What was she seeing in her stillness? What pain was tormenting her? Was it the hymn reminding her of the time she gave birth? The absence of her son, or a little girl, not “asleep in the hay,” but on her lap? I looked at her profile through my own emerging tears. In her sorrow I saw a beauty I had not observed before. Her mouth shut tightly against the sounds of her weeping – a mouth that in its fullness promised laughter and love. Her slightly aquiline nose and above it a broad forehead surmounted by luxuriant auburn hair. Above all those eyes, not black as they had seemed at a distance, but dark brown and now swimming with tears. I looked away, unable to bear the sight of her grief and strangely, the sight of Sam cuddled against her. It was all so agonisingly poignant. I was so choked that I was no longer singing, but at the line, “stay by my side until morning is nigh,” I found myself whispering, “stay by her side until morning is nigh.” The agnostic offering his prayer for a. "I... I want this... please, love me my Thane... Carthalo." Carthalo stood, and began to peel off his armor. Bits of leather, iron, and fur fell to the floor in succession revealing the dark, muscled physique of the Redguard swordsman. He untied his hair, the thick dreadlocked coils fell to his shoulders. Lydia's hand instinctively went between her legs, her fingers slid through the silky black bush that grew there and into the warm and wet walls of her pussy. She let out a moan, and Carthalo climbed up into the bed with her. Lydia tentatively reached out one hand and grabbed a hold of his cock, as he positioned himself above her, she guided it slowly to the opening of her waiting pussy. Carthalo slid his arm under her, grabbing a hold of her shoulder with one hand, and the other traced lines up her stomach to her chest, and he began massaging her milk white breasts. He rolled her nipple in between his fingers and kissed her neck gently. In one quick stroke, he slid into her. Her.
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