Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
N o sooner had they passed the town gates than the heavens opened.
Agnes let out a cry of dismay when hundreds of cold raindrops hit her all at once. Immediately, Magnus threw one of the furs he had taken with them over her head. She thanked him with a smile, already knowing it would be soaked before they reached the forest. But at least she could not feel the icy pinpricks on her exposed skin anymore, which was a welcome improvement. Would there be no end to his solicitude?
For a moment, they plodded on, in the hope that it would only a be a passing shower but the driving rain showed no sign of abating. On the contrary, it soon became a veritable deluge. Agnes was soon shivering, because as she had predicted, the fur covering her head was now dripping onto her skirt.
“Let us take shelter in that cave over there,” Magnus shouted, his voice barely audible above the din.
She nodded her agreement. Even if it was too late to avoid a thorough drenching, at least they would be able to wait out the end of the storm in a dry place.
He helped her down the seat then gestured that she should go into the wide opening while he saw to the horse and cart. She didn’t need to be told twice. The cold had started to spread to her bones.
As soon as she entered the cave, she let out a sigh of relief. Oh, this was better. Shaking the fur off her shoulders, she placed it on a rock, then wrung her hair and her sodden skirt. Feeling marginally better, she waited. A moment later, Magnus joined her in the cave.
Agnes’ mouth fell open.
Water was falling in rivulets down the strong column of his throat and his clothes were plastered to his body, forcing the eye to follow the lines of each bulging muscle. His wet hair, no longer the color of the sun but now a fascinating metallic hue, seemed longer than usual. Raindrops clung to his lashes, framing his blues eyes with pearls she wanted to lick away. Her tongue was aching with the need to taste his rain-soaked skin, which she suspected would be cold and delicious.
Desperate to resist the shocking impulse, she made the mistake of looking at the ceiling—and that was when she saw them. Bats. Dozens of them, huddled in a nook overhead. A squeal escaped her throat. She’d always been terrified of the animals.
It had started innocently enough. One evening while gathering wood for the fire she’d stayed out later than usual and had ended up surrounded by a cloud of the flying creatures. It had impressed her but she had bravely stopped herself from panicking. Back home she had made the mistake of mentioning the incident to her brothers, who had thought it funny to scare their seven-year-old impressionable sister. The following night she had found their little hut filled with fluttering bats. The boys had locked her in and only allowed her out when their mother had come back home a long moment later and scolded her sons for bringing in animals who had left their droppings and awful smell all over the house.
By then the damage had been done, and Agnes was thoroughly terrified of bats, even if she had gotten out of the hut unscathed.
“What is it?” Magnus started to look around in search of potential danger. He obviously thought she’d identified some potential threat while he was outside.
“Bats,” Agnes said, too scared to even think of lying or feel ridiculous.
He lifted his head to the roof of the cave and nodded. “What about them?”
“They’re everywhere!” Could he not see?
“Yes. But they’re sleeping. It’s the middle of the day.” He sounded nonplussed. “You don’t have anything to fear.”
Didn’t have anything to fear? On the contrary. She could already hear them flapping around her, feel them scratching at her skin. It was irrational, but she could not help it. Oh, this was awful. She was about to collapse under the strain of trying to hold on to her composure.
Without thinking, Agnes threw herself against Magnus’ massive body, hiding her face in his chest. Instantly, he closed his arms around her, keeping her tight against him. Thank God he didn’t protest, mock her or even ask any questions. He simply held her, as if he’d sensed she was on the verge of panic and wanted to help. He was so big he completely engulfed her, offering the protection and comfort she needed.
Intent on burrowing further into the embrace, she wiggled against him. Dear God, he felt so warm, so solid, so good. It was exactly what she needed. Thanks to him she was able to distract herself from the horror of being trapped in a cave with bats flying overhead.
Well, she wasn’t trapped, exactly, and the animals were still sleeping, but that was by the by.
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, he cared. 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 his wet 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.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head, appalled. “I should have given you pleasure, not the other way around.” That would have been a better way to distract her, and almost as satisfying.
But Agnes only smiled. “If we are talking about what we should or shouldn’t have done, then I should probably not tell you this, but it did please me to do it. I have always been curious about the male body and the way it worked. And it is more fascinating that I could have imagined. You are a thing of wonder. Every part of you is.”
He groaned. Did she have any idea what it would do to a man to hear that confession? He could still feel the aftermath of his release racing through his veins and she was praising his virility.
“Agnes. You’re just too bloody perfect. I’m afraid I might consider bringing in a colony of bats to nest in the forge, if this is what you do when you need distracting from them.” She bit her lower lip, not as amused by the jest as he had hoped. Of course she wasn’t! What was the matter with him? She’d just told him she was scared of the beasts and here he was, threatening her with them. “Forgive me. I don’t know why I said that.”
But he knew exactly why. Because she had turned his body inside out, scrambled his brain and flipped his heart in his chest with a few strokes of her hand. There would be a before and after today, he could already feel it.
“It’s all right. Only, my brothers did exactly that in our house when I was small, brought in a colony of bats. They locked me in with them. That is why I’m scared of them. It’s silly, I know, as the bats didn’t actually hurt me and were probably even more anxious to escape than I was, but I can’t seem to help it.”
Well, now he felt like the lowest of the low. As if that was not enough, he noticed the way she was surreptitiously trying to wipe her fingers on her skirt. Her perfect little fingers, which he had stained with his seed. Could he feel any worse?
“Please. Let me wash your hand. I came all over you.”
She blushed a furious color at the unnecessary reminder. Really, did he have to be so blunt? Cursing himself for a fool, he pulled his braies back on and led Agnes to the mouth of the cave.
There was a rock just outside with a depression in it, which the storm had filled to the brim with rain. He plunged her hand into the cool water and started to brush each of her fingers in turn. His chest constricted. Had he ever handled anything more perfect than her soft, white hand? More beautiful? More fragile? The wrist was so slight, the nails so small, he barely dared touch her for fear of breaking her or damaging her.
“Forgive me, my hands are rough and I am not used to handling anything as delicate as your hands. I usually deal with hard metal.”
For the first time in his life he regretted being a blacksmith. He felt like Skrymir, the giant of his parents’ stories, might do in front of humans. Hadn’t Agnes already remarked on his bulk, if not exactly on his behavior? Wild, she’d called him. Well, he felt wild, compared to her.
She gave a small smile that breathed life back into his veins. She didn’t seem mad at him at least. “I think you are underestimating yourself. I can hardly feel your touch. But I could have washed my hand myself. You didn’t have to do that.”
Of course he did. After soiling her with his release, cleaning her was the least he could do. He groaned. What was wrong with him? He should have pushed her hand away before coming. But he could not have loosened the blessed grip around his cock if his life had depended on it. Thankfully, she had not seemed to take offense or recoiled in horror. She didn’t even seem to mind having been used thus. It did little to lessen the guilt he felt, though.
“Please. Of course I did need to wash you. It’s the least I can do.”
Once she was clean, he wiped her fingers dry with the only part of himself that wasn’t soaked, his undershirt. Agnes smiled her thanks then looked at the horizon and remarked, her voice expressionless. “The storm has passed, the rain has stopped.”
Magnus stared at the sky. Indeed it had. He had not even noticed. “Yes.”
But something else had just started.