Chapter 92: Under the Table

The door had only just shut. Meira still had both hands over her face.

Erik waited a few seconds, until the footsteps in the hall were truly gone, then bent down. She was sitting under the edge of the table, white skirt spilled across the wood floor, golden hair fallen over her chest, her elven ears still red.

"They’re gone."

"Don’t talk."

"I wasn’t going to add anything."

Meira parted her fingers, shot him a look full of grievance, and covered her face again. "Those two have followed me for five years. And they just saw your little dog on her knees at your feet."

"They said they didn’t see anything."

"They saw."

Erik didn’t argue. He reached for the tablecloth, which had only covered the middle of the table, and pulled it down. Dark fabric dropped to the floor and closed the space beneath. From the door, unless someone deliberately stooped, there would be nothing to see but a man’s legs under a chair.

Meira understood. She went still for a beat, then eased deeper into the dark, drawing her skirt with her, until only her knees and her hands remained near his trousers.

"If they come back..." Her voice thinned, half regret, half refusal to lose. "Your little dog will be quiet."

Erik hadn’t answered yet when—

Click. Click.

Two knocks, very light. Too polite. Nothing like the way the door had been pushed open a moment ago.

Meira froze. The hands that had been about to pull back caught his knees instead.

Erik sat, straightened the cloth, and said,

"Come in."

The door opened just wide enough for two. The female captains stepped through. This time they did not look at the floor, or at the table’s edge. One held a thin sheaf of paper. The other stood very straight, ears faintly pink, her gaze stopping at Erik’s chest and going no lower.

"Forgive us." The one with the papers kept her voice even by force. "Just now we... forgot the actual matter."

"It’s fine."

They stood a courteous distance from the table. Under it, Meira did not move. Her breath was warm through the cloth of his trousers, against the inside of his thigh.

"First..." The defense captain bowed her head. "Thank you. If you hadn’t been in the valley this morning, the eastern line would have broken. Lady Meira saved the whole sector. But we know you were the one standing beside her."

Erik nodded once. "It was what needed doing."

Under the table, Meira’s mouth found his belt buckle.

His face did not change.

The second woman hesitated longer. "Will you... be staying here long?"

"Not certain. A few days. Depends on the valley."

"Then..." She swallowed. "Are you Lady Meira’s man?"

The question dropped into the room like a stone.

Erik opened his mouth—and Meira drew his zipper down.

Not fast. Not slow. Just enough that he had to break his breath before he answered.

"Yes," he said. "I am."

Under the table, Meira took that as leave. Her tongue drew one line along what she had just freed, then closed over the head—hot, wet, careful enough that the tablecloth did not so much as shiver.

The two Succubi saw none of it. They only saw a man sitting upright, one hand on the tabletop, as composed as if he were still in a staff meeting.

"Her Ladyship never said." The one with the papers let out a thin breath. "But the way she looks at you... we had already guessed some of it."

"She doesn’t have to tell everyone."

"Yes."

Meira took him deeper.

Her throat tightened around him in one swallow. Erik felt the tongue, the heat, and the way she deliberately went slowly so his voice would not change. He kept his eyes on the two women.

His right hand slid into his coat pocket and found the pink pen.

His thumb settled on the button.

Click.

Under the table, Meira’s body jerked.

The impression through the link was no longer vague. The device shaped itself to him, seated itself inside her, and began to hum. The frequency was not high—but it was enough to fill, completely, the place that had been left empty after the meeting. She already had him in her mouth. Her throat clenched and trembled at once. A strange sound, small and wet, almost escaped the cloth.

Erik cleared his throat.

"Ahem."

The captains tipped their heads.

"Are you unwell, sir?"

"Dust," he said, his voice a shade lower. "Go on."

In the dark, Meira did not pull off him. She shook, thighs pressed together, skirt wrinkled, but her mouth stayed where it was, like a puppy made to endure and serve at the same time. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes from pleasure and from the need to stay silent. Her tongue shivered on him with every pulse of the thing inside her.

The scout captain nodded, carefully not looking at the hem of the cloth. "If you are staying, the defense line would like your view on the two watchtowers. Her Ladyship outlined it, but we wanted to confirm whether you mean to use the valley as a long-term transit point."

"I do," Erik said. "Map the tunnels first. Don’t get greedy for resources."

"Yes."

Under the table, Meira sucked deeper, perhaps because she could hear him speaking in a normal voice while she no longer had one. He felt her teeth almost close, then open again. Warm saliva ran to the base. Her fingers fisted in his trousers until the knuckles went white.

He pressed the pen once more, only half a step.

Meira seized up.

This time the sound almost became a voice. She clamped down harder to gag herself with what she was doing. The result was her throat locking around him, sudden, hot, and tight.

Erik set his left hand on the table and tapped one finger, as if thinking.

"Send tomorrow’s report through Lady Meira. Wounded first. Put the depot in the middle of the valley, as discussed."

"We understand."

The two women glanced at each other. There was more they wanted to ask, but something in the room made them unwilling to linger. The man across from them was breathing a little slowly. The tablecloth hung too low. And Lady Meira was nowhere to be seen, though a moment ago she had clearly not left.

They did not say it.

"Then... we’ll take our leave."

"Mm."

They bowed, backed to the door, and this time remembered to close it softly.

Click.

Silence.

Erik did not stand at once. He sat until the footsteps had faded from the hall, then reached down and lifted one corner of the cloth.

Lamlight fell under the table.

Meira was kneeling in that dark, white skirt creased under her knees, gold hair stuck to the corner of her mouth. Her lips were red and shining, and she still had him in them. Wet green eyes looked up as if she had been caught again—only this time there was no one else in the room.

She did not let go.

