allbedestroyed | Private tour for asorceress

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Private tour for asorceress

There's no better sign that a date went well than organising another before it's even finished. Generally that's the theory, anyway. Given that this could just be Yennefer's way of getting onto the island to see dinosaurs with a private tour, maybe she's just able to put up with the head warden. He doubts it though. He's seen what Yennefer can do. If she wanted to wander around the island she wouldn't need him to do it. Besides, he really had enjoyed their time together, and it seemed like Yennefer had as well.

This seems like a natural progression. Not only did she get to see him in his natural environment (work), but there's the thrill of infiltration along with this, too. Luckily the park isn't fully set up yet, and Muldoon knows the island like the back of his hand. He's spent plenty of time looking at their security blind spots, because he has to cover them manually, so she has no better guide around the island than him. Between his knowledge and her spells, they should manage to have a thoroughly successful trip.

Just like last time, Muldoon is waiting by a jeep. He'd given her instructions on where to meet him. It was a nice, secluded spot not too far from the docks. It helps with his backup story in case Yennefer's presence is noticed. This time he's wearing his uniform, full khaki and not dissimilar from what he wore on their last date. The most notable differences are the pistol on his hip and the ID badge on his pocket. At least nobody could mistake him for someone else.

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If it weren't for the car console between them, she'd have liked to extend that kiss; she can feel her pulse racing as a result and she nearly forgets all about their remarkable surroundings - her focus narrowed in on how lovely it felt to kiss him and the way he responds each time; as if he's momentarily at a loss for words. It's endearing, and also makes her very tempted to kiss him again.

His offer pulls a grin from her. "I can think of a few things," she responds in a bit of a sultry tone, her gaze drifting back to his lips for a moment before she meets his eyes again. "Drinks would be an excellent place to start." Both the spark of heat in her gaze and her tone are purposefully suggestive.

She thinks again in that moment that it's probably best she doesn't work with him, as she'd shamelessly take every chance she got to attempt to flirt with and fluster him. Assuming of course that she wouldn't get fired within the week for verbally sparring with his boss on a variety of issues.

"I'm pleased to hear you haven't finished the bottle of wine," she remarks with a smile. "It's much better when shared, after all."

Here he is trying to be good and professional and she's giving him looks that could melt the most serious of men, while saying things which make it damn near impossible to concentrate on driving. Given what's on offer, however, he's got a good incentive to keep a clear head for the time being.

"I thought it best not to drink any more unsupervised," he quips back as he starts the jeep up again.

He takes the scenic route out of the paddock, allowing Yennefer as much time as he can to watch the animals before they disappear from view. Though he takes a shortcut to avoid the camera-lined main routes, he gives her a heads up when they start to approach the island's worker villages. There are walls and a gate which opens up automatically at the flash of Muldoon's badge. Inside are a few rather basic looking buildings, and most of them are residential in some shape or form.

It's to one of the quiet, nicer looking bungalows pressed up against the outer wall which Muldoon parks outside. Though he glances around, the area is very quiet this time of day and there isn't a soul to be seen. He opens the jeep door for her and closes it behind her once she's out before opening up the front door and stepping inside.

If there was any doubt that Muldoon was rather utilitarian, it would be dispelled by stepping inside his island home. Other than a few books and photographs, he hasn't added a single bit of individualised decoration to his home. Nor is anything really out of place, but that's more a testament to how little he stays here. Still, it's small but light, neat, and furnished properly as if ready for a magazine photographer.

Muldoon glances at Yennefer as he steps inside. "It's not a castle, but it does the job."

She can't help but chuckle in response to that quip, and once they're driving again she'd like to say her pulse begins to even out, but in truth it takes the majority of the drive for that to actually happen. And the flushed feeling of warmth beneath her skin has nothing to do with the humidity either. Though neither of these details stop her from observing and enjoying their surroundings however, taking her last glances at the animals while they pass; and making sure to take care of the cameras once they reach the worker's village.

