Chapter 16
Moerrven
The bath took forever to fill. It was a simple mechanism, letting in water piped from an underground thermal spring, and as I watched the water slosh into the tub, I snuck a glance at Sky, whose eyes were on my ass.
His cock was hard, and I felt my whole body flush as I stepped into the water, which was now waist deep. I gingerly lowered myself, hissing as the hot water touched my tender skin. Sky’s grin softened.
“Sore?”
“Yes. If only we knew why.”
He laughed, and the sound of it, bright and unburdened, loosened something in my chest that was still tight from the crying.
“Slide forward,” he said, and I did, wrapping my arms around my bent knees and making sure he had room to step into the bath behind me.
His knees bumped my ass, and his hands settled on my shoulders, thumbs digging into the knots of tension that had set up permanent residence in my trapezius muscles.
“Let me take care of you.”
“Shouldn’t I take care of you?”
“Where I’m from, we call this aftercare. I need to take the time to make sure you are okay, to give you a soft landing.”
“But your cock is still hard.”
He worked his hands down my spine, pressing into each vertebra, finding the places where I held my stress and dismantling them with a methodical precision that reminded me of the way he wielded the crop, deliberate and attentive, reading my body’s responses and adjusting accordingly.
He poured water over my shoulders. He found the soap, something herbal and fragrant, provided by the inn, and he lathered it up.
His hands became slick against my skin, sliding over the muscles of my back, my sides, the curve of my ribs.
He was not washing me the way one washes oneself.
He was washing me the way one tends to something precious, taking great care with every inch of my skin.
I closed my eyes. He slid his hands lower, to the small of my back, the swell of my hips, his soapy fingers tracing the groove of muscle along my spine with a slowness that was not practical and was wholly intentional.
My cock stirred in the water as he coaxed me to lift up and slid his hand down between my buttocks, circling my sensitive hole.
“You want to put your cock there?” I asked, shivering.
He groaned. “I do. Nothing sexier than thick thighs and a thick ass on a man. And I love having you inside me, I want you to experience that pleasure.”
“Oh,” I whispered, my cheeks hot enough that I knew I was blushing.
“Now turn around,” he said. “Face me.”
I turned. He was kneeling in the bath, the water full enough now to lap at his collarbones, and his expression was focused and warm and present. He soaped his hands again and placed them on my chest.
He washed me as though cataloguing me. The flat planes of my pectorals, the line of hair that ran down my stomach, the ridges of my abdominal muscles.
He ran his fingers over my nipples and I shuddered.
He traced the V of muscle at my hips and I gripped the edge of the bath.
His touch was not teasing, not building to a punchline, but worshipful in a way that made my throat tighten.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Every part of you.”
“Trolls are not—”
“You are.” His hand found my cock under the water, his fingers gentle around me while his other hand soaped my thighs.
“This body. These muscles. This cock that makes me lose my mind. This skin that turns the most gorgeous shade of blue when you blush.” His thumb brushed the head of my cock and my hips jerked forward.
“You are beautiful, Moerrven Mossren, and I am going to spend the next hour showing you what that means.”
An hour seemed ambitious. I was already trembling, already hard again.
“I thought this was aftercare,” I whispered. “It feels more like foreplay.”
He laughed. “Maybe a bit of both.”
He washed my legs, my feet, my hands. He washed my horns gently, avoiding the trolgar points with a deliberateness that was its own kind of tease.
He rinsed my hair with clean water that poured from the faucet at the turn of a knob, cupping it in his hands and working it through, careful of my eyes.
“Stand up,” he said.
I stood. The water ran down my body and the cool air hit my skin.
I was naked and wet and hard in a bath in Highmark, with a human between my knees looking up at me, lips parted, eyes dark, and my heart stammered.
He pulled the plug and let the dirty water out, rinsing us both with clean, warm spring water.
“Sit on the bench, here. Lean back against the edge,” he said. “And spread your legs.”
The vulnerability of the position was — considerable.
My back was against the cool stone rim of the big tub, my ass on the narrow stone bench that sat at one end.
I spread my thighs wide, let him balance one of my feet on each side of the rim, leaving me open and exposed.
My cock jutted up against my stomach, smearing pre-cum across my skin.
