Page 14 of Loving the Blacksmith
Slowly, panic receded, and she started to accept she had nothing to fear. The bats were not going anywhere. She was safe.
Magnus was enduring agony. Agnes’ warm body pressed against his was putting all sorts of ideas into his head, none of which he should have entertained.
“Agnes, you need to let go of me,” he breathed. “If you don’t, I might...”
He might what? Tumble her to the floor and thrust into her? Start rubbing himself against her soft stomach to bring about the release he needed? Ask her to kneel at his feet to suck blessed relief out of him? None of these options were advisable but he had fought his desire for her for days, woken up next to her this morning and his control had been worn dangerously thin. He wasn’t sure he would be able to resist this last provocation.
She didn’t move, didn’t draw away. Instead she asked a question. “You might what?”
“Don’t ask me that,” he said through gritted teeth. Was the woman mad? Couldn’t she see she was playing with fire?
This time she did draw back, enough to look at him with eyes the color of a spring leaf. “Because you want me?”
How could he tell her the truth, that he wanted her more than his next breath, had done since the moment he’d seen her naked in his forge? But how could he deny it? He was so hard, it was impossible she hadn’t noticed it, pressed as she had been against him. Perhaps admitting to it out loud would help him see how ludicrous this was.
“I do. And it hurts.”
“Could I help?”
“Help?” The word was little more than a croak. And then the croak transformed into a gasp when she pressed herself against his aching groin. Was she trying to kill him? Apparently so.
“Yes. I don’t want to go back out into the rain but being in here with the bats, even if they aren’t moving at present, makes me nervous. Helping you would distract me from my fear.”
Distract her. As if that were a viable argument.
“Agnes, women don’t pleasure men to distract themselves,” he forced himself to answer. Why was he even arguing? Who cared why she wanted to do that as long as she did? Well,hecared. He didn’t want her to feel constrained in any way, forced to do something she would only regret afterward, if not during. But his body was urging him to do something his mind was telling him was a bad idea and he had no idea which of them would win.
“You said you were in pain, through my fault, because I threw myself in your arms,” she said, sounding both dismayed and aroused at the notion. “It’s only fair I help relieve the pain, don’t you think?”
A gentle hand landed over his shaft. His aching, pulsing, impossibly hard shaft. And started stroking. All his best intentions flew out of the window. He’d tried to be reasonable, and he’d lost. His fate was now in her hands, quite literally.
He threw his head back and allowed her to ease the pressure pulsing in his veins. Her dainty fingers were offering some relief, but not enough, nowhere near enough.
“For the love of all you Saxons consider holy,” he breathed, “if you really are going to do that, please take me in hand. I need to feel your skin on mine.”
In truth, he wanted to feel her mouth on him, not her fingers, but there was a limit to what he was prepared to demand from her. It was already a miracle she had not fled out the cave screaming.
“Like this?”
With a dexterity that promised untold delights, and a boldness he would not have credited her with, Agnes unlaced hiswet braies. As soon as they’d pooled at his feet, she wrapped her fingers around him. They were warm, and smooth, so smooth. He lost the ability to think and let her explore.
“Show me,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do to please a man. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Forgetting all shame, he placed his own fingers over hers and showed her what to do.
“Yes, this way. Harder. I need...” He was panting now. “Please, Agnes, I need it harder.”
He needed to come, now, that was what he needed. Mercifully, she did not ask any questions, take exception to the gruff tone or the crude gestures. She let him guide her and choose the rhythm of the caress. It was so wicked, so much better than when he stroked himself. The softness of her fingers was so much more pleasurable than the feel of his own callused hands. Everything was better. Having her petite form nestled against his chest, the little moans she gave in the crook of his neck, the sheer decadence of the moment, everything contributed to making him lose his mind.
“Ah, yes...” The rest of the sentence was uttered in Norse, as he didn’t want to shock her, but neither could he keep silent.
Make me come, you beauty, I’m about to burst. Watch me flood your hand, watch as I come for you.
As if she’d understood what he wanted, she drew away from him, so she could gaze at their entwined fingers and focus on what she was doing. Her lips parted on a gasp and it was his undoing. With a triumphant roar, he came, his seed shooting out of him with more force than it had ever done, coating both their hands in creamy release.
He collapsed, his knees weak, his back against the wall of the cave, his breath coming in short, ragged pants.
After a long moment, some clarity returned to his thoughts.
