The door to the room’s bathroom closed with a soft click.

The sound seemed to seal off the outside world, leaving behind the bustle of Creston, the murmur of adventurers, and the weight of their escape.

Hilda sank into the copper tub until the hot, steaming water lapped at her shoulders. A sigh of pure, absolute pleasure escaped her lips, a long, guttural sound that held none of her usual composure.

Paul, who had just entered the bathroom, stopped at the threshold, one eyebrow arched and a predatory smile forming on his face.

“Careful, my lady. If you sigh like that, the whole inn will think I’m already holding up my end of the deal. And I haven’t even started.”

She opened her eyes slowly. The steam had tinted her cheeks a delicate shade of pink that rivaled the fire of her hair. A small smile curved her lips.

“I’m sighing because the water doesn’t have leaves or smell like mud. I’m sighing because this soap isn’t some gritty paste we bought at a seedy market. It’s a sigh of civilization, Paul. Something I’d almost forgotten existed.”

“Then we’ll have to remind you of it more often,” he replied, his voice closer as he shed his travel clothes with an efficiency that spoke of countless nights in countless inns. “Civilization has its perks.”

He slid into the water behind her. The displacement was immediate; the tub’s water level rose sharply, spilling over the edges with a lazy splash. Hilda felt the heat of his body pressing against her back, a solid, muscular contact that contrasted with the fluidity of the water. An involuntary shiver ran down her skin, despite the steam.

“You take up too much space,” she said, her voice a choked whisper.

“I’ve always been a man who likes to fill the empty spaces,” he answered, his breath sending another wave of shivers down her neck as he whispered directly into her ear.

He took the bar of soap, one that smelled of lavender and a luxury that felt strange and wonderful. He rubbed it in his hands until it created a thick, fragrant lather.

“Now, hold still. It’s my duty as your partner to make sure the battle hasn’t left you with any hidden wounds. Sometimes, the adrenaline doesn’t let you feel them until hours later.”

He started with her shoulders, his thumbs working the knots of tension with expert strength. The sensation was so pleasant that Hilda let her head fall forward, surrendering to the touch.

“I’m perfectly fine, Paul. Just tired.”

“Tiredness can hide many things. For example, here…” His soaped hand slid down her side, moving along her ribs, and his fingers deliberately brushed the lower curve of her breast. “This could be a latent bruise. It must be treated with great care.”

“You’re hopeless.”

His fingers circled her breast, massaging the skin with a softness that was a delicious torture. Hilda’s nipple hardened under his palm, a small pebble that betrayed her arousal.

“Aha. See? A reaction. We definitely have to examine the other side to compare. It’s the scientific method.”

He repeated the process on her other breast, taking his time, savoring the control. She held back a moan, biting her lower lip.

“Turn around. The frontal inspection is the most important.”

Hilda hesitated for a second, her heart hammering in her chest. Then, slowly, she obeyed, turning to face him in the tight space. The water swirled around her, her breasts now fully visible, floating on the surface. He looked directly into her eyes as he continued his task, his hands tracing her collarbones, her flat stomach. The air grew thick, heavy with a silent promise.

His hand ascended again, capturing one of her breasts in his palm. He began to lather it with slow circles. She let out a choked gasp.

“Ngh…”

Paul smiled and moved to the other, his thumbs playing with her nipples through the foam.

“Mmmph…” she moaned, the sound a vibration in her throat.

He leaned in and kissed her. A slow, wet kiss that tasted of soap and desire. His hands, now free of any pretense of cleaning, slipped under the water. The exploration grew bolder, his fingers seeking and finding her innermost core between her legs.

“Paul… the door…” she panted against his lips, a last vestige of her former prudence.

“I locked it,” he answered. “Tonight, this room is our kingdom. And I am the king. And you… you are everything else.”

His fingers began an expert rhythm, a firm and steady caress. Hilda threw her head back, resting it against the copper rim of the tub. Her moans grew more audible, little waves of sound in the steamy bathroom.

“Ahh… Paul… ah!”

