Page 40 of The Warrior and the Monk

As always, Anders did as Wilder asked. He crawled to the furs, skin flushed and wet, rolling onto his back with a groan. Wilder wiggled out of his breeches, and then, straddling Anders's waist, yanked his tunic over his head and tossed it to the side.

Often he was underneath Anders, pressed into furs or, in one memorable instance, onto the grass, legs wrapped around his husband's waist as Anders thrust inside him with powerful snaps of his hips. What a different sight it was to have Anders below him! To see Anders's chest rapidly rising and falling as he stared at Wilder with awe and wonder, to feel his heartbeat as he rested his palms above it. From here, everything was clearer: his husband's dark eyes gone black with lust, his lips, parted and wet, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

He said, "Let me take care of you. I don't want you to lift a finger." He leaned back, pressing himself against Anders's cock. He could feel the warm precum leaking against his backside. Wilder took a deep breath that turned into a gasp as Anders suddenly thrust against him, rubbing his cock in between Wilder's cheeks.

At Anders's hopeful expression, Wilder, blushing, gave him a light slap on the chest. "I told you that you weren't to do anything, Anders. Be good for me." As he spoke Anders seemed to grow more eager, and not a little dazed. He nodded frantically, a soft whine escaping his throat.

Wilder found himself more pleased than he thought he would be, that Anders would do as he said, because he knew that Wilder would take care of him and bring him pleasure. It was a very heady feeling, intoxicating, and arousing in its own right. Precum beaded at the head of his cock. Anders's gaze was fixed on it. Another whine left his throat, but he did not move.

"Good."

Anders's cock twitched in response.

Wilder leaned forward and, with one hand, reached behind himself to touch his rim. Gently, he prodded at his entrance with a finger, then slipped it inside, and not long after added another. He stared into Anders's dark, shining eyes as he opened himself up with his fingers. Anders held his hips in placeto keep him steady while Wilder prepared himself. His hands were rough, his grip hard enough to bruise, and when Wilder gasped as he pumped his fingers in and out of himself Anders audibly swallowed.

"Yes—I'm ready." Wilder said it as much to himself as to Anders. "I'm ready for you, Anders."

Anders released him. Wilder lifted his hips, spread himself, and sank slowly, slowly, onto his husband's cock. Inch by inch Anders filled him. The sensation was intimately familiar and yet utterly new. He had never taken Anders's cock like this—atop of him, in charge of their joined pleasure as he rolled his hips, his own cock bouncing each time he slammed himself down onto Anders's. Wilder's thighs burned with the effort. His curls were soaked. Sweat dripped from his chin and splattered on Anders's chest. His husband let out a ragged moan, hands curling into fists as he clutched at the furs. The loveliest husband in all the land, Anders had said of him. But could anyone see Anders like this, with his sweaty curls and his flushed, red cheeks, his mouth wet and open, the rise and fall of his bare chest, the muscles of his arms as he scrabbled at the fur blankets in desperation, and not think him extraordinarily lovely and Wilder extraordinarily lucky?

He ran a hand along his own chest, pinching his nipples, and was exhilarated not so much by the feeling itself but by Anders's reaction to it. That when he caressed himself Anders alternated between rough, hoarse groans and whimpering pleas, his eyes wild. What a delight it was—what a pleasure—to be the cause of such yearning.

Wilder wrapped a hand around his cock and gave it a few quick pumps. There was no real grace to the movement; he found it difficult to maintain his rhythm riding Anders's cock as well as stroking his own, but for all it had to lack in sensuality it felt good, and when Wilder threw his head back with a cryAnders made a sound like the breath had been knocked from his lungs.

"Oh, God! Anders!" He collapsed as he came, falling atop Anders's chest and wailing as he spilled against his stomach. As he shivered Anders grabbed him and held him and thrust once, twice, and then came inside of him with a loud groan of relief. He held Wilder there until they were both a sticky, panting mess.

Thoroughly exhausted, Wilder twined his legs with Anders's and murmured, "Surely the chores can wait until the morning."

One of Anders's calloused palms ran along Wilder's back and came to rest on his ass. He grunted in agreement and then gave Wilder a squeeze.

Laughing, Wilder rolled off of his husband and onto the blankets. He kissed Anders's shoulder.

Do not think, Anders signed as the fire dimmed,that I did not know what you were up to.

Wilder settled back against the furs with a content sigh. "As long as you rest, I don't care what you know. Know now that I am thinking about riding you tomorrow morning, so that you may be too spent to even step one foot outside."

His husband made a noise that did not sound at all displeased by that.

Chapter Fifteen

Both day and the hearth's fire waned. By the dying light of the embers, Wilder nestled against Anders's side. They were both sweaty, sticky, and their energy utterly expended; for the past few hours they'd done nothing but reacquaint themselves with the other's body. Wilder had been without Anders for nearly his entire life, and now that he knew his touch it had been almost painful to go without it. To have a husband, to be a husband, was to share a life.

When Anders had been away Wilder had keenly felt his absence. It was not only their lovemaking that Wilder had missed, but also Anders's body, his presence. The sound of him in the morning, the rustle of his tunic as he pulled it on, the careful way he lit the fire when he thought Wilder was not yet awake, the warmth of his hand on Wilder's shoulder when he gently shook him to start the day together. His heavy footfalls around the garden, the river, the animal pens, always nearby if Wilder needed him. The evidence of his work throughout the day; a mended fence, a string of fish, clothes laundered and drying in the sun. The steady beat of his heart when Wilder laid his head against his chest, his arm thrown across Wilder's waist as they laid down to sleep.

Was this love? Wilder thought it had to be. He had not known it before, not like this, but he knew now that his life was irrevocably changed. In the time that Anders was gone he'dhad Kirk for company, and good company and a good friend he was, but he was not who Wilder wanted by his side. The garden had been weeded and watered, the animals fed and groomed, the floor swept, the clothes washed—all the repetitive, necessary, boring tasks, and yet, he'd longed to share them with Anders. And now he was back, and Wilder would hold him fast and never let him go. He wanted Anders here, with him, in this warm longhouse in the forest.

Once again, Wilder thought about how this was not a life that he had ever expected. He'd thought he would spend his days at the monastery, in prayer and solitude. Certainly he never imagined that one day he would be carried away to a distant land with a new people, a new language, a new culture.

Anders was certainly more well-traveled than Wilder. He had to have been on many voyages before he'd arrived at the monastery. Why, out of all the people he must have met in his life, had he chosen Wilder to be his husband?

In a whisper, Wilder asked, "Anders?"

His husband did not open his eyes but grunted and turned his head to kiss Wilder's cheek in a bleary reply. Maybe Wilder had exhausted him too much; in the future he would use Kirk's strategies with more care. He gently stroked Anders's broad, hairy chest with his fingers, studying his strong jaw, the lines on his face that were smoother now that he was resting, his dark curls, damp with sweat.

"Are you awake? Anders?"

A wry smile spread across Anders's face.Yes, he signed against Wilder's hip. Anders shifted, rubbing his face and stretching before saying, I'm too tired for another round.

Wilder said, "That's not what I wanted!"

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