Chapter 18
“My wife. Finally.”
“My husband. At last.”
Heat started to suffuse Aife’s body at the idea of what was about to happen.
It seemed as if her whole life had led up to that moment, and in a way, it had.
She had known this man from birth, he’d been a constant companion, by her side in good and bad moments.
Until he had become something even more precious than a friend and far more special than a lover.
A beloved husband.
After a moving ceremony during which Torsten had proudly carried his father’s sword and a feast that had gone long into the night, they had retired to her hut, which was now to be their hut.
In the flickering light of the fire, they stared at one another in wonder for a long moment, as if wary of breaking the spell, as if fearing that the last few weeks had been naught but a dream.
It had not. The love in Torsten’s eyes made that clear, and the heat between her legs gave her the nudge she needed to make the first move.
“Torsten—”
“Yes. Will you undress for me?” he started at the same time, speaking in a hoarse whisper.
“Only if you undress for me.”
Having simple garments to dispose of, Torsten was naked in the blink of an eye.
Naked and magnificent. Was there another man on this earth who could compete with him?
Forget Knut’s bulging biceps, Sven’s muscular shoulders, Steinar’s broad chest, or Haakon’s chiselled stomach.
This was what beauty was. And it was hers to admire and to stroke.
But Torsten made no move to go to her. Shadows cast by the flames danced on his skin as if to encourage her fingers to do the same.
She would have done that and more if he’d come closer.
But he remained two paces away from her, waiting.
The fire crackled and popped, shaking her back into action.
It seemed it was her turn to disrobe. Lost to her contemplation, she had completely forgotten she was supposed to get naked as well.
Feeling slightly self-conscious, but far too aroused to deny him, Aife unhooked the brooches holding her dress in place and let it pool at her feet.
The shift of fine linen soon followed, then the woolen stockings and shoes.
As naked as the day she was born, she stood there, watching him while he devoured her with his gaze.
“Perfection,” he murmured, closing the space between them just like he had the night she’d been born. She could not resist grabbing his little finger and tears stung her eyes when he brought her hand to his mouth to kiss it reverently.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” His eyes had darkened with desire. “Lie down for me.”
Aife understood how much it would cost him to ask this of her.
She knew this was what he feared. But if he was nervous, he hid it well.
True, in the Roman palace, he had touched her while she guided him, but he had not really seen her.
She had not been naked and sprawled on the bed, waiting for him to possess her, like the other women he’d tried to bed.
There had been nothing to remind him of his past trauma.
How would he cope tonight? There was only one way of knowing.
Slowly, she sat on the pallet, and then lay on her back.
“I have regretted not baring your breasts that night in the ruins,” Torsten rasped, coming to kneel by her side. “Baring and stroking and suckling them. I swore to myself I would look my fill before devouring every inch of you if I ever got you in my arms again.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Why was he torturing her so? Surely he had just looked his fill? Being devoured sounded like something she would enjoy. “Eat me. Eat me as if I were covered in honey.”
With a groan, he fell on her. The sensations were nothing like what she experienced in her life.
Having a hot mouth engulfing her aching nipples and a wicked tongue licking them into peaks then rolling them around in slow, delicious flicks was exquisite.
For a long moment, Torsten suckled her, moaning, seemingly taking as much pleasure in the act as she was.
But of course, it was the first time for him also, and he was making the most of this new experience.
Aife could not stop panting and writhing.
Knowing she was the first woman he had stroked thus only added to her pleasure.
She closed her eyes and just allowed herself to be worshipped, holding on to his head and whispering words of encouragement.
Then a hand landed on her knee. “Can I?” Torsten asked, lifting her head from her breasts to meet her gaze. His lips were as wet and swollen as her nipples. The mere sight was enough to send her core into spasms. “I want to see you, see this part of you no one else has ever seen.”
“Yes. And no other man than you will ever see it.”
His other hand landed on her left knee. “Open for me. Please.”
When she nodded, he started to ease her legs apart.
Once she had bared herself to his gaze, Torsten positioned himself between her thighs and lay down on his stomach, his face inches away from her burning core.
