Castle of the Wolf

by Sandra Schwab

  “Your hair is black and shiny like raven wings.” She pressed her lips to his temple before she kissed the crown of his head. “Softer than silk,” she murmured throatily and let her mouth slide to his ear. “Mmm.” Gently, she closed her teeth over his earlobe. “Your skin is like velvet here. Like the skin of a peach.”

  She kissed her way down the strong column of his throat, deeply inhaling the scent of him: sandalwood and woodsmoke, overlaid by a hint of muskiness. She licked the little hollow at the base of his throat, smiling against his skin when she heard his sharp intake of breath. “You taste like the sea, wild and salty.”

  “Celia…”

  “Cissy,” she murmured, and pressed a kiss to his throat. “Look at you. Your shoulders are so wide.” She eased her hand under his shirt and over his shoulder, digging her fingers into the beautifully rounded muscle. “As wide as the wings of an eagle.” She pushed the shirt down his arm and admired the elegant shape of this part of his body. His upper arm was hairless, leaving the lovely bulge of muscle fully revealed to her view. “I like this,” she told him, and rubbed her fingertips in little circles over his biceps. “A sign of your strength and power.” His arm flexed, and she threw him a mischievous smile. “Of course, I also like your chest.” She splayed her hand over one of his pectorals. “It’s so wide and broad. Like a horse’s.”

  “A horse’s?” His voice sounded rusty, as if he hadn’t used it in years.

  “All right.” With a little laugh, she pressed a quick kiss on his chin. “Like a bear’s. It’s hairy like a bear’s, too. Silky soft hair.” She ruffled the black curls. “And these.” With her forefinger she nudged one of his nipples. “They remind me of small copper coins.” She watched his nipple pebble under her touch.

  He groaned, as if she were wrenching his heart out. “What exactly are you doing?” he asked in a strangled voice. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. His eyes flashed. Yes, this was the ferocious wolf Fenris, whom only dwarves’ chains could bind. But Cissy would make sure that this wolf’s fetters would be unlocked.

  She rained playful, tiny kisses on the hard line of his jaw. “Why, I’m only keeping my promise.”

  “Promise?” His grip around her wrist tightened.

  “Yes, my promise.” She chuckled at his question. “I promised to seduce you, don’t you remember?”

  She managed not to wince as his fingers spasmed around her wrist. Instead, she placed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Could you let go of my wrist? You’re hurting me.”

  Immediately contrite, he hastily released her. “I…I apologize.” His eyes flickered, as if with panic. “This is madness. I…I shouldn’t have come. I’m not… You’re not…”

  “Shhh.” She put her finger over his lips. He looked up at her, and again he wore that lost expression, which once more brought tears to her eyes. “Shhh, sweeting, shhh.” She replaced her finger with her mouth, opening his lips with hers because she knew how everything else became unimportant when they kissed. How the world fell away and left them in a small cocoon of desire.

  Her hands moved up to cup his face, and she felt his arms come around her, drawing her against him. “Don’t think, Fenris,” she whispered against his lips. “Don’t think. Just feel.” She smoothed her hands over his shoulders. “Feel.”

  And again, desire exploded between them. She cherished him with hands and lips, placed kisses on his shoulders and his chest, while his hands roamed over her back and kneaded her bottom. He groaned against her neck when he pressed her tighter against his body, so that the bulge of his erection came to rest between her legs. This time, when her hand wandered down his belly, he did not stop her. Teasingly, she slipped a finger under the waistband of his trousers and ran it over his hips. His gasp and the quivering of his muscles made her chuckle in delight.

  “Vixen!” he rasped, and captured her mouth with his, chewing on her lower lip until she felt giddy with wanting him.

  Quickly and boldly, she opened the fastening of his trousers. She looked down and, somewhere between shock and awe, saw his penis spring free. “You’re not wearing any drawers!”