The buildings within are nothing flashy, but she wouldn't expect as much. They look secure though, thanks the the walls surrounding the area; and that she'd guess is the most important part. When they reach Muldoon's bungalow and he opens the car door for her, she glances around as she steps outside. It's rather peaceful and quiet, the only sounds she can discern are those of the birds and insects humming. It must be nice, she thinks, being able to live and work in an environment free of the constant noise of the industrialized world.

The interior of his home is about what she had expected - clean, tidy, organized; and very much lacking in any discernable personal touches. It makes her smile as being so very him. "I have a feeling even if you did reside in a castle, it might look somewhat similarly uninhabited," she teases as she nudges his shoulder playfully with hers. "It's well decorated, and quite cozy," she compliments genuinely, then wanders toward where the few photographs are; curious to see what pictures he has chosen to keep on display.

The lift of his brow and tilt of his head has him conceding that point. He's not good at decorating. Generally he doesn't go looking for things. He simply uses what's gifted to him, whatever that may be. Being isolated on an island doesn't really encourage that sort of gift-giving either. He'd much rather a good whiskey than a cushion.

There are several photographs around. Yennefer would be forgiven for thinking Muldoon is a time traveller in disguise based on the one in pride of place. The black and white wedding photo has a couple posing seriously for their wedding. As it turns out, apart from heavy laugh lines and a thick moustache, Muldoon is the spitting image of his father. His mother looks quintessentially English and despite the rigidness of the picture manages to look both nervous and happy. Beside this picture is one of a black family, having wrangled several generations together for a family photo, unable to hide their vibrant smiles.

Almost all of the rest are from various points in Muldoon's life. Seemingly the only way to get him in a picture is to insist on a team photo. Images of the younger warden have him surrounded by people in uniforms which match his, Kenyans from tribal communities, or Indian rangers, in various combinations. All of which have Muldoon with his iconic totally-not-a-smile-smile whether he has his hat on or not to shade him from the sun.

"I don't expect you have cameras back in your world," Muldoon comments as he returns with a glass of wine and offers it to her. "It would be paintings, wouldn't it? Have you ever had your photo taken? Or your portrait painted?"

She takes her time studying each photograph, finding this glimpse into his past rather fascinating. A subtle grin remains on her face all the while, particularly as she notices the common theme - he's always in group settings, always the same barely there smile she's grown accustomed to and rather fond of. She guesses the wedding photo is that of his parents, and notes the resemblance he has to his father. "You look quite a bit like him," she comments, turning from the photos as he brings the glass of wine. "Except for the -" she gestures to his moustache-less face with a grin, nodding a thanks as she takes the glass from him.

She takes a sip and savors it for a moment before answering with a shake of her head. "No cameras, though the technology for it is not far off. Most of our technological advances come from magic first, then are brought into being with more practical means," she explains. "As for now, yes, regrettably," she drags the word out with some emphasis, "it is painted portraits only, and they are absolutely as tedious to sit for as you might imagine." She chuckles a bit and takes another sip of her wine.

"It's usually only nobility that has their portraits painted, but mages are often hired in positions to serve the nobles, so we're roped into it occasionally as well. My former teacher, Tissaia, would insist that having one's likeness captured is a high honor and ought to be taken seriously." She lifts a brow, indicating she does not necessarily agree, but there's warmth in her tone when speaking of her former mentor.

"So I've been told," he replies drily. Though it's not like he could disagree even if he wanted to. The similarity is unmistakable. In person it's much easier to see their differences. That doesn't stop friends and family alike repeatedly noting how much he looks like his father. Hopefully Yennefer doesn't long for a man with a moustache. Convincing the warden to complete his physical transformation would be a feat and a half.

The rise of her eyebrow is mirrored by the warden. Like with many things, on this matter he's in agreement with Yennefer. He can definitely imagine how excruciatingly dully sitting for one might be. It's not difficult to imagine how irritated Yennefer would be having to endure that, either.