He stepped back, groaning as he took in all of me. “The most perfect view I’ve ever seen,” he murmured. Then he reached for the almond oil on the counter, the little vials the innkeeper left out in case the high altitude gave anyone dry skin.
Then he knelt between my legs, his face at eye-level with my cock, balls, and fluttering hole.
His slick finger traced a circle around my hole. The sensation was — I had not anticipated the sensitivity there. Every nerve in that small ring of muscle fired at once, and I gripped the bath’s edge and exhaled through my teeth, digging my heels in and forcing myself to stay spread for him.
“Good?”
“Different, but intense.”
He pressed one finger inside me, unhurried, letting me adjust to the intrusion. The stretch was unfamiliar and strange and my body’s first instinct was to clench against it, and Sky’s other hand came to rest on my inner thigh, warm and steady.
“Breathe,” he said. “Push toward me, not away. Your body knows what to do.”
I breathed. I pushed. The tension eased and his finger slid deeper, and the sensation shifted from strange to a fullness, a presence, someone inside me in a place no one had ever been.
“Another?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Two fingers. The stretch was sharper now, and I groaned, and Sky’s free hand moved to my cock and stroked me lazily, the oil on his hands making the slide slick and delicious.
The combination created a circuit of sensation that ran between the two points where he was touching me.
When his fingers curled and found a spot inside me that I had written about in novels but never experienced—
“Oh.” The word left me involuntarily. “Oh, that is — fuck, I like that spot.”
“That’s your prostate,” Sky said, and he pressed it again, and my hips lurched off the edge of the bath and a sound came out of me that I could not have replicated with intention.
“Every man has one,” he said, rubbing it in slow circles while his other hand tightened on my cock.
“But not everyone gets off on having it touched.”
“I think I do.” I whimpered, arching my back to try and offer him better access.
“Mm, of course you do, my sexy little slut.”
I could not respond because my vocabulary had, once again, been rendered useless.
He scissored his fingers, stretching me a little, then pressed once again, working me open with a patience I did not share.
Soon he had three fingers inside me, fucking in and out of my hole with a slick, filthy sound that made me throw my head back and cry out.
The stretch burned and then eased and then became something I craved, something I rocked back against, wanting more, deeper, the fullness of it addictive in a way that reminded me of the trolgar, a sensation I had never known I was missing until it was given to me.
“You look sexy as hell like this, but I think for your first fuck, we’d better do it in the bed. Tub’s too slippery.” He tugged his fingers out of me.
The sound I made at the loss of him was a humiliating cry of dismay.
“Baby likes to be filled. Noted,” he said, eyes sparkling with humor.
He climbed out of the tub, snagging a fresh vial of oil from the counter, and helped me to my feet.
I looked down at him, so much smaller than me, but so much more powerful.
Sky had me wrapped around his little finger, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I climbed out of the bath on legs that did not fully support me, and he caught me as I wobbled, helping me to lie down, and I winced a little as my sore ass hit the sheets.
“Lift.” He shoved a pillow under my bottom. “Now hold your thighs here. Spread yourself for daddy’s cock.”
I stuck out my tongue at him. “You’re not my daddy.”
That earned me a wicked grin. “Just you wait.”
I huffed out a breath and grabbed the back of my thighs, spreading myself open again for him, shivering with anticipation.
Sky climbed between my legs. He was hard, his cock flushed and slick with oil. It wasn’t huge, but it was large for the size of his body, and in this position, it felt impossible. How could it fit? He dragged the blunt head of it between my cheeks, teasing me.
“Oh come on, Sky, just fuck me.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward, giving my cock a long suck. That felt good, but it was not what I was craving, and I made a grumpy sound at him.
“Imagine what your readers would think if they knew you were such a slut for daddy’s cock.”
“I’m not going to call you daddy!”
“Sir? Master? I suppose we can discuss that later.” He guided himself to my hole and pressed the head against me. The pressure was immense.
“Flex and then release,” he whispered. “Let me in.”
Finally, he slid inside, and the stretch was so intense I was shaking.
“Are you all the way in?” I whimpered.
“That’s just the tip.”
“Oh fuck. Sky. How are you so big?”