Chapter 37 Kailia #4
“No,” she replied, her own voice as husky as his. She didn’t elaborate. She simply guided his hand back down. Over her stomach, her navel, lower and lower until she was grinding it against her needy cunt.
“Fuck me,” Cethin breathed, and he shifted again. If she cared to look over her shoulder at him, she’d find his head tipped back and eyes closed, working to keep his restraint.
But she didn’t care.
All she cared about was how his hand felt on her center. The coolness and friction the perfect mix. Frantically, she pulled at her nightdress, bunching the fabric at her waist, and then there was nothing between them. Only his rough hand against her soft flesh as she bucked against him.
Then she pulled her hand away.
He went still once more, each breath a panted burst of air from his chest until he finally said, “This isn’t what I intended tonight.”
“I don’t care,” she replied, rocking against his hand again.
“Kailia—”
“Cethin, please. I believe you. I trust you. Just— Please.”
He moved fast then, propping himself onto an elbow while rolling her onto her back. His gaze moved down her, from her neck to her still-covered breasts to the place his hand was cupping her bare cunt.
The first brush of his fingers against that bundle of nerves pulled a moan from her that should have been embarrassing.
Instead, she bucked into his hand more. Cethin took the hint, that brush of fingertips becoming a firm press as he massaged her clit.
His eyes darted from his hand to her face, watching her squirm beneath him.
“Look at you,” he crooned, the words full of dark lust. “Finally letting me touch you. Letting me prove to you— Gods, you look fucking divine beneath my hand, wife.”
The sound that came from her could only be described as a whimper, and his chuckle was dark. He inched his hand lower, hesitating as he dragged a finger along her folds.
“Yes,” she rasped, her hips bucking again.
But he tsked at her. “I’ve waited a long time for this, wife.”
The touches that followed were both excruciating and exhilarating.
A juxtaposition of feelings and sensations she’d never experienced before as he moved his fingers slowly against her.
Mapping out every place his fingers touched as if getting to know the feel of her until he finally dipped the tip of his finger inside her.
The noises that came from her weren’t intelligible as she tried to sink onto that digit even more.
Needing more. Wanting it with everything she was.
This was taking back something that had been stolen from her.
Decades and decades of fearing touch when it could have been pleasure and safety and tenderness all this time.
Cethin took his time, despite her hips and words begging for more.
“Shh. Let me show you. Let me make you feel good,” he soothed, moving that finger in and out, deep and slow.
With each pass, he pressed his palm to her bundle of nerves, making her writhe against the plush mattress.
She didn’t register the movement of his hips next to her, mindless movements of his own as he focused on his task.
That single finger drove her to a pleasurable madness, so different from the irrational terror that drove her to react on instinct.
Instead, her instincts were rocking her hips as she rode his finger.
Her hands fisting the fabric of her nightdress, the sheets, whatever she could grab.
It was unintelligible sounds and cries until he was expertly pressing his hand hard against her clit with his finger deep inside her.
The orgasm rolled through her, all of her limbs shaking as she fell apart. His hand kept moving, guiding her through it all. Her eyes fell closed in utter bliss, but she heard his words, low and rough.
“So godsdamn perfect, wife. You take it so well. Someday it’ll be more. I’ll do whatever you want, tiny fiend.”
She sighed as the last of her pleasure abated, acutely attuned to all the sensations around her. The silk against her skin. The plush bedding. The rough fingertip pulling from her and gliding along the crease of her thigh. The male body so near.
He let her take her time, not making a sound as she lay with her eyes closed. Slowly, she let it sink in that she could have this. Cethin would give this to her anytime she asked. It wasn’t just about the release. It was the trust and the safety. The patience and gentleness.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she found him still propped on an elbow, watching her. An almost smile played on his lips, and he moved to brush her hair off her brow, the movement measured and slow.
She shifted, feeling her nightdress slip back down her legs as she rolled onto her side to face him. “Can I touch you?” she whispered. “Not like that,” she clarified quickly.
“You can touch me however you like, wife,” he replied, rolling onto his back and bracing his hands behind his head.
It was her turn to prop up on an elbow before lifting a hand.
She traced the muscles on his abdomen, still a little mesmerized at the feel of bare flesh beneath her fingers.
For a long time, it was just this. Him letting her explore at her own pace in the quiet.
Muscles flexing beneath her touch and sharp inhales of restraint.
“Why did you make me queen?” she asked, breaking the comfortable silence as she mapped out the veins on his forearm.
There was no hesitation in his answer when he said, “Because you’re so much more than arrows.”
She nodded, no more words exchanged between them as she brushed her fingertips along his temple, his lips, down his chest, and through the fine hair below his navel. She couldn’t do more, not now, and he didn’t ask for it.
But when she gingerly lay down with her head on his chest and her palm on his stomach, the way his arm curled around her and held her there told her she’d given him more than enough tonight.