First Kiss (7)
The sunset bled away, and night settled over the forest.
Having failed to reach the next village, the two of them resigned themselves to camping out.
—Crack. Pop. Snap.
The firewood hissed and leapt with light, its dancing flames holding back the dark.
Lowen and Ariel sat on either side of the campfire, each stealing glances at the other and saying nothing. Awkwardness drifted through the night air between them. Exhaustion played a part—they were both too worn to talk easily—but the real source of the silence was something else entirely.
The kiss.
In the rush of triumph after taking down the monster, Ariel had thrown herself into Lowen's arms and offered him her first kiss. It had been so sudden. He had never imagined she would cling to him and press her lips to his in that moment. It had been nothing more than a child's peck—lips barely touching lips—and yet his mind had gone blank. The only thing that stayed with him was how soft her mouth had been.
"Ahem…"
Lowen cleared his throat, and Ariel—knees hugged to her chest—startled with a little peep of surprise. He was only trying to punch a hole in the thick, awkward air.
"Well. We both look like we've been through a war."
"Yes…"
"Once we reach the village, clothes first. We'll need new ones."
"Yes…"
And that was the end of the conversation.
Ariel couldn't focus on a word he said.
What do I do? I kissed him! I kissed him! I actually kissed him!
A full-blown festival of chaos was raging inside her head. Happiness, mortification, joy, confusion—her feelings ricocheted from one extreme to the other. She had sucked on his cock before, for heaven's sake. And yet the mere press of lips against lips had set her face on fire. More precisely, it wasn't the act of kissing itself that left her reeling—it was that she had finally recognized what love was.
She liked Lowen.
She loved Lowen.
This feeling was nothing like what she had always imagined love to be. It was special. She loved everyone, and yet this was entirely different. Just looking at him made her chest ache and her heart hammer. The moment she named the feeling, all those vague, half-formed emotions snapped into sharp focus. Desire boiled up hotter than it ever had before. She wanted to know him more, draw closer to him, be held by him a little longer.
"I want to kiss him more, too…"
The thought slipped straight out of her mouth.
"Ah…"
Ariel froze solid. She turned her stiff neck and peeked at Lowen. He was staring into the fire, looking for all the world as if he hadn't heard a thing.
"Kyuuu…"
Now that she saw him clearly as someone special, the shame hit harder than ever. The firelight caught her face and showed it turning scarlet. She buried her face in her knees. Strangely, this felt more humiliating than the time he'd caught her masturbating—her cheeks felt ready to burn clean off.
"…Bishop Lowen."
She called his name, letting it blend into the crackle of the fire.
"Yes. What is it?"
His voice was as gentle as always. The fact that she alone was tense and trembling made her a little annoyed.
"Bishop Lowen… have you… ever kissed someone before?"
She glanced sideways at him. Those violet eyes that usually looked like a starry sky were gleaming gold—a silent warning not to even think of lying.
"Yes. I have."
Every time he'd shared a bed, kissing had been part of the foreplay. He couldn't even remember the name of the woman who'd given him his first kiss, but the truth was he'd held women often enough to burn off stress, and a kiss had always been little more than a greeting.
"Uuu…"
Ariel wilted. Just as a man might wish to be a woman's first, a woman wants to be a man's first, too. But she hadn't been Lowen's first. She buried her face in her knees again. A little melancholy settled over her. It was greed, maybe—wanting to have been his first, wanting to leave a special mark in his memory.
Special…?
A thought flashed through her mind. So what if she wasn't the first? If she couldn't be the first, she would become the special last. Whatever he had done with whomever before didn't matter. If she became his final person, she would be the one who won.
Her head snapped up.
"Bishop Low—!"
She bit her tongue spectacularly.
"Aungh, ahhh…"
Ariel clutched her tongue, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
"It huuurts…"
She was still pressing her tongue between two fingers when she felt Lowen's gaze. He was smiling warmly—the smile of a father watching his clumsy little daughter. Sensing it, Ariel cleared her throat.
"Ahem. Ahem… Bishop Lowen?"
She forced a benevolent smile onto her face. Image management was far too late at this point, but simply looking at him made her body itch and her cheeks burn with a hot brand of shame she couldn't hide. Smiling through it felt like the better option.
Lowen found the saintly smile a little strange, but decided to let it go.
"Yes, Saintess."
"Could you close your eyes for a moment?"
"Close my eyes? Is something wrong?"
"There's something I really need to check. So please close them."
Lowen closed his eyes without much suspicion.
"You must not open them. Absolutely not. Really, truly, absolutely not."
He nodded. Ariel dusted off her rear and stood. Then, like a thieving cat, she crept toward him on quiet feet.
She needed to check one more time. Was this feeling just confusion? Not love at all, but a simple impulse she'd mistaken for something more? She had never liked anyone this way before. She had to be sure.
She stopped in front of him.
"If you open your eyes, I'll get angry."
She gently cupped his face in both hands.
"Saintess?"
Lowen caught her hands. Even the trembling breath drawing closer was enough to tell him what she intended.
"If you open your eyes, I'll tell the Holy See everything."
"Pardon? Tell them what?"
"Everything that happened at the cathedral. All of it."
