herself in the warmth, in the reality of this moment, of them.

  Naia pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Elya’s mouth, her lips trailing downward, tracing a path over the curve of her throat, her collarbone, lower still. Elya’s body arched instinctively, her breath shattering into uneven fragments as sensation overtook thought. Every movement sent another pulse of something electric through her, like waves crashing against the shore, retreating only to return stronger. The pressure built, slow and steady, weaving pleasure and emotion so tightly together that she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

  And then...

  Something shattered inside her, breaking open in a cascade of warmth and light, like the first rays of dawn spilling over the horizon. It wasn’t just physical, it was something deeper, something that had been locked away inside her for too long. Her breath caught, her fingers digging into Naia’s back as she rode the wave of sensation, her body trembling, her heart wide open.

  Naia stayed with her, holding her, grounding her, pressing gentle kisses to her shoulder, her cheek, her lips. The world outside had faded entirely, leaving only them, tangled together in the dim candlelight, skin pressed to skin, breath mingling in the quiet aftermath.

  Elya let herself sink into it, into the comfort, the warmth, the feeling of being cherished in a way she had never known before. The tension that had lived inside her for so long, born of fear, of uncertainty, of survival, had unraveled completely, leaving only this moment, this peace.

  For the first time in her life, she felt truly free.

  The night stretched into stillness, the air thick with warmth, their bodies tangled in the lingering glow of intimacy. Elya lay with her head against Naia’s shoulder, fingers idly tracing slow, absent-minded patterns over her skin, as if committing every inch of her to memory. Her breathing was steady now, no longer ragged, her body loose and sated in a way she had never known before.

  She felt changed, but not in the way she had always feared intimacy might alter her. There was no weight of expectation, no sudden uncertainty. Instead, there was a quiet exhilaration, a feeling of having crossed into something new, not just physically, but within herself. She felt grounded, tethered to this moment, to this person beside her, to something real.

  Naia hummed softly, her voice drowsy but content. “You keep touching me like that, and I’ll start thinking you like me or something.”

  Elya chuckled, the sound surprising even herself. It had been so long since laughter had come without hesitation. “Maybe I do,” she murmured, tilting her head to look up at Naia. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows over Naia’s face, her sharp features softened by the tenderness in her gaze.

  And as Elya's fingers traced lower, brushing against the heat of her, Naia's breath hitched. She arched into the touch, her body awakening to the slow, deliberate movements that explored her with a careful reverence. Her fingers tightened against Elya's back, pulling her closer as a soft sigh escaped her lips. The quiet morning light bathed them in a golden glow, their skin warm against one another, bodies moving in a silent conversation of need and tenderness. Elya, emboldened by the way Naia responded, deepened her touch, marveling at the way desire unraveled between them, slow and intoxicating, a shared discovery that felt endless.

  They lay there in the quiet, trading whispers, speaking of nothing and everything. Naia told stories of the places she had been, the wild adventures she dreamed of. Elya spoke of the simple joys she had only begun to experience, the way the wind felt different when she wasn’t rushing through life, the pleasure of a quiet morning where she had nowhere to be but here.

  And then, as Naia traced a slow line down her spine, the realization hit Elya so suddenly, so profoundly, that she nearly gasped. This was not just about sex. It had never been about just that.

  She wanted more. She wanted all of it. The teasing, the warmth, the long walks under the moon, the way Naia looked at her like she was something precious. She wanted to hold onto this feeling, to hold onto Naia.

  Her chest tightened, the thought as terrifying as it was beautiful. For the first time in her life, she wanted something for herself, not out of duty, not out of survival, but simply because it made her happy.

  And maybe, just maybe, she deserved to have it.