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"Don't move".
Anora's tone left no room for argument as she held her boot to Rosalind's aching core. The younger woman whimpered and felt her body scream for more. More pressure. More friction. More Anora.
So, she shifted slightly without even realising it, just to feel something. All it earned her was a sharp tug of her hair.
"Don't move," Anora repeated.
This time, Rosalind obeyed, but whined.
Anora had lost track of how long they'd been like this. In fact, she could barely remember how it came to this at all. The now-former queen had summoned the Warden to her estate in Denerim, and against all sense, here she was. Anora tried to appeal with the girl: let her be queen and end this farce. She and Alistair could flee and live wherever they pleased. They could be free, and open with their affections.
It was to no avail. They argued, just as they had after the Landsmeet all those weeks ago. They'd yelled, just as they had done when Anora was removed from the palace shortly after Alistair's coronation.
But this time, something was different. They'd chosen to see each other again, chosen to fight again. It hadn't made anything more civil - far from it. Anora's insults were even more scathing this time, and Rosalind rose to meet them. They'd traded blows back and forth until something shifted.
"I wonder if my husband's whores ever fancied themselves as queens too?" she had spat. "If you still cling to that hope, you might be the biggest fool to ever warm a king's bed."
Rosalind had hesitated at that, her sharp tongue failing her. Realisation dawned on Anora, and she smiled.
"He's cast you aside already, hasn't he?" She smirked, the look in her eyes downright predatory. "An even shorter reign than I expected..."
At that, Rosalind threw whatever was closest - a vase, possibly, Anora struggled to recall it now - and watched it smash into the wall. Her face only went redder for the miss, and Anora's amusement only grew.
She'd reached for something else, but Anora was quicker this time, clawing her hand around her arm. Despite appearances, Anora was strong, surprisingly so, and that surprise was enough to give her an opening and tear Rosalind’s dress - a deep red robe that Alistair had gifted her.
Rosalind was furious, and launched herself at Anora, desperate to repay the insult. But gradually, attempted blows turned into arms pinning her down. A single tear in her sleeve had turned to her dress being left in tatters. Cruel words turned to moans and whines. Wounded ego had given way to desire.
Now here she was. Rosalind Amell, the Hero of Ferelden, willing herself not to grind on Anora's boot. If she ever forgot her position, Anora was only too glad to yank her hair and remind her.
Anora's boot shifted, adding that desperately needed friction, just not enough to sate her. But it was enough for a whimper to leave Rosalind's lips before she could stop it, only amusing the queen further.
"Is this what you wanted, Warden?" She spat. "Another royal to toil for?"
Rosalind bit her lips to keep back her response, so Anora pulled her hair again.
"I asked you a question, mage," she made her point by moving her foot again. "Do you want another better to serve?"
Rosalind groaned. "Please..." She managed to beg. "Please..."
"Please what?" Anora pulled again. "Use your words, mage. You're usually so good at that".
Rosalind squeezed her eyes shut and drew upon the last of her will. No. She wouldn't beg anymore. Anora would give in, eventually. "You know what I want..." ' And you want it too ', went unspoken. She wouldn't push her anymore than she already had.
The grip on her hair still tight, Anora smirked, and brought her other hand down to Rosalind's face. Her thumb graced her lips, unexpectedly delicate, and Rosalind looked up at Anora through half-lidded eyes.
Her own green eyes look up at Anora's piercing blue gaze, and there they remained, in a silent standoff. For a moment, the former queen thought about making the warden beg anyway, but then got another idea.
"Pleasure yourself." She ordered.
It took a moment for the words to register to Rosalind. When they did, she gingerly brought her hand down to her hips, as if it were too good to be true. Of course, it was.
"Not like that." Anora snapped.
Rosalind's brows furrowed in confusion, and no small amount of frustration. She burned to be touched. What could Anora mean if not to touch herself?
"Ride me" Anora answered softly, as if reading her thoughts.
Everything about this - the tone, the act she was being asked to do - it thrilled Rosalind far more than she would admit to herself. Her thighs clenched together without even thinking, and she moaned as it gave her the faintest taste of the touch she was craving.
