Darling & Commander

The Nymph: 10

Gallaleigha POV:

My body can't take this anymore. I want- no, need this relentless heat and straining around Brock to come to an end. I need satisfaction, I need something. Anything.

Anything to take away this straining of my every last nerve.

His body coiled around mine, with my legs enveloped between his. My stomach butterflies being carefully caressed by his rough hands that grip my waist possessively. His stubble against my neck as his balmy lips generously press against the raw and tender flesh of my neck, tongue darting out to drag along the skin to behind my ear. It is all too new and familiar at the same time. 

It is overmuch for me to handle as my hips work on their own, my entire being leaning into his arms as he murmurs against my neck and ears softly. Teeth nipping the lobe of my ear, I hear him release a low growl in between planting these kisses. His brawny arms wreathe through mine and pull my frame against his in dominating fervor. 

Brock does not only kiss me like he needs me; he kisses me like he knows I need him too.

My head snaps back when he hits a frail point. I feel his hungry urgency in the needy sigh escaping his lips when they pull back.

"My apologies." He mumbles into my hair, fingers threading through it as he buries his face.

"For what?" I squeak out.

"That was not- I was not trying to coax you into... I just crave to-" A grumbling sigh cuts himself off. "It is hopeless. All sounds terrible."

"I know." Not particularly to his points sounding bad, but to his explanation. "I do not want you to be sorry."

His arms slowly unbind me, stepping back to put space between our bodies.

It is the most frigid cold I have felt in years.

"I do not- Brock, I do not hold you accountable for whatever that was." I find disappointment resting in my gut. "If I had felt discomfiture, I would have pulled away. Whatever might have happened next had you not ceased would have been mutual."

"Mutual." Brock says to himself, heat still settled in his cheeks and neck as he looks into my eyes pleadingly. "What were you going to say? After looking at those books?"

Shame takes the place of disappointment, worming its way in and reconciling with deftness.

"I am afraid you will find me illiterate..." I hide behind the partition of hair that swings around when I turn slightly.

"Illiterate?" Brock's lashes bat.

"Analphabetic. Unlettered. Whatever you speak of it in Hirenth." I say with a bite to my tone when I get a sense he's made a joke of me.

"That's not- is this what has troubled you?" His face breaks into a confused smile.

"It is pointless to attempt and the explanation is unnecessary." I snap, scoffing.

"Galla." Brock growls deep in his throat. "You are no jest to me. Stop acting as if this makes you lacking of acuity."

I am stupefied into silence as his words drown out the disappointment and shame. It is hope that takes over now, even as my head and heart know it has no place here.

"You are not lacking of substance, not lacking of quite so much anything. You are, in fact, plentiful and absolutely perfectly everything in so many ways." He rambles, his ruddiness deepening when he sees my red rimmed eyes. 

It does not make me sad. It makes me hopeful to know he sees me in the way I cannot seem to picture myself. These tears are poignant and bittersweet.

"Oh gods, I am making you cry again." Brock groans at himself, raking a hand through his head before thumbing away at my eyes. "Please, Galla, don't cry... I cannot seem to figure out how to make you happy..."

"You do not have to..." I shake my head, tears drying. "No one does. One creates their own happiness."

"I would like to contribute nonetheless." He shakes his head as he realizes the closeness again, and takes a few paces backwards.

"Will you read to me?" My voice breaks as I request the one thing I vowed never to.

If I asked someone to read to me, I had long figured I would feel like a failure. Find myself becoming bitter and spiteful. But something about Brock reading to me puts my soul at ease rather than causing an uproar within it.

"Of course." He says without a second thought. "Would you like to settle in for the night, foremost?"

"Yes..." I nod, and the man pulls out the duffel bag with his and my own things for the night.

He clothes himself in sweatpants and a thin white shirt for the sake of my sanity. Seeing Brock come out in those boxers this morning hadn't been an awful sight, but surely I lost a handful of braincells as the moments passed.

He gives me my pajamas, and pulls out my hairbrush with my toothbrush. He carefully and gently runs the comb through my long locks as I clean my teeth at his sink in an attached room, and I shiver countless times his fingers nudge my skin.

"Stop shuddering every time I touch you." Brock lets out a chuckle, poking me to arouse another quiver. "Is that to happen every time?"

"Oh, hush, you." I grumble as I put my dental supplies away. 

His theory does not cease to be correct as he pokes me again.

"Cute." He murmurs with a chortle when I swat him away, red faced.

"Are we done?" I move out of the washroom when he tugs on my hair playfully when we stand in front of the bookshelf.

"What would you like to read about?" Brock asks, twirling a strand of my hair through his fingers as he speaks.

"What is there to? I do not have much experience with books, I was never given the chance to learn..." I shake my head.

"Not a problem." He kisses the top of my head when he pulls a weathered volume from a top shelf. "I think you may enjoy this one, darling."

I follow him to his bed, impressed with the size of it for one human. He slides in and indicates for me to do the same, so I follow his action as the bedspread covers us. My head rests back on his firm chest, and he opens the book as the spine gives a croak.

His words are like an old gravel pathway, his eyes sparkling as he presents each paragraph with confidence. I fall asleep laughing to the sound of his fooling around accents, and terrible impersonation of a particular character.

In my dreams, my head swims with the image of his lips, and they were not quite unoccupied.

Neither were mine.