Chapter 8: You should calm down, daughter

Her strength matched his, a woman who led with the same resolve in love as she did in her village, and Jaenor gave himself to it.

Jaenor gripped her thighs, his fingers kneading her taut thighs, and the moans and grunts filled the room, and they were lost in their own passion of lust.

The hours blurred, the night a tapestry of heat and motion, their bodies moving in sync. In that moment, nothing else existed except for the two of them, consumed by desire and lost in each other’s touch. The night seemed to stretch on endlessly, their connection deepening with every shared breath and caress.

Valara’s confidence was intoxicating, her every touch a spark that fuelled Jaenor’s desire.

They took a brief break and continued the session.

They returned to the main room as the fire died to embers, collapsing onto a thick woollen rug, a quilt pulled hastily from a chest to shield them from the cooling air. Their connection was fierce and unyielding, a storm that left them both breathless and sated, yet unwilling to part.

Valara had her hands wrapped around Jaenor, like she possessed him. She owned him.

She didn’t care about anything else in that moment.

“Jaenor, you had given me years worth of pleasure in just one night.” Valara pressed her lips against his.

They were lying on the rug, and it was also wrapped around their bodies, their naked bodies caressed under the rug.

“I’m glad you led me here tonight.” Jaenor returned to the kiss; she bit his lip while moving back.

Valara’s fingers traced idle patterns on Jaenor’s chest, her breath warm against his shoulder. “You’re a force, Jaenor Ol’Rakkinor,” she murmured, her voice husky with exhaustion and satisfaction. “Like a storm over the Frostvale.”

Jaenor chuckled, the sound rough but warm. His hand resting on the curve of her hip. The world felt distant.

Jaenor then sighed, feeling content for the night, and they both fell asleep soon after.

–

Dawn’s first light crept through the shutters. The sun slowly rose on the horizon, making way for another day for the frostvale in the heavy snow.

Taeryn had informed Jaenor’s mother that he had gone to the chieftess’s house, and so they didn’t go looking for him in the night.

Rosa had her suspicions, but she decided to wait for her son and ask him later what had transpired in the night.

She wasn’t aware that her son was now lying naked with Valara all over him.

Inside Valara’s house, the sunlight broke through the windows and fell on their naked bodies. Under the sunlight, their skin glowed with extra warmth and passion.

They lay entwined on the floor, the quilt barely covering them, the sheep’s wool rug soft beneath their spent forms.

The whole house was quiet, and only the sound of their breathing could be heard.

The creak of the front door shattered the quiet.

A young woman stepped inside the house.

It was Valara’s daughter, Rena; her eyes took in the sight before her.

Rena stood frozen in the doorway, her dark braid swinging, her eyes wide with shock as they took in the scene—Jaenor and Valara, coupled on the floor, the quilt tangled around them, their closeness unmistakable.

She fixed her eyes on them, momentarily lost, unable to think.

Then she said, “Mother.” Like a whisper, it was lost in the air.

She screamed, “MOTHER!!”

Valara and Jaenor woke up at the same time by the sound.

Jaenor groaned, and Valara quickly turned to see her daughter standing in the doorway.

“Why are you screaming, daughter?” Valara said.

Jaenor didn’t bother to look at Rena. He wasn’t feeling guilty, and he stretched his hands, still lying on the floor. He didn’t bother to cover himself.

“Jaenor, how could you do this? With my mother?” Rena’s voice was coarse, angered.

“Rena,” Valara said, her voice steady, a chieftess addressing her people even in this moment. She sat up, pulling the quilt to cover herself, her composure unshaken. “You’re early.”

Rena’s face flushed, her mouth opening and closing as words failed her.

“Mother… Jaenor?” Her voice cracked, a mix of disbelief and hurt flashing in her eyes. “What is this?”

Valara stood, her movements graceful, the quilt draped like a cloak. “Rena, you should calm down first,” she said, though her tone carried no apology, only calm authority.

Rena’s eyes darted between them, her expression a storm of emotions—shock, betrayal, and something softer, like grief.

“I can’t believe what just happened. You two? You?” She looked at Jaenor as if accusing him of the mistake he made.

“I’m going to the inn. Don’t follow me.” She turned, the door slamming behind her, the sound echoing in the quiet house.

Valara shook her head, watching her leave.

“She got your temper,” Jaenor said. He was still on the floor, his hands at the back of his head.

Valara turned to him and narrowed her eyes. “And you are quite laid-back, aren’t you?”

She turned her gaze towards his morning wood, and she let out a surprised gasp. “You are still hard, after all that night we had.”

“Benefits of being young, I guess.”

“As much as I would love to have at it again, I need to go talk to my daughter,” she said, and she turned to walk towards the bedroom. Then Jaenor slapped her ass lightly and said, “Okay. I need to go home too. My parents must be worried.”

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