And so, she did as she was told. Looking down at the floor, and balling her fists until it hurt, she started to move her hips. The relief was immediate, and Rosalind's mouth flew open, her body relaxing. Another thrust, and she rubbed on the leather of the boot just right. She aimed her hips so the boot would rub her pearl again and again, and before she knew it, she was knelt over, hands on the floor for balance, whining and mewling as she ground herself on Anora's shoe. Moans and gasps spilled freely, and she fell forward even more, until her face rested on Anora's leg, rubbing against the silk of her dress
But Maker, she wanted more. She wanted to cling to Anora and take all she could give. She wanted to moan as loudly as she could, so all of Denerim would hear. So he would hear. But above all else, she wanted to be filled. She hated it. She loved it. She had no idea where these thoughts had come from, but in that moment, all she wanted to do was fuck herself on Anora's boot until she came all over the floor.
Somewhere in her haze, the performance must have pleased Anora. The older woman's elegant fingers stroked her hair, running her hand through from the top of her head to the curls at the ends. As if Rosalind was a doll, Anora played with strands of her hair between her fingers, and the Warden braced for a pull that never came - and somehow, the anticipation only made her moan more.
"You're so good, aren't you?" Anora spoke, sounding like both praise and an insult. "So... eager to please."
Rosalind didn't know what to say, but she willed herself to look up, desperately searching for meaning as she kept up her ministrations on Anora's boot.
There was a wicked smile on Anora's lips, and she bent down to cup Rosalind's face. She nuzzled into the palm without realising, seeking whatever Anora would give.
"Please.... Please," Rosalind begged, barely able to speak. To make her point, she moved her hips faster, chasing a feeling that was equally intense and fleeting.
There they stayed, Anora stroking Rosalind's hair as the warden tried to find relief on her boot. Sometimes, she'd come close, clinging to Anora even more and letting out choked gasps, but it never came. It wasn't enough.
For her part, Anora was curious. She'd planned to keep Rosalind on the edge like this, then toss her out unsatisfied and covered in the remaining scraps of her dress. But as those emerald green eyes looked up at her, pleading, she wanted to see what else she could get from her. She wanted to see her at the peak of pleasure, and she wanted to be the reason for it.
"Enough," Anora's voice cut through. It took another moment for Rosalind to stop, gasping before looking up again, mouth open.
Anora picked her up from the floor, and motioned for her to join her on the bed. Rosalind was confused, but complied, laying down on her back. Anora lay on her side, looking over the trembling girl.
Seeing her in the sheets felt different somehow. The only other time she'd seen a woman naked in her bed was whenever she walked in on Cailan with one of his. Rosalind wouldn't have been one of them - she was too tall, her breasts too small, features too plain. But as Anora ran a hand down her side, feeling the slight curves and watching the way her long hair cascaded over her frame, she supposed she was pleasant enough.
For her part, Rosalind had lain herself out like a maiden awaiting her husband on their wedding night. She tried to still her breathing, and it took her some time to look at Anora once more. "What shall I do?" she asked, a look of deference in her usually defiant eyes.
It was Anora's turn to be silent now. Never before had she been asked such a thing in bed. Never before had she so much power over another. Once more, she brought her hand to cup the mage's face, her expression softening even further. "I know you've touched yourself before," she began, earning a look of shame from the girl before her. "Oh, don't give me that. I imagine there was little else to do in that Circle. Show me how you've pleasured yourself when no one is looking."
With a nervous nod, Rosalind brought her hand further down, and looked at the ceiling. Anora pulled her back. "No, look at me. And don't you look away again."
Rosalind let out the softest, most delicious gasp at that, and did as she was told. With those desperate, pleading eyes looking into Anora's, she gingerly brought her hand down to her folds, and started to move her fingers just above her entrance.
Anora looked down at her hands, still able to see Rosalind obediently hold her gaze in the corner of her eye. The girl knew exactly what to do, even if she tried to act as if she didn't, and it was enough to bring a smile to Anora's face.
As she kept going, Rosalind's lips parted and the quietest moan slipped out before she could stop them. Even bare before Anora, desperate to come undone, she wasn't letting go.