Thinking of it has the corner of his mouth curling as he asks, "How many portraits have you had to sit through already?"

As a matter of fact, she happens to dislike moustaches in general; so Muldoon is in the clear. She gathers from his tone that the resemblance is something he's told often; and she can imagine the mixed feelings that might come along with that. Having not known her father, when she was told of her own resemblance to him there was some detachment there as a result; though mixed feelings of a different sort as well.

At his question she heaves a great sigh, because on this topic she thinks she's allowed to be just a touch dramatic. "Seven, I think. I lost count at some point." There's a subtle chuckle as she recalls one sitting in particular - "I fell asleep during one of them," she admits with an amused smirk. "It must have been a particularly deep sleep. Apparently I was quite irritated at having been woken, and may have cast a ...minor telekinetic spell which knocked the artist off his feet." She waves a hand. "But he was fine, just momentarily startled."

She turns her gaze back to him with a smile as she assesses how he might have reacted in a similar situation. "I have a feeling you would utterly loathe having to sit for hours for someone to paint your portrait."

Yennefer is entirely allowed to be dramatic on this topic. There is no way Muldoon will begrudge her any of her loathing. He does, however, look surprised at hearing that she fell asleep during one session. It's difficult to imagine Yennefer being anything but completely professional and put-together at all times.

Someone regretting having woken her up, on the other hand, he can believe easily. Though he does have to hide his smirk at the anecdote behind a sip of his drink. It's the price someone pays for thoroughly boring her, he thinks.

Swallowing down his laughter, he shakes his head in agreement with her assessment. "It's one of the great conundrums people face with me. How I can sit for hours or days staking out a hunting ground, but put a roof over my head and I can't bear staying still." He looks her in the eye, entirely honest when he says, "I would not survive seven portraits. I don't know how you could stand it."

Speaking of standing, he realises that the two of them still are. He nods towards the area with a couch which constitutes his living room. "Would you like to sit?"

Truly, there were few things more boring than sitting for a portrait; if Yennefer hadn't been under royal command to do so at the time; there's no way anyone could get her to sit still for that long. One of the many benefits of no longer working for such types, she's reminded.

"I hardly think of that as a conundrum," she remarks with an amused grin as she takes a sip of her wine. "It sounds like you simply require proper motivation and reward for your extended focus. Staking out hunting ground has a purpose, the patience pays off. Sitting around all day indoors, well, that's enough to make anyone restless." Or perhaps this is another area where they are quite similar.

She laughs at the honesty of his comment, a happy and light hearted sound. "I don't know how I managed to survive it either." There will never be another portrait painted of her. Pictures from other worlds, sure, though she's careful about who takes them for obvious reasons - she doesn't need her likeness to be easily tracked.

She nods at his offer and goes to sit on the couch in the living room area, propping her elbow up on the back of the couch so she's angled toward him as she speaks. "So, besides decent food; is there anything else in particular that you miss from the being on the mainland?"

Following her, he takes her lead, sitting on the other end of the couch and turning towards her. Though she manages to be graceful and natural in the way she sits, whereas he looks more awkward or out of place. The question gives him pause, and he frowns thoughtfully into the distance before looking at her again.

"I miss being able to easily wander into the wilderness for a while," he admits. "Not that I could with this job. The animals need too much care and attention." His brow knots further. "And sometimes I miss using my own guns."

Then the frown smooths out and he shakes his head before sipping his drink. "Nothing else I can think of. I'm used to travelling. I've stayed across most of the world, usually in rougher setups than this. Here I get fed, I get electricity and running water. We have jeeps and all sorts of tools. It's really very luxurious."

Only for him to almost interrupt himself a moment later. "I do wish there was a bar, though. Somewhere for the team to blow off steam after a long day. It's good for morale, and it's good for teamwork."