Slowly he parted her folds with his thumbs.
Aife was holding her breath. How had she not predicted that she would feel exposed in that position?
Exposed and aroused? Utterly powerful. Determined to watch as he explored her, she lifted herself up onto her elbows.
“So beautiful.”
Well, she had no precise idea of what he could see.
Was it beautiful? The expression on his face seemed to suggest he was not lying.
She had been afraid he would be reminded of the women who had bared themselves for him, for surely they could not have looked very different.
But he didn’t seem to be thinking about them, or anyone else in that moment. His attention was wholly on her.
“Can I stroke you?”
“Yes.”
At first, the caress was tentative. It became more assured when she sighed and rolled her head back.
The wicked finger entered her, slowly parting her folds.
When it came back out, it was glistening with the proof that she was more aroused than she had ever been in her life.
Aife watched, fascinated, as Torsten’s finger plunged inside her pink petals a second time, retreated and then entered her a third time, before another one joined in the sensual dance.
He had such strong, masculine hands, she had never imagined they would ever feel so soft or handle her with such delicacy.
The other day he had merely stroked the nub at the apex of her thighs, and skimmed at her entrance, as she had not dared tell or show him that she usually plunged her fingers deep inside her heat when she pleasured herself.
“So soft,” he rasped, “so hot, so tight, so wet.”
“Yes,” she breathed back.
“For me.”
“For you.”
She did feel slick and ready. And with every thrust of his fingers, every word from his mouth, she could feel herself melt further, her body grow hotter. He teased her a long moment, then brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, wickedness flashing in his eyes.
“Mm, so good. Even better than honey.” He gave a slanted, utterly naughty grin. “Can I get more? Lick you like you licked me the other day?”
Oh. She had been on the verge of begging for it, but wary of frightening him with her eagerness, had not dared. He had already stroked her once, but this was different, much more intimate.
“If you don’t want me to, I won’t,” he hurried to say, as if worried by her silence. “Only I’ve heard about this and I find that I… With you, I want to try.”
“Then yes, please, lick me. Do what you want with me. I’m yours.”
He crept closer to her, placing his hands on her hipbones, lowering his head between her thighs. By the gods, but this was going to kill her.
“So perfect for me,” he groaned, bringing his lips against her folds. “So sweet.”
His tongue flicked out, once, twice. Then he flattened it and gave a series of long, luxurious, utterly scandalous licks along her seam, before engulfing the now throbbing nub between his lips and suckling in much the same way he had suckled her nipples.
Where had he learned to do that? It seemed he was a natural at pleasing women. At pleasing her.
Aife soon stopped thinking and wondering what she had done to deserve such a husband. All her strength deserted her and she fell back on the pallet. She couldn’t watch anymore, she couldn’t hold herself up, she could hardly breathe.
“Ah, wait, Torsten, stop! No, don’t stop! I need more!” she cried. What was she saying? She would die if he stopped now. “More, I’m going to…ah!”
She did die then. But it was the best death anyone could hope for.
It took Aife a long moment to come back to herself.
When she did, Torsten was kneeling between her spread legs, his shaft hard as rock and poised at her entrance, ready to push in.
His long fingers had encircled her ankles, and he was holding her wide open.
Her whole body spasmed in anticipation. How odd.
Barely two heartbeats ago she would have sworn she was too spent to do anything, and yet here she was, undulating in invitation.
“Can I?”
Did he really have to ask? Couldn’t he see how desperate she was? “Yes. Take me,” she rasped.
Still, he hesitated. Something was obviously weighing on his mind. “You’re a virgin.” He made a grimace. “I am too, of course, but, unlike you, my first time will not hurt. It doesn’t seem fair. I wish it were the other way around.”
“I don’t.”
Not when he already had his own battle to fight.
She might feel a stab of fleeting pain when he plunged inside her, but she was not the one confronting demons.
Torsten would have to be far braver than she was.
Besides, being taken could not hurt more than being denied was making her ache. She was ready.