And then Phei had laughed, teased, protected, spoiled her just from watching him, touched her gently, and become an inconvenience to an entire worldview she had spent centuries polishing.

Rude boy.

Sweet boy.

Dangerous boy.

Her boy?

Consort froze at the thought.

Then slowly, carefully, she pressed both hands over her burning face and slid sideways onto the bed like a defeated creature.

"No," she whispered.

The room said nothing.

The flowers on the desk looked judgmental when she peeked at them through her fingers. "You were bought for air quality." Not to judge her.

The flowers, being flowers, refused to defend themselves.

Consort turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Outside, rain continued its soft descent over Ashford stone, and inside her humble chamber, the Head Maid of the One Above lay perfectly still, trying very hard not to smile.

She failed.

It was small at first in a tiny curve of the lips before it deepened in shy and unwilling and bright enough to make her look younger than any immortal had a right to be.

She missed him, wanted him but feared him.

’Not because he would hurt her but because he might not.’

If Phei continued being gentle, continued looking at her as though she were not only a servant, not only a weapon and a remnant of some ugly past, then Consort did not know what would become of her.

And for the first time in a very long while, the unknown did not feel like a threat.

It felt like a door.

A foolish, terrifying but a beautiful door.

Consort closed her eyes, both hands over her heart now, and whispered into the quiet room, "Tomorrow."

Maybe tomorrow she would watch him again.

Maybe tomorrow she would speak.

Maybe tomorrow she would stop being a coward.

And maybe, if the universe had any mercy left after centuries of being an incompetent administrator, Phei would compliment her again.

Just once.

Enough to ruin her all over again.

But the wanting would not wait until tomorrow.

Her right hand slipped from her heart and drifted lower, almost against her will. Her fingers trailed over the soft fabric of the nightgown she’d just changed into brushing the big curve of one breast.

The moment she touched herself, a soft, broken sound escaped her throat. She cupped her breast fully squeezing the heavy flesh while her thumb circled the stiff nipple through the thin material until it ached. The phantom memory of Phei’s hand at her waist burned hotter. She imagined those same strong, careful fingers replacing hers on her breast— rolling her nipple, pinching just hard enough to make her gasp, then soothing with slow, wet heat from his mouth.

Her other hand slid between her thighs.

She was already wet; shamefully, sinfully wet just from her own thoughts and memory of him.

The lace night panties clung to her pussy which had already soaked them through.

Consort bit her lower lip hard as two fingers pressed against her swollen clit through the fabric, circling slowly at first, then faster. The pleasure was sharp and immediate. Her hips lifted off the bed of their own accord, seeking more pressure.

"Phei..." she whispered into the empty room, the name tasting like both prayer and confession.

She pushed the nightgown up to her waist and the cool air kissed her bare skin.

Her fingers found her wet pussy outer folds without hesitation and she slid through the wet heat, gathering her juice before returning to her clit; she rubbed herself in tight, desperate circles, the wet sounds loud in the quiet chamber. Every stroke dragged another soft moan from her throat. She imagined it was his hand. His fingers. Thick and skilled, pressing inside her while his thumb worked her clit the way she was doing now.

Consort has never known how to do any of this and had learnt it all from watching Phei pleasure his women... and it wasn’t difficult for her to recreate the same thing... although clumsy.

But the more she recreated what she’d been watching him do, the more the illusion of him doing it to her grew even stronger!

Her two fingers pressed onto her pussy before she pushed in.

... but carefully, almost fearfully; she pressed one finger against her entrance and pushed in.

It did not go in easily.

She was tight; far tighter than she had expected.

The tip of her finger met resistance, it was a soft, burning stretch that made her wince and suck in a sharp breath.

Her body clenched instinctively, rejecting the intrusion.

She had to stop, breathing through the mild pain, waiting for the muscles to loosen even a little.

"Come on," she whispered to herself, voice shaking. "It’s only you."

She tried again, slower, circling the entrance first to spread her own wetness, coaxing. When she pushed once more there was still that sharp, unfamiliar stretch; a thin edge of pain that mixed with something hotter.

Just because she’d seen him do it easily didn’t make it simple but she didn’t stop.