He doesn't look quite at home relaxing on the couch, but that makes sense - he's typically always on the move. She wonders briefly if he's ever sat here for more than the time it takes to look over the day's schedule. Perhaps she'll have to convince him at some point to watch a movie with her.

"I'd miss being able to wander as well," she responds with a brief glance out one of the windows. For all that this island offered - which was quite a lot in terms of beautiful landscape and previously extinct animal species to study (which she thinks she could do for hours, truly); it was still an island. There were only so many places one could wander, or hide away if they chose to.

She nods in agreement at the bar comment. "With a job like this, somewhere to decompress is essential. Though I sincerely doubt your boss would sign off on a place that readily serves alcohol on an island populated with dinosaurs," she remarks with a small smirk. "No telling how wild your group of wardens might get after a particularly stressful day." Said teasingly. Though, it's probably not terribly far off from the truth, she thinks.

She takes another sip of wine, studying the dark, almost purple hue of it. "The last time you drank about half the bottle of this," she starts, a spark of amusement in her eyes as she gazes at him, "did you actually enjoy the taste? I'm curious. I've been tinkering with the flavor profile, in addition to enchanting it's potency." Live to be almost a hundred years old and you tend to pick up a few hobbies, wine making had been one of them.

For someone who grew up with a savannah as a back yard, an island is unexpectedly stifling. He's never spent this much time on one before and it's been an adjustment. Trying to satiate his need to explore has ensured he knows the island like the back of his hand, at least.

"I'm sure he will. For the visitors." Irritating as it is, Muldoon knows where Hammond's priorities lie. Guests will always be put before employees or animals. "I set up a makeshift shooting range for myself originally, but it's the most popular spot for my team after a hard day. A bar might be preferable to that."

His brow lifts in surprise at her question, and the revelation behind it. He'd thought she'd simply enchanted it, not made it herself. Which is why guilt starts to sneak in around the edges of his expression. "It was nice." Only a moment later he admits, "I'm not really a wine drinker. I didn't pay much attention to the taste."

Yennefer is talking to a man who prefers a drink that will burn a hole through his stomach, after all. Hell, he doesn't even take his whiskey with ice.

"You make your own wine?"

"I can imagine," she responds with a knowing smile. Needing to shoot a target was not so unlike Yennefer needing to regularly find an outlet for her magic; things just worked better overall when you could vent in whatever way felt appropriate for the moment. But it does prompt the question - "The sound doesn't bother the animals?" She asks curiously, assuming the shooting range is likely far from any of the paddocks.

Noticing the slightly guilty look on his expression, she is quick to reassure; reaching over to place her hand atop his forearm with a grin. "The bottle was a gift, no need to worry. I just hadn't intended you to end up with the magically enhanced one." The results of which she still finds to be quite amusing, so there's no loss there.

She nods at his question, then adds - "I do, though I'm relatively new to it. I know you're not much for wine, but I recall you enjoying the one I selected for us on our previous date; so if you liked that and you also didn't find this," she nods toward the glass in her hand, "to be overly offensive, then I think I'm on the right track." In many ways, she was still learning; but she liked how to do new things. Even if in the beginning she had been quite terrible at it.

"My first go at it was... truly undrinkable," she admits with a dip of her head and a chuckle. "Probably the worst thing I've tasted."

"It's in a very secluded area," he explains, confirming her suspicions. Not everyone would have thought about making the animals anxious, but he certainly did. "And the natural layout directs the sound away from the animals."

Perhaps, when the park is expanded, that might not be enough to muffle the gunshots. But until then, he and his wardens have their private little practice range.

Glad as he is of her reassurance, he's more glad of the hand on his arm. Being polite and respectful of a person's space is difficult when he'd gladly hold her close. It's easier, and affirming, for her to close that particular gap. Even if it doesn't make it any easier to remain politely composed.

Hopefully she won't see through him squinting slightly as he keeps his focus on her conversation and not on anything else about her, as if every part of her isn't beautiful and demanding to be paid attention to. "Couldn't you fix the taste with magic?"