He bent down, his mouth replacing his fingers. The splashing of the water was the only witness to the act, but Hilda’s reaction was an unmistakable confession. A sharp, surprised cry pierced the steam.

“Kyaa!”

Her hands gripped the edges of the tub, her knuckles as white as the foam. He brought her to the brink of madness, then stopped. He lifted her in his arms, pulling her from the water. Liquid dripped from their bodies, creating small puddles on the wooden floor. Instead of carrying her directly to the bed, he stopped in the center of the room. He held her against him, her damp skin against his, the cool air contrasting with the heat of their bodies.

“Paul, the sheets… the floor… you’re going to soak everything,” she gasped, clinging to his shoulders, trembling from a mixture of cold and anticipation.

“Sheets dry. Floors can be cleaned,” he replied, his voice a low, possessive growl. “This moment…” He looked into her eyes, his gaze sweeping over her naked, trembling body. “This moment is ours. I want to burn it into my memory.”

He set her on the bed with a gentleness that contradicted the ferocity of his gaze. He stood beside her, watching her like an artist admiring his masterpiece.

“Look at you. You’re not the Lady I found in the tavern anymore. You’re not the novice who trembled in the first inn. You’re a battle-mage. A warrior. And you come undone like this for me.”

“Only for you,” she replied, blushing but with a defiant gaze.

“Say it. Tell me what you want. I’ve been your teacher on the battlefield. Let me be your teacher here, too. Ask me for it.”

Her voice, a whisper broken by need, filled the silence.

“I want you to take me, Paul. I want you to fill me. Now. Please…”

He moved over her and entered with an exquisite slowness, joining their bodies. She choked back a moan of pure pleasure. He paused, allowing them both to get used to the feeling of fullness.

“Mine,” he whispered, the word more of a statement than a question.

“Yours,” she answered, her voice barely audible.

And then the rhythm changed.
The thrusts became faster, harder. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, a primitive, honest percussion. It was a reflection of their life together: wild, unpredictable, and visceral.

In one fluid motion, Hilda pushed him, reversing their positions. She sat astride him, taking control, her red hair falling like a curtain of fire around her.

“Don’t think you’ll always be the one to set the pace, swordsman,” she panted, her hips moving with a strength and confidence that would have terrified her weeks ago.

Paul laughed, a guttural laugh of pure admiration.

“Prove it, battle-mage. Prove it.”

And she did. She rode him with a fierce energy, driving them both into a frenzy. But he wasn’t a man to give up control for long. He turned her, placing her on all fours on the sheets. The sight of her pale, round ass, of her back arched under the lamplight, was too much for him.

“Watch how I take you,” he growled, gently pulling her hair to tilt her head back as he thrust with renewed fury.

The climax hit her first, a violent spasm that tore a sharp, ragged scream from her.

“KYAAAAA!”

The intensity of her orgasm was the final push for him. With one last deep grunt, an exhale that seemed to empty him completely, he poured himself into her.

“NGHAAAAA!”

He collapsed on top of her sweaty body, and for a long time, the only sound in the room was their ragged breaths, struggling to find a normal rhythm.

They lay in silence, wrapped in the scent of their passion and of clean sheets. Paul pulled her close, covered her with a blanket, and stroked her hair, untangling a red lock with his fingers.

“It’s funny…” she said suddenly, her voice a soft whisper against his chest. “My first time, my wedding night, was supposed to be… a duty. Silent, in the dark, with a stranger I would barely know. A simple formality to seal a contract.”

Paul tensed slightly, and he held her tighter, his possessive hand resting on the curve of her hip.

“There’s nothing silent about us, Hilda. Not in battle, not here.”

She lifted her head to look at him, a genuine, tired, and absolutely happy smile on her lips.

“No. With you… everything is a roar. And I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

He kissed her, a soft kiss, without lust, filled with a quiet certainty.

“Rest, my lovely wife,” he murmured against her hair, his own voice heavy with sleep and satisfaction. “Tomorrow, we begin to forge our legend.”

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, in the calm of their sanctuary, while the great city of Creston, with its dangers and promises, waited outside.