Mature Q&A — Part One (Patreon)

• Where do you like being kissed the most?

Hadrian smiles at the ceiling. "Uh. Anywhere you want to kiss me?" he says, fingers tickling the bare skin of your ribs.

"Come now, big man," you say, turning your head on his stretched arm to poke his jaw. Hadrian's smile widens. "Don't give me your sweet, caring answers. I want the honest truth."

"My sweet, caring answers are the truth," Hadrian says without conviction. His voice is rougher and drags, in that half-asleep state that makes him sound more attractive. You wait with narrowed eyes — but can't stop your feet from cuddling up with his — until, finally, Hadrian turns his head, and you're facing each other.

You adjust his arm serving as your pillow. "Favorite place," you say. "And I'll give you a kiss."

Hadrian hums. "My cheek."

"That is not your favorite place.”

Hadrian just taps his cheek. "Kiss it."

The cheekiness. You try not to smile but fail miserably as you lean in to kiss his cheek.

"Wait, I made a mistake," Hadrian says, his hand cupping the back of your head so that you don't lean away. You flick your eyes at him and see his broad smile. "My favorite place is here."

He taps his chin.

You roll your eyes but oblige. "There. Satisfied?"

"No." His voice tickles your hair. "I thought of a better one."

You raise your face, your noses bumping each other. "Yes?" you whisper, climbing on top of him so that your chests are pressed together. "Where is it?"

Hadrian's thumb traces your upper lip. "The mouth. It's, uh. My favorite."

He kisses you first, sweet, and caring, then deep and passionate. The fires of desire are stoked, and when you part for air, your nails dig into his scalp. "Keep going," you say, your voice hoarse too. "Where else?"

Hadrian looks confused. "What—"

You kiss his jaw, then bite his neck and smirk at when he tenses beneath you. "Where else?"

You're kissing down his neck, legs straddling one of his thighs when finally, he answers. "My chest."

Immediately, you move down his body and start to pepper his chest with butterfly kisses. His hand falls on your head again, large, and protective, and you glance up to his face. Hadrian looks wrecked. The green in his eyes is swallowed by his blown pupils, and his chest heaves up and down.

You smile at him and feel his fingers tighten their hold.

God.

"My stomach."

You oblige.

His abs tighten when you worship the skin as if it's made of gold. Hadrian breaths heavily from above, but you take your time, kissing and nipping all over until he groans, and you can't help but grind your core on his thigh. "What else?" you drawl, voice dripping with desire.

Hadrian's fingers shake on your cheek. "Love, I..."

"What else, Hadrian?"

"Lord."

You kiss his happy trail and go down past his hip bone. His desire is evident, almost hitting your chin, but you stop. "Hadrian. Where?"

He has his jaw clenched shut, so Hadrian has to unhinge it. "My—"

You kiss his tip and make him incoherent.

- - -

Alessa peeks over her shoulder. "Should you not ask those queries before I dress myself?" she says, sliding a black sock into her right foot.

You crawl on the bed to hug her from behind. "I only thought of it now," you say, cheek pressed to her hip. "Besides, this is a very innocent, well-meaning question. I only wish to know you, my great lover, in better detail."

Alessa rolls the sock all the way over her calf. "Your great lover?"

"You don't like it?"

"'Tis abominable."

You chuckle, hands spreading on her stomach. At least she's not wearing a shirt yet. "See? I'm learning more about you already."

You hear her huff, and soon feel her cold fingertips sweeping your hair. "You fool," she says tenderly, nails heavenly on your scalp. "What is it you inquired first?"

"Your favorite place to be kissed," you mumble with your eyes closed at the sensation. Your hands move higher, brushing on the sweet curve of her breasts, and you smile lazily when she sucks in a faint breath.

Alessa falls against you, her lower back supported by your shoulder. "I... have not thought of it before," she admits. She gives up on her other sock, letting it fall to the floor. "I suppose the lips tend to be the common answer."

"I don't want a common answer," you say, moving your head back so that you can press your mouth against her spine. You kiss each vertebra, lingering on her soft, pale skin. "I want your answer."

"I—"

Your right hand moves up to cup her breast. The weight of it fits perfectly in your palm. "I am enjoying well enough what you are performing," Alessa says, her voice coming out breathless.