She's glad to hear the shooting range is in a secluded area, enough to not disturb the animals; but of course he'd have thought of that - given how much care he shows them. Even the deadliest of predators he treats with consideration as well as not forgetting what they're capable of. Perhaps she sees herself in that analogy in some regard, and it further endears her to him.

He's always been polite and respectful of her space, it's one of the things Yennefer appreciates about him; particularly in the beginning stages of getting to know each other like this - she doesn't mind being the one to initiate that closeness of touch; and at the moment that's exactly what she wants to do.

At his comment she shrugs a shoulder, taking a sip of her wine and setting it down on the table near the couch; then pulling the bulk of her dark locks over one shoulder. "I tried, but it just became worse - overly sweet and cloying." Her nose scrunches a bit from the memory of just how bad it had been. "Alas, there are some things even magic cannot salvage." She finishes with a sigh and a grin, her fingertips tracing idle patterns against his arm as she spoke.

She's silent for a few moments, her gaze lowered to where she touches his arm. Eventually a small smile tugs at her lips, and when she speaks again her tone is distinctly more intimate. "For as thrilling as the sights were to witness today, I have to confess; nothing made my heart race quite like that last kiss we shared." Her violet eyes lift to look at him, her gaze inviting and warm as she shifts closer to him on the couch.

As always, she has his full attention, intense icy gaze locked on her as she explains her trials with winemaking. Muldoon has always struggled with balancing things. All-or-nothing is his natural inclination. Yennefer has always made it easy, however, to be utterly and entirely focused on her in one way or another.

Still, it takes him a moment when she mentions their kiss, when she gives him that look. Pausing to lean over and put his own glass on the nearby table is like taking the time to remove the restraint he keeps so tightly wound around himself. For the moment he's relieved of the glass, he turns to kiss her, the now free hand cupping her head, fingers winding into those impossibly dark locks.

Yennefer is beautiful, even a blind man could see that. It's in her voice, in her scent, in her manners. Muldoon has seen beautiful women before, but Yennefer draws him in like no other. Her wit, her patience, her fiery compassion... At every turn she never fails to give him a new way to appreciate her. All of which means that he's been dying for this moment, where permission is given to kiss her, properly. Though he may still be attempting to restrain himself, to not overwhelm, there is nothing casual about his lips on hers.

For all that she's very much enjoyed seeing different sides of him as they've gotten to know each other; has seen him smile and even laugh - both rare things; this, she thinks, is her favorite side of him. Where he's set aside the restraint she can both see and sense in him in most situations, in favor of giving in to passion instead. There's something particularly satisfying about it, as well as quite thrilling. She'd had a glimpse of that during their previous date, while they were on the beach; but this is a different setting, more intimate, and private as well.

She doesn't hesitate to lean into the kiss, and into him; a breathy sound of pleasure leaving her lips in between kisses. Passion is something Yennefer is well acquainted with, it's as familiar as breathing and no less essential. The expression of it now, with him; is a slow but insistent urging that he do away with the remaining barriers of restraint.

Her hands slide from his arms up to his chest and shoulders, clasping the fabric of his shirt as she'd done in the car, except this time it's an expression of desire and encouragement as much as it is a way to pull him even closer as she deepens the kiss. Her pulse is racing once more, and as her fingertips skim beneath the collar of his shirt, her lips curve into a subtle smile against his; right before she nips at his lower lip.

The hand on the back of the couch curls into the cushions as he keeps his composure in check, barely, but in check nonetheless. For so much of his life that has been the goal. To keep those comments of his being 'intense' —sometimes complimentary, other times not— to a minimum. Especially on dates, where an abundance of passion can be seen as over eagerness. If there is anyone he is keen not to disappoint, it's Yennefer.

