Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
Narova Blackhair squeezed down hard on the earth while she came, rocking her hips back and forth over Arnbjorn.
He was below her, sighing and running his hands along her back. Guiding her hips and looking into her eyes—smiling his crooked, weather-worn smile.
It was early morning and they fucking on the forest floor. The scent of pine was everywhere and the sun was sneaking between the canopy, warming Narova’s back as she moved. Up and down, back and forth. Arnbjorn’s cock felt amazing inside of her—big and thick and hot.
His breathing grew fast and he shut his eyes. Close. So, close. Narova bucked up and down a few more times and then buried his entire cock inside of her as he came, filling her with his seed and squeezing down on her ass with both hands.
Narova slumped over on top of him, letting her hair drape across his face. For a few minutes there wasn’t any noise except for the chatting birds and both of their breaths slowly returning to normal.
They’d been traveling for five days—taking their time with the carriage packed to the brim with Moon Sugar.
Taking their time with each other, too.
Arnbjorn had fucked like an animal for the first two days—still half-wild and full of fury after changing into The Beast. Narova had liked it, but she liked the way he fucked once his human-half had returned much more. Gentle and slow and deliberate—as if her skin was electric and burning.
But now they were on the edge of the Pine Forest, within a day’s ride of the Falkreath Sanctuary. Neither of them had mentioned Astrid or the others or what the fuck they were going to do when they got back.
Narova didn’t much want to, either.
Plus, she wasn’t going back to the Sanctuary with the chests. Not quite yet.
Narova slid off of Arnbjorn and waded wasted-deep into a small spring near their camp. She felt the Nord’s eyes on her as she scooped up a few handfuls of water and splashed them on her neck and face. The water was ice-cold and refreshing.
She knew he was looking at her back—all mangled and butchered and covered in scars.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice still hoarse. “Were you hoping I would ask about all those scars, or hoping I wouldn’t.”
Narova thought it over. Splashed her face one more time.
“A bit of both, I guess. And somehow you managed to do neither.” She turned around and flicked a few drops of water in his direction. They fell short and sunk into the forest floor.
He met here eyes for a few moments and then sighed. “We’ll be home today,” he said. Arnbjorn wasn’t a deceptive person—too wild for twisty ways of his Dark Brothers—but Narova couldn’t tell what he was feeling. Or thinking.
Doesn’t matter much either way, does it? You’ve got your own problems, the last thing you need is to get bogged down in his, too.
“Not me, I have a stop to make,” she said, turning away from his eyes and pulling on her leather pants.
“To the West,” Narova motioned with her head to the road leading on to Markarth. “Call it a loose end.”
Arnbjorn was silent for a moment. “And you were figuring…what? You’d just wave to me at the crossroads and we’d go our separate ways?”
Narova pulled on her breastplate and grunted as she yanked the leather straps tight. “I figured just cause you put your cock in me doesn’t mean you get to put your nose in the rest of my business.”
“Hm. Fair enough I guess.”
“I’d go with you, if you asked me to,” he said.
Where? To Markarth, or beyond that? Beyond all of this?
“Turns out I didn’t ask,” Narova said flatly.
She didn’t want to leave Arnbjorn, but she didn’t want to see him kiss Astrid and hold her in his arms when they returned, either. Didn’t want to smell him in the hallways and not be able have him.
And even if all of that wasn’t true, she needed to go to Markarth alone.
Arnbjorn rose from the ground and pulled on his own pants. Started gathering a few bits of wood for a fire. The man ate an unbelievable amount of food, and she knew he was preparing to eat his weight in salmon. He uncorked a bottle of mead, took a long drink, and offered it up to Narova.
She didn’t move.
“I’ll let Astrid know you did well, and that you’ll be along later,” he said, keeping the bottle out for her. “But you need do something for me.”
“I’m not gonna lick your asshole if that’s what you’re after. That’s your thing, I never asked for it.”
He smiled. “But you like it.”
She shrugged. “What do you want?”
“I want you to tell me who you were. Where you came from. How you got here.”
Narova frowned. She didn’t like those kinds of questions. Fucking him was one thing. Sharing secrets and sad stories was quite another. But, she figured Arnbjorn had earned a little more than her cold shoulder.
She stepped forward and took the bottle of mead. Drained half of it down her throat and swallowed.
“I’m from Valenwood.”
When she didn’t elaborate, Arnbjorn snatched the bottle from her. “You and every other wood-elf. Not good enough.”
Narova sighed. “I was a hunter. Mostly out of Falinesti, to the west, where the trees and the game are the most wild. For a long time, that was all I was.”
Arnbjorn offered up the mead again, slowly. “And?”
“Things happen,” she said, looking off towards Markarth. “You can’t take them back. So why talk about it?” She looked back at Arnbjorn and frowned again. “I need one of the horses. And some food.”
Arnbjorn gave her a hard look and then waved a resigned hand towards the carriage and the horses. “I won’t stop you,” he said.
He focused on cooking the fish while she packed and prepared the horse. He ignored her until she swung herself up on the saddle and moved the horse a few steps back towards the road.
“You are coming back, aren’t you?” he asked. She turned around but he was looking at the fire. Prodding one of the fish gently.
“If I’m not dead, I’ll come back.” She prodded her horse forward a few more steps. Then stopped again. “I promise.”
Arnbjorn didn’t say anything else, so she kicked her horse into a gallop towards Markarth.