  Fenris licked the side of her neck, causing her to shiver with pleasure. They had switched positions again: now he was the bold one. “Of course not. They have the habit of getting in the way of seduction.” He sucked her soft skin between his teeth, and with a small moan she leaned against him.

  She cupped him tentatively. “Oooh, your skin is even softer here,” she murmured with appreciation. “But it’s also hard. Hard and soft, like a shaft of velvet over a rod of steel.” And against her palm he became even harder.

  With a groan, he closed his fingers over hers, showing her how to grip and stroke him. “Do you want me to lose my mind?” he asked.

  “Yes, exactly.” She smiled and caressed him, loving the feel of him in her hand, how he grew longer, how the blood pulsed against her palm. “Am I succeeding?”

  “God, yes. Yes!” he panted. His eyes closed. His head fell back.

  With wonder and tenderness Cissy watched him, saw his gleaming chest heave with each breath and the expression of blissful rapture that appeared on his face. She loved the heavy, lusty smell of him, and the little sounds he made at the back of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed so endearingly when he swallowed that she couldn’t resist leaning forward and running the tip of her tongue over it.

  It was then that Fenris snapped.

  ~*~

  The feel of her small, soft hands on him—fondling him, playing with him—was torture and heaven at once. Each caress tugged at his heart and soul until Fenris thought he would go mad with wanting her, needing her.

  The last woman who had touched him like this had been a common whore—one who had lusted after his money and not his body. She hadn’t been able to hide her grimace of distaste when he had shed his trousers. He had already been too far gone by then, lost in a haze of need and lust, but he had shagged her hard in retribution. Left marks on her body. Rode her like a wild stallion, brutally bucking into her. He had departed feeling sullied.

  He had been sick in the bushes on his way home, later had scrubbed his skin raw to wash the smell and touch of the woman off his body, to expurgate his own violent lust. After the episode he had never given in to his lust again. He hadn’t touched a woman in years, hadn’t even touched himself, had felt only disgust—the same disgust he knew women must feel at the sight of him.

  Except for his wife, it seemed.

  Still, a voice whispered in his head, what right does the King of Dwarves have to—

  But the thought was lost as he gasped under another particularly crafty caress. His wife’s answering chuckle seemed sweeter than any music. Her flowery perfume wafted around him, mingled with the scent of arousal, his and hers. He remembered the feeling of her treasure trove in his hand this afternoon, how hot and wet she had been for him. God, so wet! A shudder of delight ran through his body, and the memory combined with the reality of her hands on his body dried out his mouth. He swallowed convulsively, and then—

  Dear God!

  He felt her warm damp breath against his throat, followed by her tongue licking over his Adam’s apple.

  Fenris groaned. His body jerked. The shaft of lust running through him was so intense he thought his heart would pop right out of his chest. Like a dark wave, passion and desire engulfed him and drew him under, erased all rational thought but one: to possess this woman in every way possible for man.

  His eyes snapped open. He grabbed her arms, stopped her caresses. His mouth devoured hers. As she met him boldly, he felt his lust surge up even more. Their tongues intertwined while he ran his hands over her body.

  He dimly registered the sound of ripping material, but foremost in his mind was the feeling of her naked flesh against him, dewy with wanting him, desiring him. He groaned into her mouth, swallowed in turn her little pants and moans.

  It was no effort at all to hoist her up and lay her on the be
d. The sight of her pale flesh against the white linen was enough to bring his blood to the point of boiling. And her eyes—dear heaven! Her eyes when she watched him get rid of his clothes: hot and hungry eyes, they devoured him whole. Even when he snapped the straps around his stump loose. Even then. Dear God, even then.

  But what right does the King of Dwarves have to—

  He fell into the bed beside her, into the arms she yearningly held out. Her hands ran over his body, her fingers dancing over its hard ridges while he lost himself in her softness. “I need you,” he growled, his voice barely recognizable even to himself. “So much. You don’t know how much. I can’t wait, I—”

  Her teeth nipping at his earlobe made him shudder. “Then come to me,” she whispered throatily. “Come to me, my wolf.”