You smirk, kiss higher up her back, and move your gloved hand down to the waistband of her pants. "Weak answer."

She clicks her tongue, and you can just see her frowning. "Very well. I—" You bite the curve of her hip. "If I must choose, I—"

You twirl her nipple with two fingers, and she bucks when your hand slips past her pants to cup her mount. "You said 'twas not meant to lead anywhere," Alessa says through clenched lips.

"I lied," you retort, and rise on your knees so you can kiss the back of her neck. "You were saying?"

Alessa takes a moment, and you know she's trying to focus. You do your hardest to make sure she can't. Leaving open-mouthed kisses below her jaw, your hands get busy, and soon enough, Alessa buckles against your hand with a vice-like grip on your wrist.

"My— my throat," Alessa breathes, head falling over your shoulder. You catch the blue of one of her eyes, the lid half closed, and her mouth slacked. "'Tis my throat."

You pause, lifting your lips from that exact place. "Really?"

"Yes," Alessa says, and, in a flash, she spins around. She grabs your neck, nails digging in, and pushes you hard against the mattress. "Now, it is your turn, most darling one," she says as she crawls on top of you with half-opened pants and one sock. "Tell me where you like my lips the most."

You hold her hips as she straddles you. "I'll need time to think," you say.

Alessa smirks back. "You shall not have it," she says and grinds against you, granting no mercy.

• What is something (a word, an action, clothing, exposed body part, etc) that the MC does that riles you up the fastest and why?

Alain lounges on his divan, one leg hanging off it, the other stretched along the back.

He wears nothing but a sheen veil made of green silk and gold inlays. It deliberately covers his parts as if an artist hand-painted it to his body. His golden skin glows with a thin layer of sweat, and his hair clings to his forehead the same way the marble angles in the cathedrals wear their crowns of fern.

He looks every bit the lord he is, and Alain Theer is well aware of it. "Say, sparrow, could you fetch me a glass of wine?"

He speaks to the air, fingertips busying themselves tracing absent patterns on the skin of your back. You frown and lift your head from his stomach. "What?"

Alain deems not looking at you. " Chilled wine if there's any. It's hot today, isn't it?"

Your mouth hangs open. The obnoxious, infuriating, loathsome man. "Have you lost use of your legs?"

Alain looks down. Your legs are intertwined with his in a mess of limbs that make it hard to see what belongs to whom. Your upper body rests on his lower one, and it's sticky and warm, but it had been pleasant...

Until Alain opened his mouth.

"I think my legs are as healthy as ever," the noble bastard tells you. He jerks his right leg to show you, bumping it against your core. "Yes, in perfect order," he says, smirking at your outrage.

Your hands curl on his stupid veil, wanting to push him off the divan, but you calm yourself. You'll play a better game. "Very well," you say, rising from the divan. You stand in front of him completely nude and are satisfied to see his eyes drinking the sight. "As my lord commands."

It's instantaneous. Alain's pupils darken, his smirk falters, and you hide a smile when you turn away—

His hand latches onto your wrist.

You turn back to him, feigning innocence. "Something wrong, my lord?" you ask, watching his jaw tighten. "I'm doing as you commanded."

"Sparrow," Alain warns.

"Would you like me to prepare a bath next? I can wash you myself, your lordship. You mustn't lift a finger."

Alain sits up, still grabbing your wrist, and tries to pull you down, but you resist the tug. "Please tell me what afflicts you, lord. I’ll do my best to fix it.”

"You little devil," he says, looping his arms around your waist and hauling you. You stagger forward, and Alain pushes his face against your sternum. "How long have you known?"

He inhales deeply against your skin, his hands lowering from spine to ass. You bite the inside of your cheek when Alain kneads your buttcheeks, fingers making indentations on your flesh.

"What do you mean, my—"

*if female

He bites the side of your breast, and you squeal. “Ow!”

*if male

He bites your rib, just below your chest, and you squeal. "Ow!"

"Answer me," Alain croaks, but his voice is whiny, and his tongue is already lavishing the bruised spot.

"Is that a command? Should I fall on my knees and beg for forgiveness?" you ask, looking down your nose at him. You want to tug on his curls and scratch your nails down his back, but you wait, rigid, refusing to succumb to his ministrations.