All of this goes out the window, however, the moment she nips his lip. He all but lunges at her. Instead of gripping the couch, he holds her waist, pushing against her to encourage her back against the cushions while his other hand dares pull her thigh closer, coaxing her to lie down so he can be on top of her. Or at least to come closer. To let him kiss deeper, harder, more.

He wants to touch. To press body against body. To have his hands feel out every curve. To taste the salt of her neck as deeply as the wine on her tongue. He will take any direction she has, but in this moment he's lost to his own desire, following one sensation into another.

Yennefer has received similar comments in regards to being 'intense'; those comments were more often than not spoken in exasperation. Almost in defiance of that, she's chosen to think of it as a positive attribute rather than negative. Considering the alternative; in her opinion it was better to be intense than to be dull or lacking in feeling, conviction, or passion. The challenge was in finding people that resonated with that intensity.

So needless to say, she gladly meets his intensity with her own eagerness; when he pulls her thigh closer her hands wrap around his shoulders, allowing herself to be pressed back down against the cushions as she pulls his body against hers. Her hands slide down his back while she hitches a leg up over his to allow him closer.

She could kiss him like this endlessly, tasting the whiskey on his tongue and taking in the scent of him - something clean and masculine that defied description; she only knew that she liked it, and craved more of him. Greedy to touch and be touched, she breaks the kiss just long enough to tilt her head, gracefully exposing the column of her neck. Inviting him to feel with his lips how much he's causing her pulse to spike.

"Taste my skin, feel me." She urges in a low, breathy tone; reaching for one of his hands to slowly guide it upward toward the fullness of her breast. She knows her own body, knows where she's most sensitive and isn't shy about her desire for him to explore more of her.

Every guidance is taken eagerly, like finding new routes through an unknown forest. His lips kiss the long line of her neck, teeth grazing skin in a tease of a bite that never quite happens. With her direction, his hand cups her breast and, with a gentle squeeze, ensures his own desire is unquestionable with the hardness between his legs.

To know more of her is to discover he wants more of her. The barriers of thin fabric between them become increasingly unbearable, especially when exploring hands can already feel how wonderful she is beneath his fingers. There is no clearer sign that Muldoon has taken her cue to embrace his own desires than when he pauses to sit up just long enough to take her shirt and rip it open. He descends upon the newly revealed flesh, to taste with lips and tongue and teeth, never quite biting though the inclination is certainly there.

Whatever repercussions she decides to bestow upon him later, he will accept. This is no time or place for hesitation. Not now when he can finally see and properly feel her body. It has been so long for him, and she is so beautiful in body and soul. Even the fervour with which he attends to her doesn't feel nearly enough, his yearning far outweighing his desire even as her taste and touch and smell and sound fills his senses.

She arches into his touch with a needy sound, tilting her neck further to give his lips better access. With each barely there scrape of teeth against her sensitive skin she wonders if he is purposefully attempting to drive her mad with that teasing - either way, it's delightful and sends tiny shivers across her skin. She hitches her leg higher over his hip, letting out a soft moan as she presses herself against where he's hard - it's not as if she doubted his desire, but feeling his want in such a way is incredibly arousing.

She's definitely not expecting him to do away with her shirt in such a manner, and the moment he does she responds with a low pitched chuckle and a sultry smirk at his boldness. It wasn't her favorite shirt, and besides; it was in the way. Her gaze is heated as she looks up at him, her hand curling around the back of his neck and urging him down to her newly bared skin.

The attention of his lips, tongue and almost scrape of teeth against her breasts has her writhing beneath him, aching with each sensation he's drawing out. "More," she practically demands, wanting him to nip at her skin. Yennefer is definitely the vocal sort, letting him know how much she's enjoying his fervor with throaty moans and gasps; her nails digging into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.

Which brings to her attention the fact that she's rather fed up with the shirt he's wearing as well. "Off," she murmurs, making it clear she means his shirt and not him as her hands deftly undo the buttons and slide it from his shoulders. She wastes no time in caressing along his chest, arms, and back; an eager hum of appreciation given at the feel of his body beneath her hands.