  “I…” His trembling fingers found the secret haven between her legs, overflowing for him, welcoming him, sucking his finger into that searingly hot sheath. Panting, she bucked against his hand.

  “Come to me, Fenris, come to me now,” she begged him. “Come, my wolf. Come.” Her hips moved sinuously against him, urging him on, and with something akin to a sob, he complied.

  He rolled her onto her back and came up between her legs, spread wide for him, leaving her open and vulnerable. Her trust and acceptance humbled him and made his eyes prick. God, he had no right, no right whatsoever.

  Yet the next moment her fingers dug into his buttocks. “Now, Fenris, now!” she commanded, her voice rough with urgency.

  Need ran like a firestorm through his body. Her obvious desire for him erased all thought and reason. He gripped her hips, tilted them up and, with one sure, long stroke slid home.

  Underneath him, she winced and held her breath.

  “Sweetheart?” His arms trembled as he held himself above her, trying to be still, trying not to hurt her. “Cissy?”

  But then she smiled a little and reached up to draw him down, down, into her, her hands moving over his back while he moved inside her. Her legs locked around his waist, drawing him in, making them one, their bodies blurred. She moved with him, around him, once, twice, he rocked against the cradle of her hips. Once, twice; her nails scraped over his buttocks, her whispered endearments tickled in his ear, and deep inside her, his world fractured. He exploded.

  He gasped and shuddered, safely cradled in her arms. Her hands stroked his shoulder, his hair, while she pressed her lips to his temple, his cheek, his throat, crooning to him, praising him.

  Fenris felt as if he had been catapulted out of his body right into Heaven.

  But when slowly—so slowly—he came back to himself, he was still in her arms, hot and sweaty, his heart a large drum in his ears. He dimly registered that he was crushing his wife into the mattress and tried to roll off her. But his body was slow to obey. His limbs moved only sluggishly, as if he were drugged. His mind was befuddled, yet somehow he seemed to remember that his wife, his sweet, brave wife, had not cried out in pleasure as she had done this afternoon. She had not finished.

  He tried to open his eyes and focus on her. “I…” He licked his lips, wanted to apologize, yet it was all a daze. His mind did not seem to function well, for all thoughts slipped through his fingers like nimble little fish, much too fast for him. “I…”

  “Shh, my wolf.” Her sweet voice. She petted his hair. “Shhh. Come here.” She helped him to roll over and tugged the bedcovers up over them both. Blissful warmth enveloped him and his mind slipped away a little bit further. His wife’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, hovering in the air. “Come here, my wolf. Come.” She drew his head down to her soft breasts, and with the sound of her voice in his ears and the sweet scent of her in his nose, he fell asleep in her arms.

  Chapter 18

  Cissy woke in the gray hours of the morning, the time between night and day when the world was bleached of all color. Her husband’s eyes were just two dark shadows, yet his teeth flashed white in a smile. Leaning on one elbow, he lounged beside her, sleek and gray in the waning night.

  When she languidly stretched the sleep from her limbs, her thigh brushed against his. The feeling of his hairy male skin rasping against her made her shudder delicately.

  “Have you been awake for long?” she whispered.

  “Not long.” Another smile quirked his lips. He reached out and trailed his forefinger over her naked shoulder. “I enjoy watching you when you sleep.” His finger traced the upper slopes of her breasts and lazily slipped into the valley between.

  Cissy swallowed. “Do you?”

  He laughed. “I even more enjoy watching you when you are awake.” He nudged the bedcover with his wrist so that it fell back to reveal her breasts. Her nipples were already puckered and tingling and awaiting his touch. He readily complied, leaning closer and bestowing a gentle kiss on one upthrust peak.

  Cissy gasped.

  As easy as that, she felt tingles spread through her whole body. It was the most curious thing, really, the way her husband made her feel.

  “I meant to apologize for last night,” he murmured against her skin, kissing his way from one breast to the other.

