Page 74 of Blood of Wolves

Tessa clapped her hands to her hot cheeks before she could catch herself. The flush that washed through her left black spots sizzling at the edges of her vision. She didn’t mean to stare – but she had never – and he was so – it was so…big. Were all men that large? Or was it a Northerner trait? Or just a Rune trait? How on earth would itfit? Her thoughts raced, each more embarrassing than the last.

“Er.” He tried to cover himself with a hand, and only then did she look back at his face, and find that it had gone red. “I–”

“No,” she rushed to assure, “it’s fine. Completely fine! I was only startled – not that it’s startling! It’s a very lovely – that is, you have a nice, um–”

“Cock?”

She squeaked out ayes, her face on fire.

“If you don’t–”

“No! No, I do! Very much! It’s only that – well, it’s…and I’m…”

“We can–”

“I’m not afraid!” she nearly shouted. “I’m not! Amelia told me what to expect. She told me all about how – how it works.” It had been a mortifying conversation, Amelia matter-of-fact at first, and then laughing when she saw Tessa’s earns turn red; Tessa had hidden her face in her hands by the end, when Amelia started offering sketches on parchment to demonstrate her meaning. “She has a lover, so she knows –oh. Oh, well, she had a lover. Malcolm is dead, now. Poor Lia. And…” She trailed off with a groan. “I probably shouldn’t be talking about death and sad things when you’re standing there trying to show me your–”

“Tessa.” The laughter in his voice halted her mid-sentence. Her gaze had dropped to her own stocking-clad toes, but lifted now, and though his cheeks were still warmly pink, he was smiling, eyes glittering with amusement. Standing naked before the fire, he reached with his free hand, beckoning, just as he had before.

Tessa let out a deep breath that eased some of her tension, and went to meet him; soft hand in tough one, again; stepped into the radiant heat of his body again.

He released her hand so he could slip his arm around her waist and hold her close at her side. Voice low and soothing, he said, “It’s not so frightening, is it?” He moved his other hand, inviting her to look.

Amelia’s lessons and the bit of daring reading she’d done meant she knew that he was aroused, that he wanted her, his – cock, she could call it a cock, even if the thought made her blush – cock fat and firm, shiny at the tip where the head peeked out. Once she forced down her initial, virginal shock, with his solid presence beside her, surrounding her, she found that was wasn’t afraid at all, but curious.

“Can I touch?” she whispered.

His chest heaved with a deep breath, and his cock twitched in response. “Yeah.” His voice was low and rough-edged. “You can.”

Carefully, not wanting to hurt him, she wrapped her hand around his girth, surprised by the softness of the skin.

“Here, like this,” he murmured, and used his own hand to guide hers, to show her how to touch him best.

“It really is lovely,” she said, stroking him.

He kissed her temple, breath rustling her hair. “Gods, you’re sweet.”

She traced her thumb over the head, the beaded moisture there. “Do you think it’ll fit?”

He chuckled. “Only one way to find out.”

~*~

On his seventeenth birthday, Bjorn had clapped Rune on the shoulder and leaned in to say, out of Revna’s hearing, “After your mother turns in for the night, meet me down in the guardroom.” He’d done so, curious, eager, ready for whatever surprise had awaited. Bjorn had been there, and Leif, too; a handful of other guards already drinking and twitching impatiently for some reason. They’d saddled horses, and ridden down into the city, and it wasn’t until they were rapping on a red-painted door and being looked over through the slit at the top that Rune realized Bjorn had brought him to a brothel.

The girl Bjorn gifted him that night hadn’t been a girl at all, but a woman grown, older than him by at least ten years, with laugh lines and bright eyes, and a wild mane of dark hair that spilled down to cover her breasts, nipples peeking through. Rune had been slack-jawed and stupid, wildly aroused, and horribly embarrassed. She’d pushed him back on the bed, unlaced his trousers, and gotten on top. Had done all the work, and he’d come far too quick, her teasing him and calling him her “Quick Prince.”

Later, back at the palace, amidst the back-slaps and jeers, his tongue heavy with too much mistress, he’d confessed his shame. The others had laughed at first, but then chimed in with all sorts of helpful suggestions.

Tonight, here with Tessa, he hadn’t had a chance to do as Leif suggested, and bring himself off first beforehand, so as to last longer. But it was already so different with her – he wasn’t worried about lasting, or about being clumsy and unschooled in the arts of pleasure. This was Tessa, his Tessa, beautiful, and bashful, but braver than she realized; sweet, and soft, and responsive to each flick of his tongue, and pass of his fingertips. He had not a shred of shame, nor of nerves – save the ways he was nervous about making her feel good. Gods, let him make her feel good.

The most important thing, Bjorn had said that night, over their brimming cups,is to worry about the lady’s pleasure first and foremost. Don’t rush things. There’s nothing in the world that feels better than having a willing, satisfied woman under you.

So Rune bore Tessa gently down to his bed, on his rumpled sheets, and unlaced her corset, rolled down her stockings. He touched her all over, alert to ever shiver, and every breathy little sound that left her lips. He took her soft, pale breasts in his hands, and teased her nipples to rosy peaks; relished the strong grip of her fingers in his hair when he bent to suck them into his mouth, one by one.

He ached for her, but he tamped down his own desire, so that he could trail kisses all down her body; so he could pet through fiery red curls, and part pink folds, and kiss her there, too, until she was whimpering, and writhing, and wet for him.

“Rune. Oh, gods, Rune, please…”

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