She only made a small sound in her throat, then went on licking, sucking, like a puppy finally allowed her reward after staying quiet too long. Her tongue drew from the base upward, slow, then took him in, cheeks hollowed. Each time the replica inside her hummed, her shoulders jerked. Her mouth did not leave him.

Erik looked at her.

"They’re gone."

Meira didn’t answer. She only sucked harder, as if to say the little dog had endured enough.

He pressed the pen up to medium.

The frequency jumped.

Meira convulsed. Her thighs closed and opened, her back arched, and a trapped moan broke around him. Tears fell. She did not pull away. She only took him tighter, throat gripping in time with the pulse beating inside her.

Erik set his hand at the back of her head.

Not rough. Just there.

She understood. Her throat received him deeper. He gave her short, shallow rolls of his hips under the table. The cloth now hung over the side of the chair. The wet sounds no longer needed hiding. Meira followed them, spit running down her chin, both arms around his hips as if she were afraid he would be taken away.

"Meira."

She looked up, wet, flushed, obedient.

He said nothing else. One last stroke, deep, and he spent himself in her mouth.

Hot. Thick. A lot.

Meira stalled. Her throat worked. She swallowed. Not all of it at once. A little spilled at the corner of her mouth, white on red, and she licked it back, slowly, unwilling to lose it. The thing inside her was still humming at medium, so she trembled as she swallowed, shoulders jumping in small waves.

Erik turned the pen off.

The link went quiet.

Meira dropped her forehead to his thigh, breathing through her mouth, lips still marked. Her pointed ears were red to the tips. She laughed, very softly, voice scraped raw.

"Master... this time... they really didn’t see, did they?"

Erik let the tablecloth fall again, hiding her in the dark under the table, and set his hand in her hair, scratching the spot just behind her ear.

"This time," he said, "they didn’t."

Meira made a small sound in the dark, far more obedient than before.

She did not crawl out.

She stayed on her knees in that shadow, brow against Erik’s thigh, warm breath on his skin. The cloth hung down her back like a curtain. The hall outside was still. In the room there was only the faint creak of wood when she shifted her weight on her knees.

He had not softened all the way.

Meira looked at him for a moment, then put out her tongue and licked from the base up, slow, thorough, as if cleaning what had been left. Each stroke drew a shining line. She was in no hurry to breathe around him. She only cleaned. The tip of her tongue circled the most sensitive place, breathed on it, then kissed it, very lightly—so good she no longer looked like the Lord who had just run a war meeting.

"Still messy," she whispered, not as a complaint. "Your little dog will wipe it for you."

Erik laid his hand in her hair. He did not push. He only left it there.

Meira lifted her breasts.

The white dress had already slipped. She drew the neckline lower, and both full curves spilled out, hot, pressed together in her hands. She bent and closed them around him. Soft flesh swallowed most of his length. Only the head showed in the cleft, flushed and wet, against her breastbone.

She squeezed tighter.

Then she began to stroke him.

Slowly at first. Her breasts slid up and down, skin catching on skin where saliva remained. Each time she pressed, the channel narrowed and grew hotter. Meira dipped her head and met the head with her tongue whenever it rose between them, circled it, and let it sink again.

"Nn..."

The sound was small. She no longer needed to hide, but habit from nearly being caught still held her voice down. Pointed ears red. Eyes half shut. Gold hair brushing his thigh with every motion.

Erik’s breathing grew heavier.

Meira felt it. She smiled into the valley of her own chest and moved faster. Both hands pressed from the sides, steady, sure. Sometimes he bumped her chin; sometimes her tongue was waiting. She licked, kissed, then imprisoned him in her breasts again, as if she did not want him in the room’s light for too long.

"Master’s hard again." Her voice was hoarse, pleased. "Your little dog isn’t full yet."

He didn’t answer with words. His fingers tightened in her hair.

Meira understood.

She bent lower, using mouth and breasts together. Each stroke of her chest ended in a short, wet seal of her lips. Tight. Then she released him so her breasts could finish the rest. Under the table the air was hot and close. Now and then her shoulder lifted the cloth; it swelled and settled again.

Erik sat in the chair, one hand still on the table. From a crack in the door he would still have been only a man resting after a meeting. Underneath was another matter.

Meira looked up suddenly.

Wet green eyes found him between the breasts that held him. She said nothing. She only opened her mouth, took the head again, and stroked him with her chest while she sucked. Her tongue shivered. Her throat tightened. The rhythm frayed.

Erik said her name, low.

She didn’t stop. She squeezed until there was almost no gap left, sucked what showed, and when he jerked, she was already there.

He came in her mouth a second time.

She froze, eyes shut, throat moving in clear swallows. This time she let none of it spill. She drank. Slowly. All of it. Down to the last drop still on her tongue. And she kept him caged in her breasts a few seconds longer, as if pulling away too soon would mean losing what she had just been given.

Quiet.

Meira swallowed the rest, licked her lips, and only then let him go. A silver thread broke on her chin. She drew it back with her tongue until it was gone. Her breasts were flushed from the friction, marked with shine. She breathed.

A long breath.

From the belly up through the chest.

Inside her, her rank shivered. Not enough to cross a threshold. Only a buried layer waking—full, warm, touching the wall and stopping. Meira closed her eyes and felt it until the tremor eased. Still not enough to rise. But for a woman who had sat through more than half an hour of a meeting and then knelt under a table twice, it was more than enough to curve her mouth.

She laid her cheek on his thigh and licked her lips again, greedy, unhidden.

"Your little dog has eaten her fill." The words were soft, clear, against his skin. "Thank you, Master."

Erik scratched behind her ear.

Meira shut her eyes and left his hand where it was. This time she truly went still—full, wet, and in no hurry at all to stand up and become Her Ladyship again.