It was a threat. The time she'd taken his cock in her mouth. The time he'd spanked her rear raw. The time he'd nearly pushed into her back entrance. She had initiated every one of those things herself, but the Holy See would see it differently. They would move to protect the Saintess and punish Lowen. She had no real intention of telling them, of course. It was only a threat to keep him still. And how could she possibly recount any of that to the Holy See with a straight face?
"So don't open your eyes. And stay still, Bishop Lowen."
If she told him to stay still, he would stay still. As long as they didn't go all the way. If he had to set an upper limit, anal was still on the table—he'd already gotten the head of his cock halfway into that tight little rear of hers once before.
Ariel's face drew close again.
"Hah… huu…"
Her delicate breath tickled the bridge of his nose. Hot warmth approached, and her plump lips pressed against his forehead.
"Mwah."
No spark. Nothing like the jolt of kissing his mouth.
"Not it…"
Next she kissed the bridge of his nose.
"Mwah."
Still nothing. No lightheaded rush that made the top of her skull float away.
She kissed his cheek.
"Mm-wah."
A tickle stirred under her breastbone—but not the maddening kind she couldn't scratch. When she'd kissed his lips, her whole body had itched so badly she'd wondered if she was coming down with something.
Only the lips remained. If she felt nothing this time either, then this heart of hers was nothing but confusion. The love she'd thought so special would turn out to have been a mistake all along.
Having decided as much, Ariel slowly brought her lips to his.
"Mwah…"
She held still, lips pressed to his. Hot puffs of breath escaped her nose. She tried to hold them back, but the more she became aware of them, the harder they came.
"Hwaah…"
She pulled away.
"Is that enough?"
"Not yet."
She kissed him again.
"Mwah."
Longer this time. Soft lips pressed firmly against his rough ones. Their noses bumped, awkward and inconvenient, but she only pressed harder.
"Still not yet. Mwah."
She pulled back and kissed him once more. She kept repeating it—saying "not yet" and pressing her lips to his again and again.
"Haa… haah…"
Her ears burned. Something electric raced up her spine and struck the crown of her head. For some reason her rear clenched and her body rocked. For some reason the corners of her mouth kept curling into a silly smile. For some reason her wildly pounding heart seemed to stop with every peck.
So this kind of thing happens in life, too.
Was this another form of seduction? Ariel was only bumping her lips against his, like a chick pecking at feed.
"B-Bishop Lowen…"
Her voice had gone high and thin.
"Yes."
"Please stick out your tongue."
Well. She already knew about anal sex—of course she would know about a proper adult kiss. Still, it was a remarkably bold request. Cute, perhaps, but it shattered the mood. Tangling tongues was something that happened naturally once two people locked eyes and the moment carried them. Maybe this was a chance to give her a proper sex education. A sex-ed lesson starting from the kiss!
"Saintess, a kiss is—"
"Mwah."
The second she sensed a lecture coming, Ariel sealed his mouth with a peck.
"Bishop Lowen, don't say anything else. Just stick out your tongue."
Her head was floating. Saintessly chastity could wait—right now she wanted to kiss.
Eyes still closed, Lowen extended his tongue a little. The moment she saw it, Ariel snapped it up with her lips like a predator seizing prey. She recalled every description she'd ever read in books and tried her hardest to imitate them.
"Haum… chuuup… mmph…"
She sucked eagerly at his tongue and rubbed her own against it. Awkward. Clumsy. Purely in terms of pleasure, the skilled kisses of a brothel girl felt better. But this satisfied something else entirely—a lift of the spirit. Watching a petite beauty latch on and flutter her tongue around, determined to suck on his, was simply adorable.
"Pwah… hah…"
Having forgotten even to breathe while she sucked on him, Ariel finally pulled back, chest heaving.
"Saintess, this is enough—mmph!"
Before he could speak—before he could refuse—she hung from his neck and clung with the stubbornness of the last spring breeze.
"Chuuup… chup… mmph… uum…"
She climbed into his lap and kissed him. Lips locked, she moved her tongue however it occurred to her—trying to push between his lips, lapping at them like a puppy, wriggling her tongue in a kind of freestyle dance.
"Mmph?!"
Lowen had seen enough. He took the lead. He caught that tongue of hers—flicking about like a dog humping the air—and showed her what a real kiss was.
Tongues tangled. They traded saliva, thick and sticky, and shared each other's hot breath. Every time their tongues wound together and caressed, their bodies grew warmer.
"Mmph… chuuup…"
She was running out of air, but Ariel surrendered her tongue to him. It rolled this way and that as if being ravished. It felt good.
—Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.
Her heartbeat transmitted straight through the chests pressed together.
"Pwah!"
They broke apart. A golden thread, scorched by the firelight, stretched long between them and fell against the upper swell of Ariel's chest.
"Hahk… hah… hah…"
She panted, eyes half-lidded and hazy, as if drunk. In that dreamlike daze, she spoke to him.
"Bishop Lowen… kiss me…"
The corner of Lowen's mouth lifted faintly. He pulled her waist hard against him—and kissed her.
In the forest where darkness had settled, Lowen and Ariel tangled their tongues. Even the insects had gone quiet for the night. The only sound that filled the woods was the wet, sticky noise of mouths meeting. Summer had begun, but the night was still long.