Once the buttons are undone, Muldoon barely pauses to pull it off and toss it aside. Scars are scattered across his chest and shoulders, in and around the soft hair which draws a line down his navel. Not that the warden gives her any particular time to look at them, given how much attention he's giving her.

That she's vocal is no bad thing. Though he clearly responds when she moans or demands, his own contributions keep to breathy pants and low growls as she digs her nails into his skin. With her encouragement he does nip and returns to her neck to sink his teeth in a little deeper in an experimental bite that comes with a roll of his hips and another growl.

Long legs have never been suited to the confines of a couch, however, and he's finding it awkward. Some frustration is fun, this is not. Though he has to stop enjoying her quite so thoroughly, there is another kind of pleasure in wrapping his arms around her and pulling her up with him as he stands. Keeping her close so that he can still kiss her as he holds her and brings her to his bedroom. It is almost militantly neat, so aside from having to navigate a closed door to get to it, there is nothing in the way as he brings her to his bed and lays her down.

She delights in the sounds he makes; and when his teeth sink into her neck and he rolls his hips, she's all the more vocal; finding it impossible not to be. Her hands grip at his shoulders as she lifts her hips to press against his, a languid sort of roll coupled with a low moan.

The couch isn't quite big enough for the both of them and the variety of ways she wants them to explore each other; and she'd been on the verge of suggesting they relocate; but fortunately they're sharing the same thought. When he lifts her she wraps her legs around him without missing a beat, meeting his kiss eagerly. She's glad he gets the door open as quickly as he does, otherwise she'd have used her magic and the force of which would have likely ripped the thing off it's hinges with how strong her passion is at the moment.

As he lays her down on the bed, she props herself up on her elbows; letting her gaze wander across his body now that she has the opportunity to do so. He's mentioned the scars before, but she's only glimpsed the one on his leg he'd shown earlier. Seeing the scattering of them across his chest and shoulders draws her gaze as well as her touch - she reaches out to trace a few of the deeper ones as if to memorize them; then lifts herself up enough to press her lips to his skin, tasting and kissing along his collarbone; then nipping just beneath his jawline. "I've wanted to get you alone like this since our first date," she hums against his skin. "Ever since our first kiss."

Most of the marks on his skin are from bites and scratches, save for one from a gunshot. He's not embarrassed by them, and he's used to lovers and strangers alike giving them attention. Though his own focus is firmly on her lips as they travel across his skin.

"I've wanted to get you alone like this ever since the kikimora," he rumbles right back, humming against her affections.

Then, with the smoother support of the bed, he interrupts her to thread his fingers in her hair and kiss her deeply. Having sated that rush of desire, he brings his attention lower, letting his kisses and nipping trail down her body until he reaches her shorts. Here he undoes them just enough to go a little below the waistband... and then moves on to help remove her boots. If he smirks at her for having teased her like that, well, she'll just have to deal with it.

"If I'd known that back then we could have ended our trip a lot differently," she remarks with grin that's pressed against his skin. She'd had no idea of his interest back then, and frankly the time between then and now of getting to know one another; and Yennefer building trust, respect, and genuine affection for him only made this moment now all the more meaningful and intense.

But she doesn't have time to reflect on that thought long before his lips are on hers again and all thoughts are swept from her mind. With a kiss like that, all she can do is give in, gladly taken over by the passion expressed; one hand clutching his arm while the other slides around the back of his neck.

The path his mouth takes down her body draws an encouraging sound from her; one that turns from a hum of pleasure when he dips beneath the waist of her shorts; to a sound of protest when he shifts away to remove her boots. "Robert." Somehow she manages to make it sound like both warning as well as pleading.

Yes, the boots must come off, but he knows exactly what he's doing with a move like that. She helps him by toeing off her boots once unlaced; impatient to have his hands and his lips back on her skin.

Private tour for asorceress

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