The Barbarian’s Tribute (Not-So-Savage Barbarians #1)

Seven

A fter so many nights of waking up to nightmares, it was disconcerting when the dreams shifted. Gone was my father’s angry snarl, and in its place was Rath’s gentle touch and his steady patience. The way he touched me started innocently enough, his roughened hands from so many years of hunting running gently along my skin. I practically purred with pleasure, plastering myself against him as his hands skimmed down my back.

I was so deliriously happy, I almost didn’t register when his hands went lower. He cupped my behind, squeezing suggestively, and a moan escaped me. No one had ever touched me like that before. I liked it, wanted more, but I didn’t know how to ask. And the more anxious I got, the more the dream seemed to slip through my fingers. I fought against it, trying to keep the dream going, but I woke up a few moments later, my erection hard and arching and pressed up against Rath’s thigh.

Realization hit me like a bucket of cold water. My eyes flew open, and I spun around so quickly, if Rath hadn’t been awake, he was now. Facing the wall of the tent, I willed my erection to go away, but it refused to go. I was still in Rath’s arms, the scent of him still strong in my nose. It was fuel to the fire, and I felt my erection thicken even more at the reminder. I felt close to reaching completion just lying there next to him. The humiliation would be unbearable. He’d made me a few sets of clothes so I could change when they got dirty, but I didn't want to soil them with my seed. He’d notice. I could cry from embarrassment just thinking about it.