"God's innards, you're merciless," Alain says with a sigh. "Alright, you got me. I apologize, my sweet."

This power could be addicting. "How sorry are you?"

Alain drops his forehead against your stomach. "I'll go fetch the bloody wine."

"That's a start," you muse aloud, twirling one of his curls with a finger. "I noticed it immediately, by the way. Remember our first night together?"

He kisses your nipple, sending a jolt down your spine. "How could I forget?"

"Well, you got hard the moment I called you lord."

A pause.

And Alain lets out a loud groan. "My God.” His complexion is too dark to blush, but you can almost feel the heat in her cheeks. "That's the worst thing I've heard about myself. And that's saying something."

"I wasn't surprised," you say flippantly.

Alain leans away to look you in the eyes. "It's only with you!" he defends himself. "Never had this happening with anyone else."

"Is that what you tell all your bed partners? Because I—" Your sentence is cut short when Alain lifts you by hooking his arms beneath your butt and flips you over the divan. "Ah!"

Your head is protected by his palm. Alain sets it on a plush pillow before straddling you, hands grabbing your forearms. "How about this sparrow," the nobleman says, face coming near your own. "We'll leave the talking for later. Because you got one thing right."

"What’s that?" you say, breathing getting shallower.

Alain smirks devilishly. "It does make me hard," he says before capturing your mouth. Alain wastes no time, tongue slipping past your lips and hips grinding into your own.

Your eyes widen before you moan, and the lids close on their own volition. He's not lying. You can feel him against your inner thigh, hot and eager. Alain kisses you with teeth, unrelenting until your head starts to feel light.

It's hard to, both because he's holding you down and because all you want is to lose yourself in him, but somehow, you manage to twist your neck away and free an arm to hold his jaw. "On one condition."

"Anything," Alain promises, voice pained.

"I want a tall, chilled glass of spiced wine right after."

Your noble's laughter echoes between the walls and bubbles down your throat when he kisses you again. "Promise," Alain whispers into your mouth, lining himself against you.

And chilled wine, lords, and entitled bastards slip from your mind when Alain thrusts in.

- - -

Ysabella isn't a Theer tonight but a simple commoner.

The air is stiff and heavy, and sweat pours down the old inn's walls. But the band playing in a makeshift podium is a talented one. Music, made of drums, tambourines, and feet hitting the creaky floor in unison, shakes the very foundation of the inn.

You'd worry a bit more about the possibility of collapse if Ysabella wasn't dancing right in the center.

Her dress, modest and simple, clings to her curves in a way that has your heart hammering harder than any music can. She twirls, impossibly elegant, with her hair flying after her as if it too is a part of the costume. The low-cut hugs her generous breasts, and every time she spins, she keeps her large, beautiful eyes on you.

"Come here," she mouths, lips red and swollen from your shared kisses.

You turn back to the counter. "Hurry up," you bark at the barkeep.

"Calm your fuckin' knickers," the old man shoots back, his one eye squinting at you.

You scowl back with half a mind to go, but Bella's thirsty, so you bite your tongue and grunt.

Painstakingly slowly, he refills the tankard, and you flip a silver in the air before grabbing the mug and turning towards the common room. There's Bella, dancing still, beautiful as—

She falters when her arm is yanked hard by a towering man almost twice her height and four times her build.

Your tankard falls to the ground.

And the world turns black.

-

Ysabella has a fierce grip on your arm as she drags you up dusty stairs. Your mark burns a fire within you, so strong that you barely feel the pain in your cracked knuckles.

Blood drips down your hand, but it doesn't belong to you.

"Did I scare you?" you ask, voice ragged, and eyes cast down.

"Hush," Ysabella says, pulling you to the left corridor when you reach the top.

"I didn't mean to," you mutter. "I never wanted you to see me like that."

Ysabella reaches the room she rented and shoves the door open. You're interrupted when she practically launches you inside before closing the door behind you. The room is small, smells funny, and there's a lack of a fireplace.

But none of that matters right now. You turn to face her and see Ysabella is up against the door, watching you with wide dark eyes and ragged breath. Her chest, so wonderfully adorned, rises up and down in what you can only imagine to be fear.

Your heart falls to your feet. "I won't hurt you, Ysabella."

She stares at you.

