Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 144676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 723(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 482(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 723(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 482(@300wpm)
Please stay safe. I think my dragon would work out a way to kill me if I let harm come to you.
I look forward to your book recommendations.
Your truly,
Dickhead
N
I sat with his letter for a while, not able to ignore my aching heart or the fire in my body. I didn’t think I could compose a letter right now. Not after that. His apology and confession about the tower…
His delicious sexual comments…
His gratitude and the admissions about his dragon…
It was all so much to unpack.
I didn’t want to leave him hanging, though. I didn’t want him to think he’d overstepped. I definitely didn’t want to stop this communication. Plus, night was creeping in quickly.
Dear Desperate to Fuck While Riding a Horse,
I need to get out of here. I just came to drop off more supplies and grab a few crowded plant leaves. I’ll report back later tonight with a more thorough letter. Sleep is for dogs and other creatures you hate for no reason.
Yourssssss truly (this is me pointing out your previous error, in case it is confusing you),
Finley
P.S. My favorite part was definitely when he got stuck in the pit. Do not ruin that scene for me with semantics. It’s fantasy. Sometimes you need a little make-believe to ensure a horrible fall doesn’t kill the hero so that horse fucking is possible.
P.P.S. Goddess strike me down, I meant fucking on a horse. Definitely a no to horse fucking.
P.P.P.S. I hate this fucking birch.
—Oh and I’ll get that worn-in book for you. It’s a library book, though, so you’ll need to swap it for your copy. Probably for the best, because I have a feeling you’ll be picturing me someone in the scenes and practicing your self-fucking while reading it. I don’t want to subject other book borrowers to your sticky jizz pages.
The end of the letter has now officially come.
I hurried away with the new books and letter stored in my knapsack, along with more crowded everlass leaves. I needed to get that book for Nyfain. I also needed to read the ones he’d passed to me. Damn life for getting in the way of my new books!
I wondered what Nyfain would think of the next book on the list. If he’d thought of me in that last one, he’d definitely think of me in the next one. The main couple’s relationship was turbulent, and they always ended up hate-fucking. It was the book I still had at home.
Probably time for a reread.
Four
Dear Finley,
Would you prefer a birch that sings in a shrill voice? Those were the only options available to me without leaving the kingdom.
I await your well-thought-out letter. I will bring the clean book to swap for the dirty one, since your comment was certainly the result of a guilty conscience and one-handed reading.
By the way, thank you for pointing out my mistake in my complimentary closing of the last letter. It’s a lesson I’ll take to heart.
Truly your,
N
P.S. I’d forgotten to return your dagger. Please find it here, polished and sharpened. Do you need any other weapons? As your prince, I’m happy to supply whatever you need in case I someday find myself in a pit and in need of rescue.
—The end of this letter has come, but not as hard as me the last time I thought of you someone.
(I apologize for being so crass. Give me the word, and I’ll cease immediately.)
I laughed as I finished his letter and set down my own, as well as the rest of the elixirs and draughts I’d made up. In the letter, I’d told him about my father being strict with me growing up and his recent revelation as to why. I told him that Hannon had invited him for dinner or a midnight snack, and that my brother forgave him even before I explained why we’d been drugged.
And the details had kept flowing from my pen—babble about the market where Phyl gave me the dagger and withheld the finer rendition, saving it for him. What Phyl said about my mother and me. About James, and the way my feelings for him had completely dried up. About Jedrek’s presumptuousness and threats. When I’d finished, the letter was nearly three pieces of parchment, front and back. I couldn’t ever remember being so open with anyone. I hadn’t worried about being embarrassed or saying something that might be deemed peculiar. I’d laid my life out raw and plain.
And yet, suddenly, it didn’t seem like enough.
After reading his letter, I grabbed a piece of blank parchment that he’d left and penned a quick reply.
Dear Nyfain,
I’m happy to see that your letter had a second coming, or did you not finish off the second time? If not, yes, you must definitely work harder to be like the heroes of those stories. However, unless your dick game suffers compared to your mouth or fingers, I’d say you could give them a run for their money.