The campfire's embers glowed faintly as Nia waited in her tent, listening to the others' breathing slow into sleep. She licked her lips as Jasper's soft snores carried through the thin fabric separating them. With deliberate slowness, she peeled back her blanket, the wool fibers catching briefly on her calloused fingertips before she slipped through the tent flap. The damp grass chilled her bare feet as she crept toward Jasper's shelter, her enhanced night vision tracing every detail - the frayed stitching along his tent seam, the way his sleeping bag rose and fell with each breath.
The tent flap rustled as Nia slipped inside, her bare feet pressing into the worn canvas floor. Moonlight spilled through the opening, glinting off the sweat beading on Jasper's throat as he stirred. She knelt beside him, her fingers trailing up his chest—calloused from years of swordplay, yet unnaturally deliberate now—before curling under his chin. His eyelids fluttered open, pupils dilating as they met hers: no longer Nia’s warm hazel, but black as the lake’s depths, hungry.
"Jasper," she murmured, her voice a honeyed rasp that wasn’t entirely her own.
Jasper’s breath hitched as Nia’s lips met his, soft yet insistent, her fingers tightening ever so slightly beneath his chin. The warmth of her mouth was intoxicating, a contrast to the cool night air that still clung to her skin. He moaned against her, his sleep-addled mind slow to resist, his hands rising instinctively to her waist—hesitant, then **** as she deepened the kiss.
She could taste his confusion, his arousal, the faint tang of ale still on his tongue from the evening’s campfire drinks. It's been a long time since she had this kind of fun.
Jasper’s fingers dug into Nia’s hips as she straddled him, her bare thighs pressing against the rough fabric of his bedroll. The scent of crushed pine needles and sweat mingled as she nipped at his lower lip, drawing a sharp gasp. His pulse thundered beneath her palm where it still rested against his throat—so fragile, so mortal. She could feel his muscles tense, his body caught between instinctive resistance and the primal pull of her stolen form.
Her other hand slid down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his tunic before slipping beneath the fabric. The warmth of his skin made her exhale—a shuddering, hungry sound—as she mapped the ridges of his abdomen.
They continued for the rest of night, indulging in all manner of sin.
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