Chapter 7 #2
“Mm. So you are not afraid and you are not untouched. You want me.” His mouth was still at her ear, his voice had gone smooth as silk. Cwenthryth closed her eyes in delight. She could get used to this new, sensual side of Steinar. “Answer me this then. Do you want me to fuck you? Here? Now?”
Oh, why was he being so crude? Why did it arouse her so? And why did she give her answer with such eagerness? “Yes.”
“Very well.” The growl in her ear caused all the hairs at the back of her neck to stand up on end. “I’ll fuck you then.”
Yes. Preferably before she expired from need. Feeling him hard against her, ready to take her, had made her chest flare up and her bones sizzle. Or something equally bewildering. There was only one thing she needed to tell him.
“Please, don’t be rough.”
Not like him.
“Rough.” The word was said in what sounded like a bark. Gone was the silky smoothness that had captured her senses earlier. Steinar’s whole body had tensed up, as if in protest. “I’m a Norseman, a Barbarian, therefore I must be rough with women, take them like a brute, is that what you mean?”
“No, it’s not,” she breathed, horrified to have sounded as if she thought him capable of hurting his lovers. She did not. This was her issue entirely, it had nothing to do with him being a Norseman. Godfrid had been rough, and yet he was a Saxon.
What she’d meant was that she needed Steinar to not do anything that would frighten her and cause her arousal to change into dread.
As much as she wanted him, she knew that if he did anything that reminded her of her tormentor, she would freeze.
And she didn’t want that. She wanted to enjoy his touch to the full, melt into his arms. She was a woman like any other.
Didn’t she deserve to know how it felt to be taken by a man she’d chosen?
It was the first time it had happened, and it had happened when she had lost all hope she would ever feel desire for anyone.
It was a miracle, and she didn’t want anything to ruin the moment.
She sensed Steinar would be a good lover, and she owed it to herself to know the joy men and women were supposed to experience together.
Eahlswith had told her that it was glorious.
Thus far, Cwenthryth had only known painful and frightening. She wanted glorious.
She was ready for it.
“No, I don’t think that,” she repeated. “But you’re angry with me, and—”
“I am angry, and yet I’m desperate for you.
” Another nudge against her proved it. He was hard as…
well, as stone. “I cannot explain it and I hate it. Which is why I’m going to punish you for thinking you can take advantage of my weakness, for thinking you can just have me when it pleases you, for making me want you more than I want my next breath. ”
Punish her? She stiffened. That sounded exactly like what she didn’t want to happen. “Please, no, I won’t—”
He cut her off by wrapping his body around her once more.
“Not in the way you think. I swear I won’t hurt you.
” His mouth at her ear, his voice reduced to a purr, he delivered his threat.
“On the contrary. I’ll be so gentle that it won’t be long before you beg me to fuck you harder.
But I’ll deny you for as long as I want, for as long as it is good for me.
I’ll keep sliding in and out of you too slowly for you to get what you need.
Only when I’m satisfied you’ve understood who is in charge will I start pounding into you.
And I will make myself come, regardless of whether you’ve achieved your release or not.
Do you understand? This will be for me, not for you. ”
Oh, Lord.
Cwenthryth had never heard anything half as scandalous in her life—and it aroused her like nothing else ever had.
Her body had gone liquid, so much so that she barely registered it when Steinar took a step back, releasing her.
Hands at her hips, he made her take a step backward, then he pressed on the place between her shoulder blades to signify she should lower her chest. A moment later, she was bent over at the waist, with both her hands braced against the wall and her legs spread wide, in a shocking position of submission.
Everything within her melted, when it perhaps should have rebelled.
But there was no “should” about this whole situation. It was what it was.
Inevitable.
She only understood he had lifted the hem of her gown when she felt cool air brush against her intimate folds. This was it. She closed her eyes, readying herself for the assault she’d unwittingly provoked. In a moment Steinar would tear at his braies and slam deep inside—
“Ah!”
What was that? She’d been expecting a hard, pulsing shaft to push past her entrance and instead she got a soft, wet…tongue? Surely that wasn’t right? Surely men didn’t put their tongues in women’s—
Another lick, another jolt.
