"So, I noticed you staring at me in the greenhouse today. Well, not at me or my face, your eyes were a little low for that." Dorothea said, rather congenitally and as if she were discussing the weather. Ingrid's small room seemed to grow even smaller, then. Dorothea crossed over to the desk lining the wall, attention focused on the unlit candles. Evening light pooled in from the shuttered windows opposite the door.
"I beg your pardon?" Ingrid sputtered, face aflame. She would never...
"Oh, don't take that tone with me." Dorothea coaxed a flame to life in her hand, lit a couple candles on the desk. Flames flickered, cast everything in an orange light. All Ingrid could do was stand by the door, indignant. "Besides, I never said I didn't like it."
"I didn't..." Her protests were feeble. The dress Dorothea wore left little in the way of imagination, and yes, her eyes fell once or twice but she always picked them right back up. The thoughts she had--the desire to know what it would be like to touch her, undress her--were quickly suppressed.
"You're only human. And if I'm being honest, I was rather enjoying the way you fought with yourself." Dorothea grinned wickedly, crossing over to Ingrid. "To stare, or not to stare! For that is the question." A laugh then, deliciously salacious, erupted out of her.
Fought with herself! The nerve of Dorothea right now; Ingrid couldn't say she was wrong though, not exactly. Shame had her gut clenching. How common of her to debase herself so because of a little cleavage. She had nothing to say, dropping her gaze to the flooring of her room. Dorothea's hand upon her cheek forced her attention back up to those green eyes. A peculiar hunger flickered in them.
"One of my favourite things is to see how far I can push you..." Dorothea said, voice low, daring to drag a nail along Ingrid's jawline. She shuddered, swallowed thickly. Her mouth grew dry.
Seiros, she had to know what she did to her. Her knees felt weak. It was cruel, the things she did to her, the things she made her want but surely couldn't have. "To see what it will take to make your composure crack."
"Dorothea..." She almost said stop, but the worst thing of all was that she didn't want her to. Dorothea had her backed up against the wall, cold stone leaching through the fabric of her shirt. Dorothea's hand dropped from her face, to the band of her breeches. Fingers tugged, perhaps flirting with the notion of undoing the button. She shivered, but it wasn't because she was cold.
"Tell me, my dear, gallant Ingrid," Dorothea said. "What is it like to restrain yourself the way you do? To bottle everything up for the sake of being knightly?"
Being proper, polite even, was just common decency. They had nothing to do with knighthood, or the lack thereof.
"I don't bottle anything up." Ingrid managed to say. Her hands itched with the compulsion to rest upon Dorothea's waist, or at least move her wandering hand away. Ingrid's eyes darted to her lips and back up again. Heat coiled in her core, threatened to blow her apart at the seams.
"Ah, but you are. Right now, even. You want to kiss me, don't you?" Those wandering hands traveled up the hem of Ingrid’s shirt, chill against the hot skin of her stomach.
Yes, Ingrid wanted to say. I do, and so badly it aches. Instead, she said, “Maybe so.”
She took a stuttering breath, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. If she moved a half-inch closer, tilted her head just so, she could... no. No. The possibility of it, no matter how intoxicating, couldn’t be.
“Then why don’t you?” Dorothea murmured, drawing herself closer to Ingrid. A leg pressed between her thighs, prying them apart; grinding on Dorothea’s knee became a dangerously appealing urge. One she didn’t understand.
“Because, Dorothea, there is a time and place for these things and I would like to treat you the way you ought to be treated.” Ingrid drew the words out carefully, slowly, on the brink of letting the shreds of her composure slip away completely.
In response, Dorothea made a non-committal noise, and then, “And how should I be treated?”
That wicked woman brought her knee up, grinding into Ingrid when she surely wasn’t going to cave. A low noise came out of her, unbidden. Dorothea had the power to tease feelings out of Ingrid she never thought she had.
“You deserve to be treated--to be--to be courted.” Thinking straight, let alone talking, seemed an impossible task with the way her mind grew foggy with desire. A ferocious hunger yawned right open inside of her. The way Dorothea’s soft body pushed into hers was a lovely thing; Ingrid was all hard angles and sinew to her curves.
“And?” Dorothea brought her lips to Ingrid’s neck, placed a trail of kisses all the way to her jaw.
“And--and I would--” Another low noise when Dorothea dug her knee in again. “Seiros! I would bring you flowers, and weave them into a crown.” Dorothea’s hands wandered close to her breasts.
“A crown, you say?” Wonder filled her voice, thumb brushing over a nipple. It’s what she deserved, and more. A crown, a kingdom, the world. Ingrid felt like she might combust, craved her touch. It was only the wall and Dorothea keeping her standing.
“Yes!” She said through gritted teeth. Would it be so bad to let everything go, if only this once? There was something so heady about losing control, to let someone else hold the reins. Ingrid grabbed Dorothea’s shoulders, kissed her with enough force their teeth crashed together. Fine, so be it. So be it; Dorothea could have her on her knees at a simple word or touch and she didn’t care. Not anymore.
Dorothea chased her mouth, meeting her yearning for yearning. A bite on her lip forced her mouth open, the pain close to exquisite, Dorothea’s tongue teasing hers. Dorothea broke the contact, leaving Ingrid wanting more.
“I do so like how my lipstick looks on you.” She dragged a thumb over Ingrid’s bottom lip, forcing their eyes to meet. Ingrid must look a fright, surely, but there was only desire written plainly on her face.
“And I do so like it when you kiss me like that.”
“Well, I can certainly help with that.” A smile blossomed on Dorothea’s face.