I was halfway home when Natina's voice called out from her courtyard.
"Jaenor! Perfect timing. I was thinking about that fence."
She stood in her doorway, framed by the warm light spilling from within her house.
The late afternoon sun caught the auburn highlights in her hair and cast everything in shades of gold and amber. Her work dress had been replaced by something more becoming—a deep blue gown that complemented her colouring and fit her figure in ways that were definitely intentional.
She wore it so that her ample bosom was filling out the top of her dress, and the deep revealing cleavage line seemed captivating.
"I was hoping we could discuss the repairs," she continued, stepping aside to gesture me into her home.
"And I've got fresh milk from this morning's milking. You look like you could use some refreshment after working in the sun all day."
I was tired and just wanted to go home, but something about her demeanour told me I should go in. So I did.
The interior of her house was warm and inviting, with the comfortable clutter that came from a woman managing her household alone. Herbs hung drying from the rafters, filling the air with the scents of sage and lavender. The main room was dominated by a large hearth where a small fire crackled cheerfully, and comfortable chairs arranged around a low table suggested this was where she spent her evenings.
"Sit," she said, gesturing toward one of the chairs.
"Let me get that milk."
I settled into the offered seat, noting how the furniture was positioned to give a clear view of the kitchen area.
This proved to be significant, as Natina seemed determined to make the simple task of pouring milk into an elaborate performance.
She moved; I could see her hips swing, stretching to reach a high shelf in a way that emphasized the curve of her spine and the generous swell of her hips.
When she bent to retrieve the pitcher from a low cabinet, her neckline gaped to reveal the creamy expanse of her décolletage, the soft mounds of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her figure was that of a woman who had borne children and lived fully—curves where there should be curves, with the kind of mature sensuality that could make a young man's mouth go dry.
She was older than my mother and in her middle years. Still, she doesn't look like it. Women have the effect of the origin power even if they didn't practise it. Her daily labour had given her hard muscles and a strength that belied her age, evident in the way she effortlessly lifted the heavy cabinet with ease. The years had only added to her allure, making her presence in the room impossible to ignore.
Taeryn, he was nowhere to be seen, and I had ideas coming into my mind.
Forgive me, Taeryn, I thought to myself as I watched her every moment.
She caught me watching and smiled, a slow curve of lips that spoke of feminine knowledge as old as time itself.
"The milk's particularly rich today," she said, her voice carrying undertones that had nothing to do with dairy products. "I think you'll find it... satisfying."
As she moved about the kitchen, gathering cups and arranging a small plate of honeyed cakes, every gesture seemed calculated to display her assets to best advantage.
She crouched down, sitting on her knees by pulling her skirt upwards to her thighs. I could see her taut thighs and her strong calves. She was getting something from the down cabins.
Then she got up and moved towards me.
She reached across the table to set down the refreshments, leaning forward just far enough to give me an unobstructed view down the front of her dress. The sight of her full breasts, barely contained by the blue fabric, sent heat coursing through my veins.
"You've grown into quite the man," Natina observed, settling into the chair across from me with movements that were pure liquid grace.
"I remember when you were just a boy, all elbows and knees. Now look at you—broad shoulders, strong hands. A woman notices these things."
She crossed her legs, the motion causing her skirts to ride up slightly, revealing the turn of a well-shaped ankle. Everything about her posture spoke of invitation, from the way she leaned forward to rest her chin on her hand to the sultry warmth in her dark eyes.
The milk was indeed rich and creamy, but I barely tasted it.
My attention was entirely focused on the woman across from me, on the way the firelight played across her skin and the subtle perfume that seemed to emanate from her very pores.
Natina was what the older men in the village called a "handsome woman"—not perhaps possessed of the fresh beauty of youth, but carrying something far more potent. She had meat where it mattered, curves that spoke of fertility and comfort, and the kind of confidence that could only come from a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
"Where's Taeryn? I was in the fields all day; I didn't meet him today," I asked her, just to be sure.
"He is out with Baren, and I think he won't be coming home tonight," she said with a glint in her eyes.
"I thought he would be home. We would have finished the fence if he were."
"The fence can wait until tomorrow," she said softly, her voice little more than a purr.
"But perhaps you'd like to... inspect the rest of my property? Make sure everything is in proper order?"
The invitation hung in the air between us like incense, heavy with promise and possibility. Outside, the evening shadows were deepening toward true night, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the sound of laughter from the tavern where my father and Aldein were no doubt deep in their cups by now.