The Healer Pt. 08

Her hand slowly drifts out and before she realizes it, she places it gently on his cheek, cupping his warm skin. When he draws in a deep breath and his eyes open; she doesn't remove her hand.

He looks deep into her eyes, his brows crinkled, "It has not stopped raining yet."

"No, it hasn't," she says; hesitantly she withdraws her hand, "I am sorry, I—I didn't mean to wake you."

Silently, he watches her, his eyes studying her face. She doesn't look away, but instead is caught up in his features when his soft voice jars her, "Come closer to me."

Her eyes wide, her voice is a shocked whisper, "Why?"

He draws in a deep breath and sighs, "Margaret—I am not naïve. I know you do not like centaurs and as I am one, I know you do not share the feelings that I have for you. However, your body desires a release—it is very obvious to me and from what I can tell, you do not know how to accomplish that. So I shall help you. Now, come close to me."

She doesn't fully understand his words, but she feels a pang of guilt at his confession of having feelings towards her; swallowing the lump in her throat, she scoots her body closer, not wanting to upset him any further.

Tomir slowly reaches out, a hand on her shoulder, the other on her waist; then, in one swift movement, he pulls her close, their bodies touching. Nervously she keeps her gaze fixed on his chin, too afraid to look into his eyes; he feels her rapidly pounding heart, her uneven breath. Gently, he reaches up to her cheek, running his fingers down it before he leans in and presses his lips to hers.

She doesn't respond—at first; after a few seconds, she kisses him back timidly, then with more fervor, her hands clutching onto his shirt. Margaret has never kissed a man before and though she still has yet to, she finds that kissing a centaur is a thrilling experience. She feels comfortable in his arms, liking the way that he holds her tightly, how she feels safe against his chest. But when his hand starts to trail down from her waist, to her thigh, to her calf and finally under her dress, she starts quivering.

"Calm down, maiden," he whispers to her, nuzzling his face into her neck where he kisses her bare skin.

Her heart beats so fast she is sure it is going to burst from her chest at any moment; she can feel his large, warm hand on her untouched skin, his fingertips tracing a path on the soft unexposed parts of her inner thighs. When he touches her mound for the first time, her body jerks in fear but he holds her tightly against him and she cannot get away.

Margaret starts to panic, pushing her hands against his chest, trying to break free from his grasp—his fingers tease the lips of her maidenhood before wiggling their way in between her lower lips where he presses on her clit.

She draws in a sharp breath at the feeling of it—her body tensing, freezing. He lightly nibbles on the crook of her neck, his fingers rubbing her in a circular motion. Margaret whimpers, dropping her head down on his shoulder, burying her face into his hair. Her body quivers again but this time the feeling is unknown to her—she does not know what he is doing but she does not want him to stop. Her body unexpectedly responds to him, her legs opening to provide him access, her back arching so that she can press more of herself against him. With his fingers still casting their spell on her body, he kisses his way up her throat, across her jaw and finds her lips once more; she melts into him, yearning for whatever he will give her.

She feels a tightness in her lower back, her maidenhood clenches against itself and when her hips buck into his hand she struggles to fight against the burning feeling in her chest; pulling away from his lips she stares deep into his eyes, her face furrowed in confusion. Then, it hits her like an explosion, a blast of hedonistic waves crashing over her twitching body. Tomir slows his attack, his fingers gently sliding through her wetness, each stroke causing her body to jerk against him like a puppet. When he knows she has had enough, he withdraws his hand from under her dress.

Margaret's face is still contorted in confusion, her heart pounding hard in her chest, her breathing ragged as she looks up at the centaur who gives her a small, knowing smirk. Closing her eyes, she lets her head drift down against his shoulder, the warmth of his arms around her soon lulling her to sleep.

...

"The rain has stopped, maiden," his sweet tenor voice calls her out of her dreams.

Margaret sits up, her body both weak and relaxed. Rubbing her eyes, she turns her gaze on him; Tomir stands by the door, his cloak already on, hers in one hand and the jug of ale in the other. When she looks at the fire, she sees the logs have burned down to smoldering coals. Slowly, she gets to her feet. There are no words said between them, instead she slips on her cloak and walks beside the centaur through the crisp, cool morning air.

