Chapter Seventeen
Inside the hut, his hardness persisted until it was nearly painful. Since the night Abauna touched him, he had needed to take care of it daily. Sometimes more than once. Where before, he was fine to last a week or even a month without needing to release.
It was becoming a nuisance, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his activities from her.
He glanced at the door. Escaping to the falls wasn’t possible. He would have to do it here. And quickly before she returned.
Loosening his trousers, he eased his cock free and fell into one of the softer chairs that took up a corner of the living area. The first stroke made his vision go white and he thought of his bride in the waters of the hot spring. How it would warm her skin and tease the bottoms of her breasts.
He groaned, wondering what they were like, those soft mounds that sometimes pressed against him when they slept.
The door rattled, viciously startling him from his fantasy, and he tried to cover himself. But it was too late.
There in the doorway, stood his bride, mouth open in muted surprise as mortification replaced the blood in his veins. There was no denying he’d been caught with his member in hand, groaning at the pleasure he gave himself.
What must she think of him now?
Thank the Ancients she couldn’t read his thoughts and know what got him here.
He drew his tunic down over his hips, hissing when the fabric made contact with his throbbing prick.
“It’s okay,” Abauna rushed out, her face free of judgment. “You don’t need to cover yourself.”
“Bride, I…”
Closing the door, she set her things aside and moved closer. She wore another of his tunics—not tied up this time—and with every step, he was able to see more of her smooth upper legs.
This wasn’t helping his issue.
He straightened in the chair, trying to shift his legs to accommodate his girth. When that didn’t work, he was forced to stand. Face to face with his pretty bride was somehow even more difficult.
“I-I know you have needs like any other man. You shouldn’t bear them alone.” Her eyes fell to his hidden bulge. “You should let me help you.”
Her words sent a frisson of longing down his spine to settle at the base of his heavy balls.
“Bride…” His voice was stretched to its max, cole-dark and wanting. “I won’t require it of you. I promised you this—”
She stepped forward, close enough that a breath could cause them to touch… so he didn’t breathe.
“It would be my honor, as your bride…”
A strained noise clawed up his throat and he swallowed it back down.
“... to do this. It is my duty, and mine alone.” Her voice was soft like a touch. Her touch. And he almost relented.
She would help ease him…
If he was another sort of male, he’d let her.
But he was Rolan of Vegoth. The savage beast. A monster…
He pressed his forehead to hers, slowly releasing the breath he was holding, willing his voice to work. “Sweet wife. I cannot let you pleasure me because you feel pity. It would wound my pride and it would wound your heart. I am coping.” With great difficulty, he stumbled backward, putting space between them so she could leave.
But she didn’t go, and he fell back into the chair as his legs gave out.
His breath heaved as he struggled for control. Her eyes gave him no reprieve, digging into him like she ached to understand something unasked.
“Do you...” she swallowed, the delicate column of her throat contracting. He could imagine what it would feel like beneath his palm as they kissed. Or better yet, wrapped around his cock. “Do you think of me when you do this?”
Only her.
He could think of no one else.
She was his reason for breathing. His eternal muse. His one and only forever. And in his mind, he made love to her every time he stroked his cock.
“Nevermind.” She looked away shyly, a sad smile haunting her lips. “I shouldn’t have pried. There is probably someone more to your liking lodged behind your eyes for moments like this.”
No. Is that what she thought? That anyone else could possibly compare to her?
“Perhaps someone like yourself,” she continued, “With fur, like you expected at the altar…”
“There is no one.” The words rushed from his throat quickly and desperately, and her gaze snapped back to him. “I think of you only.”
Her cheeks bloomed with that sweet pink color he loved so much.
“But you’ve never seen me without my clothes.”
“I don’t need to,” he said, unable to stop explaining himself. “I’ve seen your eyes plenty, and your smile. Your hands. Your shape against the light of the candles at night. There are a hundred different ways I’ve seen you. And a hundred different ways I’ve fallen—” He stopped suddenly, realizing what he’d nearly revealed.
He loved his bride.
Perhaps he wasn’t supposed to, not like this, with his whole entire being. Heart, body, and soul. But he did all the same.
Her pursed lips drew his attention as she eyed him.
“Do you wish to see more of me? Now?” When the vise around his throat wouldn’t let him answer, she continued. “It’s your right to look upon me, husband.”
Rolan narrowed his gaze. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was using their vows as an excuse to bare herself to him.
Why would she do such a thing?
“I’ve exercised that right many times, female. More than you know. Especially when you sleep.”
This seemed to please her instead of frightening her. Was… was he reading his bride correctly?
“When I sleep, what do you see?”
Shame filled him, making his cock grow harder, jut further from the base of fur at his hips, the tip extending beyond the cover of his tunic.
Abauna noticed, and he could’ve sworn her pupils flared.
“When you sleep…” Was he really going to admit what a monster he was? How could he deny her when she looked at him with those stormy eyes full of curiosity? “You curl onto your side and sometimes your sleeping gown gaps in the front, allowing me a hint of your perfect little breasts.”
He couldn’t read her expression. Did she think poorly of him now?
“A hint,” she murmured.
“Just the tops,” he admitted, immediately wanting to soften the truth.
He’d die if this hurt her trust in him. The mere thought had his cock retreating again.
But she took a step closer, not appearing threatened at all.
Rolan shifted in his chair. What was she doing?
Slowly her hand moved to the strap of material that tied her tunic together at the neck. He watched as she tugged until it came loose and the two halves separated to reveal her breasts.
His breath stopped.
She was even more perfect than he imagined. Gentle curves that sat high above her belly. Dark pink tips that hardened when the cool air hit them.
Mine.
He was mesmerized. He couldn’t look away.
For this moment in time, they were his to look at. His to memorize. His to enjoy.
“Won’t you continue, now?” she asked, her voice breathless with curiosity as her gaze fell to his lap.
“You want to watch me?” He could hardly fathom the idea.
Her only answer was a nod, and the thought of stroking with her eyes on him was damn near enough to make him come.
“Please,” she whispered, and he was helpless to deny her.
Pushing his tunic aside, he gripped his cock, pulling it in his fist slowly. When his eyes wanted to roll back in his head, he fought them, needing to keep his gaze on her.
She stood silent, watching with interest.
The Empress used to watch him. She would require him to make himself hard and then mock him for his need… the wretched female.
But this was different.
His bride looked at him as if she was studying.
“Are they soft?” he rasped. “Your pretty breasts, do they yield with touch?”
She nodded, and his desire made him brave.
“Show me,” he demanded. “Touch them.”
She blinked. “I…”
He twisted his palm up his lengthening cock, shaking with the need to release. It was going to be over sooner than he wanted, and she might regret it all. Before it was done, he needed something from her. To know they were partners in this too, even if it was by arrangement instead of what his heart wanted.
“I touch, so you must touch,” he gritted past the sensation streaking up his back to clench the muscles of his abdomen.
Her tiny pink tongue darted out to lick along her lower lip before she lifted her hands to cup her weighty mounds, eyes fluttering when she gave them a soft squeeze.
It was enough to tip him over the edge.
He groaned as pleasure washed over him like a great wave. His release punched from him, spurting to land on her lowered tunic. And rather than feeling regret for it, primal satisfaction filled him instead.
She gasped, her silver eyes jerking to his, and he didn’t look away.
Couldn’t.
It was done.
All that was left to endure was her judgment, whatever it be.