Her finger finally slid inside to the first knuckle.

Consort’s back arched off the bed, a broken sound caught in her throat.

It felt strange — full, invasive, almost too much — and yet her hips rolled forward of their own accord, seeking more.

She worked the single finger in and out with careful, shallow thrusts, letting her body adjust. Every movement brought a fresh spark of discomfort that slowly, reluctantly, began to blur into pleasure.

Her other hand returned to her breast, pinching the nipple harder just like he did it, using the sharper sensation to distract from the stretch between her legs.

When she added a second finger the resistance returned stronger. She had to stop again with teeth clenched, breathing hard through her nose as her walls clamped down around the sudden fullness.

A thin sheen of sweat broke across her forehead.

For a moment she almost pulled them out entirely.

But the image of Phei’s amethyst eyes watching her, asking her, waiting for her choice, kept her going.

She pushed deeper.

The stretch burned:

A soft, pained whimper escaped her. Her thighs trembled... yet beneath the discomfort a deep, aching heat began to build. She curled her fingers experimentally and gasped when she found a spot that made bright sparks shoot up her spine.

The pain was still there — a constant, tight pressure — but now pleasure rode alongside it, sharper and more demanding with every careful thrust.

Her free hand left her breast and found her clit. The first direct touch while her own fingers pleasured her pussy, made her hips jerk hard. She rubbed in small, clumsy circles, too fast at first, then slower when the intensity became almost too much.

Wetness coated her fingers. The soft, filthy sound of her own arousal filled the quiet room.

Consort fucked herself with increasing desperation, two fingers moving in and out of her tight, unused pussy while her other hand worked her clit. Every few thrusts the stretch would tighten again and she would have to pause, breathing through the mild pain, before continuing.

Her hips rolled in uneven, shameless rhythm...

...soft, broken whimpers and the occasional pained gasp mixed with the wet sounds of her fingers.

"Phei..." she moaned, the name cracking. "Please... please..."

The fantasy flooded her mind — his mouth on her neck, his hand staying at her waist this time, his thick cock that she’d watched for so long impaling other girls and women and fucking them into satisfaction and now it was pressing against her entrance while those eyes asked if she wanted him.

The image pushed her higher; she curled her fingers harder against that sensitive spot inside, rubbing her clit faster despite the overstimulation.

The dual sensations of stretch and pleasure became almost unbearable.

Her climax built slowly, heavily, as though her body itself was reluctant to give in. When it finally broke it was sharp and overwhelming.

Consort’s tight pussy clamped down hard around her fingers in strong, almost painful pulses. A long, trembling cry tore from her throat as her thighs shook violently. Jets of her immortal juices gushed like a dam around her hand, soaking the sheets beneath her. She kept rubbing her clit through every wave even as the oversensitivity made her whimper and twist, milking the orgasm until her body went limp and trembling against the mattress.

For some strange reasons she’d actually achieved a claimax... a good work for virgin... an immortal virgin actually.

For a long moment she simply lay there, breathing hard, two fingers still buried inside her aching, fluttering walls. The aftershocks kept rippling through her, each one accompanied by a faint echo of that earlier stretch.

Then the reality of what she had just done settled over her like cold water.

Consort slowly, carefully withdrew her fingers. They glistened in the low light. Her face burned hotter than before. She was the Head Maid of the One Above. A World Transcendent who had survived centuries of horror. And she had just struggled to put her own fingers inside herself, winced through the pain of it, and still come hard to the thought of a boy barely past adulthood because he had complimented her dress and touched her waist gently.

She covered her face with her clean hand and let out a long, mortified groan.

The flowers on the desk continued their silent judgment.

Eventually she cleaned herself with quiet, almost shaky efficiency, straightened her nightgown, and returned to staring at the ceiling.

The smile returned, smaller this time, but still there — shy, ruined, and bright with something that felt dangerously like hope.

She missed him.

She wanted him.

And tomorrow...

Tomorrow she might actually do something about it.

If she could look him in the eyes without remembering the way her own fingers had felt — tight, aching, and still slightly sore — while she whispered his name into the dark.

****

A/N: Says guys, what do you think?