Rolled 5, 11, 2 = 18 (3d20)
>>5879421“It’s good,” you readily acknowledge , and it is—delicious, far richer and more flavourful than the literally-pale imitation of this rich, golden ambrosia which you have purchased in Hawksong’s markets some summers, or even the bottle Pearce brought from his family’s neighbours’ mead operation one time.
“I haven’t tried this year’s yet,” Sylvare admits. ”May I?”
You see no reasons he should be asking YOUR permission, that of a mere guest, but you grant it anyway. You quickly understand her actual intention when, rather than scooping her own, she takes your hand in hers and brings your honey-covered fingers to her lips and tongue, and begins to suckle and lick it off of them.
“O-oh,” you gasp. “Wow. Uh, so… I guess the chores are done?”
Sylvare’s eyes sparkle a little, and she nods.
“Time for your reward,” she says.
“And yours,” you hazard a rejoinder.
“Of course,” she agrees, with a wink. “We both deserve one after all that hard work, don’t we?”
Your lips find hers. They taste of honey, and of tingling mint and herbs. Her slim, lithely-athletic body presses to yours, and pins you to a nearby tree—something you enthusiastically assent to.
“Do you bring all the handsome young visitors here?” you joke.
“Just the brave and smart and handsome ones,” she replies lightly. “I’m not so undiscerning, hero~”
She gasps as you dare a squeeze of her ripe body, and then trails off into a soft hum that almost matches the background buzz of busy bees.
“You know,” she muses. “there IS something I’ve always wanted to try, actually, speaking of this place.”
“Oh yeah?” you ask, trying to keep your cool.
SYlvare’s lips brush up against your ear, as her fingers trail down your body, spreading open your robes and lifting your shirt, and then gazing nails down your chest’s bare skin.
“You know that thing we the honey on your fingers, and my mouth?” she whispers. “What if we did that again, but with me licking and sucking the honey off of your…”