When they reach the apothecary, he waits until she has unlocked the door before handing her the jug.

"Good night, Margaret," he says softly, his face devoid of emotion.

"Good night, Tomir," she replies; she watches him walk away into the night before entering the building and locking up behind her.

Her entire mind swirls with juxtaposition over the events of the night. She does not go to bed, but rather lies down on the couch in the living area of the second story, drawing a blanket up around her. When she smells her dress, she discovers that Tomir's scent lingers in the fabric. Margaret tries to figure out what happened—they must have played together, as he put it earlier, but as she didn't reciprocate anything then she realizes that he played with her. She finally understands what Coral meant when she said that laying with her mate was enjoyable but it doesn't lessen her ignorance about the entire situation. She knows what she experienced with Tomir was never something her mother had with her father. They did not mate—she is not entirely naïve and knows how the act is done and as she is still a maiden she figures it must be some sort of half sex. When it occurs to her that if half sex is that enjoyable, what must full sex be like?

She doesn't sleep but instead spends hours thinking over her time with Tomir; she does not like the disappointed look that has been on his face lately and knows it is her fault—he cares for her and wishes her as his mate yet she did nothing to respond to his feelings. When the new day starts and she gets dressed in fresh clothes, she comes to the realization that perhaps she does marginally care for the centaur—if nothing else, he has proven to have the patience of a saint when dealing with her. Eating her breakfast, she determines that she should tell him as much, of her appreciation towards his courting of her—and to let him know that she...she wants him to continue with it.

By the time she makes it back to his home, he is no longer there. She spends several hours wandering through the streets, looking for him, but has no luck. There is a frown on her face when her nerves start eating away at her when she is unable to find him.

Around mid morning, she decides to visit Coral in the castle—to see how her friend is doing. If, for some reason, Tomir might happen into the conversation then so be it. But when she approaches the ramp leading up to the large castle doors, she sees Junta and Marcus checking the saddles on some horses and loading others with some bags. Then, her eyes fall on Tomir; walking down the ramp from the castle, he carries Coral's medicine case in one hand, a large satchel in the other. His cloak flutters open in the breeze, his hair shifting around his shoulders; when he sees Margaret, there is surprise on his face.

"Is everything all right, maiden?" He asks her once he has made his way down the ramp.

"Um, yes," she says, "I—I was coming to see Coral. Are you—are you leaving?"

"Aye," he replies, "I'm afraid your visit with the lady will have to wait until we return."

She frowns, "She is going as well? Where?"

"We ride to Centurion, on the King's orders. We will be leaving in just moments."

When he says it, she looks up the ramp to see Coral walking out of the castle, bundled up against the cold, alongside Prince Quell and Prince Vadim. She returns her gaze to Tomir, "May I ask how long you will be gone?"

He finishes affixing the case and satchel to a horse before turning to her, "I am not sure. A week—maybe two?"

"Oh," she says, somewhat dejectedly. "When you return," she forces herself to look up at him, "when you return, would you like to stop by for dinner?"

Looking at her, his face shows apprehension, but hope; his voice is quiet, "Yes, maiden, I would."

She nods curtly before turning and curtseying to the Princes as they walk by. She glances at Coral but the healer avoids her gaze before being helped up onto her own horse. Pursing her lips, she glances at Tomir one last time before turning around and starting to walk away.

As if she can feel his gaze on her back, she looks over her shoulder—her eyes catch his. Margaret stops. She can't fight it any longer. She turns around and runs back to him, jumping to throw her arms around his neck. Tomir, surprised, catches her easily, wrapping his around her waist before their lips crash into one another's. Margaret doesn't care any longer that he is a centaur; he is a good man, a kind one and he feels for her and now she knows she feels for him too. Reluctantly he sets her back down on the ground, his face still stunned when he breaks free.

She presses her forehead against his, her hand on his cheek. Closing her eyes, she breathes in his scent, "Please, journey safely."