Page 32 of Blood of Wolves

Gods.

She didn’t think anyone would have guessed him to be a patient, thorough lover, but he was now, here with her. He kneaded her breasts and played with her nipples until they were pink and swollen and aching. Then he moved down her belly, dropping kisses all the way, before he reached the apex of her thighs – and then he spread her wide and set about feasting like a starved man.

He brought her off three times, a relentless chain of orgasms, petting and kissing at her thighs in between, until she was hot all over and restless with oversensitivity.

“Bjorn…” He was three-fingers deep, stretching her, and the slick sound of his hand thrusting against her was shockingly lewd. “Bjorn…come on. ‘M ready.” She didn’t recognize her own slurred voice, and didn’t care, soaring too high for anything like shame.

He chuckled and sat up; kissed her knee, fingers still working wicked magic. “I want to make sure you’re ready, love. I’m big.” Said without a trace of boastfulness. It was true: he wasbig.

She reached for him sluggishly, arms heavy from coming so much; sent him her best pleading look.

“Shit,” he murmured, and withdrew his fingers so he could crawl back up her body, weight depressing the mattress all around her.

She wound her legs around his waist, eyes nearly rolling back when his cock slid against her soaked folds.

“I’m beyond ready.” She gripped his shoulders. Met his gaze, so he would know she meant it when she said, “Make me yours.”

A sound like a growl pulsed out of his throat. “Yes, my lady.” He braced a hand on the pillow at her head, and reached down to guide himself with the other. Then he was pressing in – and in, and in, filling her.

She gasped at the stretch, but dug her nails into the meat of his arms. “Keep going – oh, gods, don’t stop. It’s good, it’s good.” It was better than that – it was earth-shattering – but she only had so many words.

And he had only one. As his hips started up a rhythm that had her melting up into him on every thrust, he buried his face into her throat and murmured it over and over. “Rev. Rev. Rev.” And, once, “Love.”

She felt the wet heat of tears slide down her neck. When he came, it was with a murmured thanks to the gods, in the reverent voice of a man whose prayers had been answered. Then she was the one blinking back tears, as he reached between them to stroke her to one last finish.

They went over the edge together, and Revna could have kicked herself for waiting so long to have something this wonderful.

7

Tessa woke sometime before dawn, the sky lightening beyond her window, from black to bruised purple. Every muscle protested when she shifted beneath the covers, and she grimaced to herself, reaching to rub at the small of her back. She hurt all over from sparring. The last time she’d been this sore, she’d spent most of the night falling off, and then looking for a horse in the forest; she shuddered when she remembered the cold, and Rune’s nonsensical murmurs against the back of her neck. Unpleasant memories, all. Then, she’d been sore due to circumstances beyond her control. But now, the soreness was of her own making. That made it easier to tolerate, and she gritted her teeth as she sat up and pushed back the furs and quilts.

Hilda hadn’t come up yet, which meant the fire was down to glowing coals, and the water in her ewer was cold. That was just as well – if Hilda came in now, she would try to dissuade Tessa from her plan.

She dressed in the faint glow of oncoming dawn, washed her face quickly with cold water, which served to wake her the rest of the way up, and braided her hair into a single, long tail. She donned boots, cloak, and gloves, and tip-toed from her room.

She braced herself as she reached the common room – Revna had fallen asleep on the sofa there more than once, so exhausted the cup of wine before dinner turned into a nap, turned into an entire night – but found it empty, cold and fireless, as her own room had been.

A glimpse of something fluffy caught her eye, though, over by the fire, the ruffled spikes of Revna’s fur-topped boots. Normally, she kept them stowed in her bedchamber. But, clearly based on the cup on the side-table, she’d had a drink and kicked them off before bed.

“Hm,” she hummed to herself. She wondered why…but, no, there was no time for that, and it wasn’t her business anyway. She hurried on her way, and managed to reach the training yard without being waylaid by anyone.

But there she halted, because it wasn’t empty. In hindsight, she didn’t know why she’d expected it to be.

Two guardsmen, their breastplates heaped off to the side on a bench, had squared off from two young men in farmer’s clothes, all of them holding steel, blunted practice swords. The guards were grinning, and the farmers had their jaws clenched and teeth bared. They were strong, big-shouldered boys…but more used to pitchforks than swords, most likely.

“Aw, what’s this, lads?” one of the guards called out, his laugh mocking. “Tired already?”

The nearest farmer, his beard red-blond and close-kept, grimaced, and brandished his sword clumsily. Something Revna had said yesterday returned to Tessa:strength is important, but the most important thing of all is form, and practice. The strongest lad in the country couldn’t beat Lord Náli in a fight if he’d never picked up a sword before.

It was a bit of wisdom onto which Tessa had latched with both hands, gripping tight. She would never be as physically strong as Revna. But she could study up on form, and she could practice until the movements became second nature.

“No,” the farmer all but snarled. “Just waiting foryouto get tired.”

The other guard snorted. “Ooh, clever.”

The farmer lunged, and the guard engaged almost lazily, blocking twice before spinning and starting his own forward assault, pushing the farmer back, and back, until he tripped – he didn’t go down, though. He staggered, slid a bit in the snow, but then recovered, arms of his tunic straining over the muscles beneath as he heaved his sword up and blocked the guard’s downward swing.

“Good,” the guard said, panting a little. He backed off, and allowed the farmer a chance to regain his footing. “Take a breath. We’ll go again.”

---