Chapter 3 – A Lamb’s Tale #3
They couldn’t speak on the way home, with people streaming all around them and his knights before and behind.
He didn’t dare look down at Ophele; he was afraid of what his face would reveal if he met her eyes.
But he was blazingly aware of the feel of her hand in his, her curls bouncing as she trotted beside him, her small, neat figure in her gown, low-necked enough to reveal the upper swells of her breasts.
The fog of desire wrapped around them was so thick he could barely breathe.
They left a trail of armor and clothing from the door to the bed, but to Remin’s surprise it was Ophele pushing him backward, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him and drive him staggering across the cottage, until he fell onto the bed with a grunt.
Her soft lips covered his hungrily as she moved over him, a tiny ravening wolf, savaging him.
Remin still didn’t understand why this was happening, but he gave himself up to her in supreme bliss .
“Remin,” she breathed, and her small, soft tongue pressed between his lips, stroking and eager. Her hands were everywhere, feeling his body all over, his muscles still taut and ridged from the exertions of the contest. Heat baked from his skin like a furnace.
“Ophele…” She was biting his neck. Remin’s head jerked, an instinctive response before he forced himself to lie still, to grant her the freedom of his body.
Her slight weight moved over him and he felt her thighs on either side of his hips, the wet heat of her pressed against his aching length. Both of them froze.
Seated astride him and beautifully naked, Ophele looked down at him with a sudden sharpening in her tawny eyes, and rocked her hips forward.
“Ohhhh…” he groaned involuntarily as her slippery flesh stroked over him. They had never done this before.
“It feels good?” she whispered, and he nodded, his eyes closed as she did it again, a gliding wet stroke that made him throb so hard it hurt. Her hands slid over the ridges of his belly, caressing, and Remin gripped her thighs to feel her moving against him.
“That’s… so good,” he managed, his breath catching and stuttering as she kissed the planes of his chest, sank her teeth into him, even licked his flat nipples. Her fingernails dragged up along his sides and his hips thrust involuntarily upward, making her gasp.
“You are so beautiful,” she whispered, leaning over him with the color high in her cheeks.
She was doing something he couldn’t see with her hips, sending waves of sensation through his body.
He didn’t realize what it was until he felt himself catch at her entrance, and then she impaled herself upon him in one deep stroke.
Oh, stars.
Remin barely managed to strangle his gasp. It was the middle of the day and who knew who was wandering about outside their cottage, to say nothing of the knights standing guard, but oh, nothing had ever felt so good.
“Wife,” he panted, as Ophele covered her mouth with one hand and braced herself against his hard belly with the other, muffling gasps of pleasure. His big hands cupped her breasts as she began to move, a smooth, liquid glide that made him slide out of her and plunge back in over and over and over .
“Ahhnn, ahhhh, Remin,” she whimpered, the words so high-pitched they were almost inaudible, throttled in her throat.
Her breasts swayed against his palms with the motion of her slender body, moving faster as she figured out the rhythm and plunged onto him.
At the point where he was buried deepest inside her, she suddenly pushed down hard, and as her body ground against him he could feel her spasm on him, forcing another groan from his lips.
“Haaa, ahhhh, there,” he managed, his tongue suddenly thick. “Fu—ahhhh, Ophele!”
He thrust upward, unable to help himself, and Ophele’s head fell back as she rode him, impaled with her full weight upon him and grinding, shuddering, both of them silently expiring from the incredible pleasure.
It wasn’t sustainable, no one could feel so good for long and survive.
She fell forward against him, her palms catching on his chest, and her hips began to rock remorselessly again.
“It feels sooooo gooooood,” she moaned as she rode him faster and faster, the bed thudding into the pillows they had stuffed behind the headboard. “That…that spot, it’s hitting, nnngh, nnngh, every… time!”
Another spasm inside her, gripping him, squeezing him wildly, and it felt like crimson fire burst inside his skull.
There was no rational thought left in him, only sensation, her teeth and her nails and her quick, heated breath searing his skin as she devoured him.
He hadn’t the least idea what had gotten into her, but he never wanted it to end.
It would, of course. It was inevitable. They panted together, faster and faster, and in the end, he couldn’t restrain himself and grabbed her hips to move her when she tired, dragging her roughly against him as he pounded up into her, building to an explosion that seemed like it should obliterate the cottage and everything inside it.
