Chapter 7 #3
“I understand, but there are ways to prevent conception,” he soothed. “I can always withdraw, like I did for years, between the two births. You could also take plants to—”
“No, I don’t want to risk it. I’ve given you two sons. It will have to be enough.”
None of his entreaties had worked. Incapable of forcing a woman, be she his wife, to do anything she was not comfortable with, Steinar had had no other choice but to respect her wishes.
For long months, he’d seen to his needs himself.
Eventually, starved of pleasure, Astrid had relented, but not completely.
She’d let him caress and lick her and had even offered him relief with her hand and mouth on occasion.
But the only way she had allowed him to possess her had been anally.
It had not been the same. Steinar didn’t want to rut like an animal to reach his release.
He’d wanted what he was missing, her womanly softness and the connection of two people getting lost in the pleasure they gave one another.
Each encounter made him feel worse than the last, used, unwanted, and soiled.
In the end, he had been the one putting an end to these couplings which offered him little satisfaction.
He could have gone to another woman, of course, and tell his wife why he was doing it, but fool that he was, he had not thought it an option.
What he craved was not physical release, but intimacy, a happy family, and a wife who was eager to bed him.
Perhaps in time he would get it back, so it was worth the wait.
Astrid, he now knew, had had no such scruples in breaking her vows.
Had the Saxon in town been her only lover?
Had she allowed him to possess her in every way he wanted, despite the risks?
Had she ended up falling with Aldred’s child?
Was that why she had decided to abandon her family? It was not impossible.
Well, none of this mattered now, not when he was moments away from getting what he’d not had for years—a hot, responsive woman in his arms.
He carried on rubbing Cwenthryth’s sweet folds, relishing the idea that soon, he would get to plunge inside the softness he’d missed so much.
To his surprise, though, this was almost as satisfactory.
The anticipation of the release to come was delicious, almost as pleasurable as the possession itself.
He could feel that Cwenthryth’s body was ready to welcome him in, the wetness coating his hardness proved it.
He also could hear her desperation. Her moans were getting louder and louder, more and more scandalous, encouraging him to carry on.
Unable to resist, he reached around to stroke her intimately, intent on breaking through her last vestige of reserve, on making her beg at last. She arched her back and whimpered—but still she didn’t ask for more.
And then she spasmed again, the ripples he could feel against the taut, sensitive skin of his shaft pushing him over the edge in turn.
Steinar erupted, panting in shock and pleasure combined, his seed coating Cwenthryth’s buttocks, the color a perfect match for her creamy skin.
What the hell? This release had been nothing like what he’d expected, nothing like what he’d thought he wanted.
It had happened with a woman he’d only touched to teach her a lesson, and yet inexplicable as it was, he was thoroughly satisfied.
Because there had been intimacy, he had felt how much she wanted him.
She had relished every stroke, every caress, and he’d not felt sullied.
As soon as he removed his hands from Cwenthryth’s waist she dropped to the floor. For a long moment she lay on her side, hugging her knees, muttering to herself, screwing her eyes shut.
“I never knew… I thought all men—rough… I never knew…”
What was she saying? He could barely understand her through the sobs. Well, one thing was for sure. He could not go now, leave her like this, alone, huddled in a ball, crying her heart out, and demand she leave, as she should have done two days ago.
He was not such a bastard.
Hastily, Steinar tucked himself back into his braies and scooped her up in his arms. Sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, he cradled her in his lap as he would Rothgar when the little boy was prey to a nightmare.
Well, not quite. The hold around her was sensual rather than comforting, and the sensations bubbling in his groin right now were absent when he held his son.
“It’s all right. I never knew either,” he found himself telling her.
After so long wishing he could get back inside a woman, he’d not known he could find so much satisfaction without actually doing it.
Having never bedded anyone in anger before, he’d not known fury could transform into a blaze of lust such as could burn everything in its path.
With Cwenthryth, everything had been different, new.
He’d not been the dominant partner he usually enjoyed being.
Licking her and tasting her pleasure had brought him to the brink of release.
Feeling her spasming against his cock had been enough to push him over the edge.
“I had no idea I could feel so much pleasure with someone who makes me so mad. And I’m not sure what to think either. This was all too—”
It was only when Cwenthryth lifted her head to him, confusion etched on her face, that he realized he had spoken in Norse.
What the hell was happening?
Only a moment ago, he’d been beside himself with anger, intent on making her pay for manipulating him, for lying about the situation she was facing, for taking advantage of the people he loved, and here he was, recovering from the most shocking release of his life, cradling the woman he’d considered his enemy, and whispering words in her ear she couldn’t even understand.
He was really a fool.
“Faeir?”
Everything within Steinar lurched. No! Not now!
He deposited Cwenthryth next to him and shot to his feet before Ulf could enter. Young as he was, he would understand why his father had spent so long in the tree house if he saw him and Cwenthryth in each other’s arms. The last thing he needed was for other people to know what had just happened.
His son’s blond head appeared in the door frame. “Everything all right?”
He sounded nervous, as if worried Steinar would have strangled Cwenthryth.
No, he had not strangled her, he’d not even hurt her.
Quite the opposite. But she’d been crying, which would look bad.
What would Ulf think when he noticed? What could they offer as an explanation for her tears?
The truth, namely that she’d been overwhelmed by the strength of the pleasure he’d given her, was out of the question.
Mercifully, Cwenthryth had started to tidy up her makeshift pallet, a good way of hiding her red eyes and wet cheeks from the boy. He was grateful to her for the effort.
“Yes, everything is fine. Cwenthryth and I were having a discussion that’s all,” he told his son rather gruffly.
He was finding it hard to behave normally with his body feeling so languid. Even his mind seemed to have difficulty functioning. It was as if everything had melted inside him, every knot, every tension, every stiffness had dissolved, leaving only a sense of peace he hadn’t known for years.
“Come. Let us go back to the hut and break our fast.” He glanced back to the corner of the tree house and his decision was made in a heartbeat. “Cwenthryth, please join us.”