Page 142 of Swordheart
And last night, to make love to a woman.
It had been a near thing. He had badly misjudged the shape of her fears.Which should probably not surprise me. If I have learned anything about Halla at all, it is that she never comes at anything from the direction I expect.
But this fear, at least, he was able to soothe. And after that… well.
Taking off another person’s clothes was generally sensual for about thirty seconds and then devolved into a confusion of hooks and buttons and lacing. Sarkis eventually gave up trying, dealt with his own armor, and let Halla wriggle her way loose.
She covered her breasts with her hands, looking embarrassed and defiant all at once. The bodice had left two long red lines along her sides. He ran his fingers down one and she squirmed.
“You are beautiful,” he said.
“Ah… I… well.”
“You are beautiful, and if you deny it, you are insulting my good taste and I will be terribly offended.”
She looked skeptical about this, but he took her hands in hisand kissed each fingertip, which had the advantage of freeing up her breasts.
They were, indeed, excellent. He slid his hands up under them and growled appreciatively at their weight and softness and the way the nipples hardened under his thumbs.
“Sarkis, I… ah…” She cleared her throat, looking down at his hands. “You’ll have to tell me if there’s something I’m supposed to be doing.”
It was such a Halla thing to say. It woke an unexpected rush of tenderness in him, and he was not used to tenderness. He suddenly was half-afraid himself that he’d startle her or leave her feeling shamed. He sat down on the bed and drew her back against him, lips against her neck. “Enjoy this. Tell me if you don’t. That’s all you need to do.”
And she had. More than he’d expected, honestly.
Admittedly, he hadn’t been braced for all the questions, but that was his own damn fault. He really should have seen it coming.
Three tries to lose her virginity. Great god’s balls.It made him want to beat his head against the headboard even now. The more he learned about Halla’s previous marriage, the more he wanted to set the entire south to the torch and start over from the ground up.
As he did not currently have that option, he had made love to Halla instead, which was more satisfying than setting a countryside ablaze, and substantially less messy.
Finally,he thought. He felt as if he had waited years to be able to slide his hands over her rounded hips and down between her thighs, to finally touch her in all the ways he’d imagined doing.
“Ah!Sarkis—!” She pushed back against him, gasping, and he thought that she seemed as much astonished as aroused. But not alarmed. That was the important thing. He held her close, murmuring endearments against her neck, and when she stopped trembling in his arms, he started over again.
She had fallen asleep almost immediately after they had finallyfinished. Well, there was no surprise there. Sarkis might no longer be a young man, but he prided himself that he had learned a few things that made up for it.
Her passion had not surprised him. He had suspected for a long time that his respectable widow needed only a little coaxing in that direction. She had given herself entirely into his hands and her response…As hot as fire, as sweet as sinning,as his countrymen would say.
He had been braced for tears if they happened. Halla was not a weeping sort, but southerners mixed shame with their sex like they were making a particularly foul brew. If lust had fallen over the edge into fear or shame, he would have been ready to stamp down his own desires and soothe whatever hurts he’d caused.
Delightfully, it had not been necessary.
In the morning… well, he’d face that when it arrived.
Perhaps they’d be able to sort out something to allay her fears about conception. He would like very much to slide inside her and feel her moving with him, let them both find their pleasure together. He suspected she’d surprise him there, too.
What had surprised him more, honestly, was his own response. When she’d bucked under his hands and cried out his name, he had felt something stronger and more unexpected than lust.
He had said things to her in his own language that she would have found astonishing if she understood, and foremost among them was,You’re mine.
Which was ridiculous, of course. If anything, he belonged to her, as long as she chose to keep him, and when she tired of him, she could pass the sword on to anyone she chose.
This did not stop him from a wild desire to claim her as his own, so that the rest of the world knew to step back and keep their hands to themselves.
Which I have neither the right nor her permission to do. And wouldbe foolish to want in any event. I am a weapon; she is the wielder. She will hand me over to another someday.
Or she will die and I will not.
