Leliana

Leliana was bouncing her head up and down in some sort of strange rhythm. To anyone less experienced in the ways of espionage it might have looked like Leliana was a novice at head. Which Lace could attest, from her own experiences of orgies with Leliana, she was not.

The Inquisitor’s hips lifted off the throne in a slow, controlled thrust as Leliana took him to the root. A soft, choked sound escaped her, muffled by his flesh. Lace felt a familiar, welcome heat bloom low in her own belly, a spark that had been absent in the tavern.

The Inquisitor’s eyes, a stormy grey she knew could be both gentle and terrifying, flicked to her. A bead of sweat traced the hard line of his jaw. He didn’t stop Leliana’s rhythmic bobbing, but his attention was now fully on Lace.

“Scout Harding,” he said, his voice roughened by pleasure. “Report.”

Lace stepped closer, the sounds of the debauched hall fading to a distant hum. She could smell him now, leather, ozone, and the clean, musky scent of his skin. Her own breath hitched.

“No new threats on the perimeter, Your Worship,” she said, forcing her voice to stay level. Her eyes, however, dropped to where Leliana’s lips were stretched taut around his girth. “Just… boredom.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. He understood. They all did. The waiting was a kind of ****.

With a wet, obscene sound, Leliana pulled off, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his glistening cock. She didn’t look up, simply wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her breathing steady despite the red flush on her cheeks. “The intelligence from the Winter Palace is confirmed,” she stated, her Orlesian accent cool and precise even now. “The Council remains… divided.” Her hand replaced her mouth, pumping him slowly, her thumb swirling over the slick head.

The Inquisitor grunted, his gaze never leaving Lace. “And your recommendation, Spymaster?”

“Patience.” Leliana’s other hand drifted to her own thigh, hiking up her skirt. “And distraction.”

Lace watched, mesmerized, as the Spymaster began to touch herself, her fingers disappearing into the shadow between her legs. Her expression remained one of focused analysis, but a faint tremor in her arm betrayed her.

The Inquisitor’s cock twitched in Leliana’s grasp, a fresh pearl of precum welling up. The sight of it, the sheer command in his relaxed posture even as he was being serviced, sent a jolt through Lace. The dull ache of boredom was gone, replaced by a sharp, demanding hunger.

"Would you like to join in this distraction?" he asked.