Dear God, what was that?
Then Steinar’s earlier words came back to her and she understood what was happening.
He meant to torture her. He’d said he would be so gentle that she would beg him to fuck her hard.
This would be his way of doing it. He would deny her the part of him she craved the most, and watch as she suffered.
But Cwenthryth didn’t think she would beg him to do anything different.
She didn’t want hard, she’d endured it too many times.
She wanted gentle. His tongue was just perfect, hot and soft, and impossibly smooth; she wanted nothing else.
He’d thought to torment her, instead he was gifting her with the most intimate, selfless pleasure anyone could offer.
She risked a glance back and whimpered at the sight meeting her gaze. The most forbidding, masculine, authoritative man she knew was on his knees with the sole intent of making her melt. It seemed too good to be true.
“Yes, Steinar,” she moaned, arching her back to bring her folds closer to his mouth. “Lick me.”
Her eyes flew open in shock. Was she really encouraging a man to lick her, rubbing herself over his face, demanding more?
It seemed that she was, because he groaned and started to flick his tongue over a place she had discovered during her tentative nightly explorations.
He was more skilled at bringing it to life than she was.
Under his ministrations, she was soon panting with delight.
Yes, she needed more of this gentle suckling, this sensual torture.
Slow and assured, a finger pushed into her, teasing her a moment, before a second one joined it, adding yet another dimension to the wonderful sensation of his tongue swirling between her legs.
Heat gathered momentum, blood raced to the point Steinar was still licking and Cwenthryth took fright.
She was going to collapse, she was going to die, she was going to—
The keening noise she made when pleasure crashed over her would have shocked her had all her attention not been on staying upright and breathing. So this was pleasure!
Complete, unadulterated pleasure. It had been, just as Eahlswith had promised, glorious.
And, held as she was by two strong hands, there was nothing she could do but take it.
Steinar jumped back to his feet and ripped at his braies, almost tearing the laces in his haste to feel Cwenthryth against him.
Here it was at last, the moment she would beg him to take her, hard, fast, and deep, the moment he would sink into her scalding softness.
He rubbed his impossibly hard shaft against her swollen folds.
She was so wet, he could easily glide up and down along the intimate seam in a delicate caress.
She’d said she was not a virgin, despite the man in town hinting at the contrary, and for once he didn’t think to doubt her because it meant he could have her with scruples, and without causing her pain.
Hadn’t she come to the village on the understanding that “Astrid’s brother” might want to bed her, as a reward for welcoming her in?
Well, Astrid’s widower wanted to fuck her, as a way of easing the need boiling in his loins. He wanted it badly.
“Yes,” Cwenthryth moaned again, sounding ready for another release. “Just like that.”
No, not like that, stroking her was not enough, damn it all, he needed to be inside her.
The taste of her lingering on his tongue was sending him mad with need, the wet flesh massaging his shaft was bringing him closer and closer to release with each move.
He was hard enough to hammer nails and desperate to push into the entrance so daringly offered to him.
But he would not take her before she begged.
This was supposed to be a punishment, he was supposed to be in charge, she was supposed to crave his touch.
When would she beg him to fuck her? He’d thought to torment her, but he was the one suffering, the one desperate for more, the one about to beg.
And no wonder.
It had been too long—years—since he’d bedded a woman properly, the way he wanted.
As soon as Rothgar had been weaned, Astrid had refused him access to her bed.
Of course, at that point they had already stopped having marital relations.
From the moment she’d known she was with child, she’d been too uncomfortable to allow him to touch her, then later on she’d had to recover from the birth.
All in all, they had not shared any intimacy in over a year when she announced her decision.
“I refuse to bear another child, do you hear?” she’d snapped. “It was hard enough giving birth twice, but losing a third child was even worse. I can’t bear to have such a thing happen ever again.”
Steinar could only agree. She’d had a hard time of it all, but going back to her bed didn’t mean he wanted more children, only that he wanted a real marriage, and to recapture some of the happiness they had enjoyed in the months after their wedding.