"Please, say someth—"

She springs from the door, and next thing you know, a pair of golden arms loop around your neck and pull you down until her mouth clashes with yours. You grunt in surprise, and Ysabella takes advantage to deepen the kiss immediately.

You're left stunned by her passion; incapable of anything other than taking it. Her hands grip you everywhere, and you feel her breasts squeeze up against your chest. Bella seems determined to steal every ounce of air from your lungs and take your soul along with it.

"You're—" she whimpers, pulling back enough to take a quick breath. "You're the most— you drive insane. I've never— I don't understand why..."

Finally, your shock melts away to a realization.

She's not afraid. She's mad with lust.

Ysabella jumps, and you catch her thighs, stumbling blindly toward the bed. It's narrow and almost crumbles when you both fall on top of it. "What was going to say?" you ask, flipping her so that she's under you.

Her nails slip under your shirt to carve red lines on your back. "I want you."

That has your core throbbing, but it's not what you wanted to hear. "Bella, tell me."

Ysabella bites her lip so hard that you're afraid it'll bleed. She hooks her knees on your hips to dig her heels against your backside. "When you defended me, I—" She hides her face in your neck. "I could barely stop myself from jumping you in front of all those people."

You're going to take this woman to Heaven and back. Without another word, you drag your hand from the inside of her knee to her inner thigh. "I got you," you tell her when she keens. Slowly, you slide your palm until your knuckles against her core.

She arches and you need to close your eyes shut. "You're drenched," you manage from clenched teeth.

Ysabella opens her legs, granting you further access. "I told you,” she says, teeth dragging along the apex of your ear. "I wanted to jump you."

And when your lady asks, you obey.

• Is there an unconventional locale you think would be a very romantic spot to lose yourself to your passions with Romanus?

Hadrian can barely look you in the eyes. "Unconventional, like..."

"You can't say the bathtub, Hadrian."

Hadrian's ears ignite. "I know. I was, uh. I was thinking of the battlements of a tower. With the land before us and the Heavens close by."

"With or without an audience?"

Hadrian barks your name, horrified, and you laugh.

-

Alessa knits her brows together. "Perhaps..." She smiles beautifully. "On a beach, with water lapping at our feet."

-

Alain taps his fingers against his lip. "Hmm," he hums. "Let's see. Romantic, you say? I don't know about that, sparrow, but speaking from experience, it's a good ride inside a carriage."

He grins. "All that bouncing helps along."

-

Ysabella covers her mouth with an elegant, gloved hand. "Oh!" she giggles, glancing around to make sure you're alone. "A popular fantasy amongst clandestine books of the nobility is the stables."

She giggles again. "The ladies lose their heads whenever they see a burly stableman… or a stablewoman."

“What about a mercenary?” you ask.

Bella smiles a radiant smile. “Should we find our passion in your fortress, my big, strong sellsword?”

-

The Pirate King points up. "The crow's nest."

And winks.

-

Neia's answer is immediate. "A prison cell."

“A prison? Really?”

She licks her lips. “I’ll be the interrogator.”

-

Lance Silverthread taps the outside of his leg. "To lose ourselves in passion, is it?"

You nod. "Yes."

Your bard is clearly struggling. "I— I'm not sure. At night, yes? With the moon shining. There are many love ballads about it."

You walk closer, smiling. "I'm not asking about love ballads, am I?"

Lance takes your hand. "I always wondered," he says, whispering in your ear. "What it’d be like to fuck in my old monastery."

-

Vallen bites her bottom lip. "In the pews of a church," she says and then jumps. "Oh, better yet! In the altar of a cathedral."

“You’re trying to anger the entire Church?”

“The danger adds to it,” she says, tone as light as a summer breeze.

-

Rafael glances at you sideways. "Feelin' needy, are ya?"

"Maybe I am," you tease, swaying your hips. "Where'd you take me?"

Rafael's up in less than a second. "Right against the wall."

• To Alessa: Am I your first?

*if Romanus is male

"You are not," Alessa simply says.

*if Romanus is female

"I have laid with men before," Alessa tells you, red painting the freckles on her nose. "But I have not experienced… a feminine touch yet. 'Twill be something new."

• To Vallen: favorite position in bed.

"Any that has me on top," she says with a sweet voice, an innocent smile, and fluttering eyelashes.