"Faster," Anora commanded. Despite her shyness, Rosalind was quick to obey, only making Anora grin more. "Maker, if only you were always this pliant. Where's that fire? Where's that stupid girl from the Landsmeet?"
Rosalind whined at that, looking as if she wanted to say something. She only moved her fingers faster, and choked on a moan.
At that sound, Anora felt her own arousal stir again, but she wouldn't give in. Not in front of Rosalind. She'd hold onto the image of this pathetic half-week mistress touching herself for her better's amusement, and pleasure herself to that later.
Rosalind was so wet now that she could hear each thrust of her fingers, and it only seemed to embarrass the girl more. Without thinking, she screwed her eyes shut, before Anora quickly corrected her with a tug of her hair - earning another moan.
"You truly require a heavy hand, don't you? Useless," Anora whispered, almost sweetly. She had Rosalind's attention now.
Her fingers sped up as she held Anora's gaze, and she finally tried to speak. "A-Anora, I-", she practically squeaked.
"You need order," Anora continued. "You need someone giving the commands. It reminds you of home, doesn't it?"
"I don't-" Rosalind struggled to protest, the suggestion that she missed the Circle angering her more than anything else Anora had said. But she kept touching herself, letting herself be seen like this. She even moved further into the crook of Anora's neck.
Anora was practically hugging the girl as she fingered herself now. It felt powerful, it felt right. She wondered if a king had ever felt this, or if they just spend themselves inside their mistresses and send them on their way. She wouldn't squander the opportunity, not how Alistair had by sending his whore into her arms in the first place.
"You'd do better as mine," Anora whispered again, contrasting the pulling on Rosalind's hair with soft kisses on her cheek. "I can see what you need. For all your talk, you just want to please."
Rosalind cried louder, finally on the cusp of coming undone. "I-I'm-"
Anora looked down, eyes pausing on Rosalind's chest. Slowly, she brought her hand to one of her breasts, cupping it in her palm, and pushing her thumb down on the nipple.
Rosalind yelped and moaned again, arching her hips into her own hand, and burying her face in Anora's chest. So Anora pushed down again, and again, and then squeezed it too, and grinned as it made the girl stir in her arms.
"Anora..." Rosalind whimpered, looking up at her with a mix of reverence and revulsion. She was at war with herself, but wasn't trying to fight it.
Just as Anora wanted. She tugged on Rosalind's hair once more, making sure she couldn't look away. Her other hand squeezed her small breasts again. "Come for me," she commanded.
Rosalind's eyes blinked, rolled back, but never closed. She came hard around her own fingers, embarrassed and exhilarated. Guilty as sin, but finding penance all the same. She spoke but made little sense, moaning Anora's name, holding back Alistair's, and then sobbing as if the force of her orgasm hurt.
Through it all, Anora's expression didn't change. She just smiled down at the girl coming in her bed.
This was where she'd gone wrong, Anora thought. She shouldn't have fought to be queen. She should have been a king.
Once Rosalind caught her breath, the two slipped back into their previous demenours, although something had undeniably changed. Rosalind was off the bed first, finding the scraps of her dress and attempting to cover herself with them. Anora wanted to make a snide remark, but just sighed, fetching something else for the poor girl to wear. Their eyes met when she gave her the dress, and it was all Anora could do to fight the strange urge to help her get into it.
When she was dressed, Rosalind picked up her rags, and made for the door.
"We should discuss my proposal," Anora broke the silence, stopping Rosalind before she could leave. "It's not too late for you to fix this mess."
The mage turned back, hand on the door. "He's a good king," Rosalind said, almost methodically. "I won't betray him."
Loyal to the end, even when all that remained of her love was a broken heart and a ruined dress. Still, Anora did not care. Rosalind would have been a poor ally anyway.
"We should discuss this another time," she retorted, voice thick with double meaning.
Rosalind looked aside, embarrassed. "You know where to find me." And with that, she left.
Staring at the door for a moment, Anora undid her hair, relaxing her neck as it fell down her back. She then curled into bed, closing her eyes, and brought her hand lower, and lower. She had much to think about.