He was so deep inside her, the angles and friction felt so different in this position, almost as if he could feel her breathing through the joining of their bodies.
“Remin, Remin, ahhhh, ohhhh!” Her hips bucked forward and he felt her climax on him in spasms, driving her body down onto him so hard he had no choice but to follow.
The eruption was sudden, immense, almost volcanic.
A mingling of fluids, of heat, his already-sweaty body made more so as she fell forward, her wetness slicking him messily.
Ophele crumpled over on top of him and lay motionless .
He couldn’t feel his face.
“No, don’t move,” he managed fuzzily as she shifted, slitting his eyes open to look up at her. Her face was buried in his chest, their heated bodies sticking together with perspiration. “Too much. Just for a minute.”
“All right,” she whispered, and made him hiss through his teeth as she fluttered around him, as if to extract every drop of his seed from him.
“Don’t…do that,” he said, strangled.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to.” One golden eye opened. Her hair was a mess, half of her coiling curls collapsing and the knot at the back of her head tumbling down. Her skin glowed. She looked beautiful. “Was that…all right? What we did?”
“I dare anyone to say otherwise.” He was surprised by how much he liked it when Ophele took charge. He had never been entirely sure that she wanted him, much less with the desperate hunger he felt for her. All this time he had been trying to temper himself, so he wouldn’t hurt or frighten her.
“I bit you,” she said apologetically, touching a spot on his chest. Remin peered down at himself.
“So you did,” he agreed, closing his eyes. “If you want to use me that hard, wife, you have to be gentle with me afterward.”
One corner of his mouth tugged up and he lifted an arm when he felt her weight shift, catching her chastising hand.
“I’ll be sore for days,” he said mournfully, making her burst into giggles.
“Are you saying I’ve worn you out?” she asked, daring to tease him back, her eyes dancing with mischief.
“Never.” His lips teased hers, and he could feel himself hardening. “I am claiming my forfeit,” he told her, and pushed up into her. “Do that again.”
It was a different sort of hunger that drove him out of bed later, and Remin went to the washstand to wipe away the evidence of the day’s rigors, grumbling a little as various aches asserted themselves.
He was so dusty and sweaty that the thought of putting clothes on his sticky skin was unpleasant, but he was hungry enough to be cross about it.
“Oh, Remin, your back,” said Ophele behind him, sitting up in a tangle of blankets. “Someone hit you? ”
“Of course,” he said, glancing back at her mildly.
That was what happened in a fight. He could feel a few tight, heated spots on his back and there was a hell of a welt on his left shoulder, probably from someone’s sword.
Pouring water into the washstand, he dipped a cloth in it to wipe himself down, but Ophele appeared beside him.
“I’ll do it,” she offered, dressed only in her clouds of hair and holding out a hand for the cloth. “You said I should be gentle with you. After.”
“I did,” he agreed, bemused by this reversal of roles. Normally, it was him tending her. He let her nudge him over to her bath basin, which was ludicrously small for him, and sat down as Ophele hauled over some water. They always kept a few buckets handy.
“It’s purple,” she fretted, pouring water over his head in much the same way she did to Master Eugene. “On your back, doesn’t it hurt? You said you’d be fine…”
“I am fine,” he said, and lowered his head toward her as she lifted his arm to wash down his side. “Do you want me to prove it again?”
“No, that’s all right.” A smile tugged at her lips as she knelt on the rushes beside him. “But I could send for Genon…”
“I don’t want Genon,” he said flatly. “I want to be clean, and I want food.” His stomach growled audibly.
“But it’s right over the bone—”
“Food.”
She chewed her lip and dumped another bucket of water on him.
“All right,” she said, and pattered over to her trunk to pull on a fresh chemise and dress, then twisted her hair up into a somewhat respectable knot on the back of her head. She paused, visibly nerving herself, and snapped open the shutters of the window over her trunk.
“Sir Tounot,” she said, leaning over the sill. Her cheeks were pink. There was no way Tounot didn’t know what they had been doing just five minutes ago, and Remin scrubbed silently, watching as she lifted her chin. Her ears were red. “Would you mind sending someone to fetch food for His Grace?”
“Meat,” Remin ordered from his basin. He had fought fourteen men and then been ravished by his wife. He wanted real food.
“He says he wants meat. ”