  “Apologize?” Abruptly, the pleasant sensations vanished and were replaced by apprehension. All at once he seemed vulnerable, and as if to physically shield him, Cissy put her hand on his neck, burying her fingers in his wavy black hair. “Whyever would you want to apologize?”

  A rueful smile twisted his lips as he looked at her. “Because I behaved like an oaf, selfishly taking my own pleasure.” He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “And not giving you anything back. I would have had your first time be different.”

  “Oh.” Relief flooded her—and a warm rush of tenderness. Her hand stroked down to cup his cheek. “But there was plenty of pleasure for me.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “You are very generous. And yet you did not…finish. I should have been more patient.” A hint of bitterness crept into his voice. “Instead, I… You deserved more, so much more.”

  Cissy searched his face, watched how his features briefly contorted as if he were in pain. And perhaps he was—not due to some external wound, but to inner torment. Last night she had hoped it banished forever. However, this was not a fairy tale; this beast would not be released from its evil spell simply by a kiss. He still needed loving, so much more loving…

  Loving?

  Her heart gave a peculiar lurch.

  In her heart she had known it for some time. Yet it had happened so gradually, she had almost not noticed. It had begun at the first sight of him, when he had stood in the hall downstairs, his hair tousled, his face darker than thunder. Such a disgruntled beast he had been, so angry his isolation had been breached by a stranger.

  Over the weeks and months it had grown, this feeling inside her, while she had caught glimpses of the man beneath the beast: when he had made his body a shield for her against the violence of his brother, when he had gamely stamped through the snow in search of the Christmas tree. He had made her heart melt when he had fumbled to tie silk ribbons into lopsided bows, and he had made her chuckle when he had given her that gothic novel—Castle of Wolfenbach—as a Christmas present.

  Yet only glimpses, these.

  His soul was still not healed, the beast not yet redeemed.

  Her palm rubbed over his cheek, making his lashes flutter open. Surprise flickered upon his face. Cissy smiled. Surely there was enough loving in her heart.

  “There was plenty of pleasure for me,” she insisted, her tone gentle. “So much joy when I touched you—and when you touched me.” She watched his eyes widen at her frankness, and her smile deepened. All lingering shyness was swept away by the assurance that this was right for her, that this was the place where she belonged. “So much joy, Fenris. And I did finish yesterday afternoon, if you remember.”

  “I remember,” he mumbled.

  “See? So it was only fair—one finish for me and one for you.”

  He blinked several times, t
hen his expression changed. “Ahh.” With a smothered laugh he turned his face into her palm and nibbled on her tender flesh, grinning when she squirmed in surprise. “Perhaps we should have another go, then, and see if we can manage to finish together.” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Perhaps.” She aimed at nonchalance, even though the thought of ‘more’ made her heart accelerate.

  “Good, then.” And he proceeded to place hot, openmouthed kisses on her collarbone. Already she felt herself melting against him. But almost immediately he raised his head. When suddenly cold air whispered over her damp skin, she shivered and murmured in protest.

  Soothingly, he tugged the bedcover a bit higher, kept one hand cupped around her breast. “I seem to remember that you mentioned a deck of cards this afternoon.”

  “Cards?” she echoed, utterly distracted by his kneading fingers and the thumb brushing over her nipple. “Hmmmm?” Sighing, she closed her eyes and arched against his hand. But to gain her attention, Fenris pinched her nipple, hard. She sucked in a breath. Her eyes flew open—and she found him grinning down on her. At that moment, he looked impossibly young, and her heart flipped over.

  He waggled his brows. “Erotic cards.”

  She blinked. “Oh.” She blinked again. “Oh, that.”

  “Would you show them to me?”

  “Show them…”

  “Mmhm.” He bent his head to nibble on her earlobe while he continued to run his thumb teasingly over her aroused breast. “Please?” he breathed against her neck, his hot, damp breath nearly making her moan.

  How could she deny him? Vividly, she remembered his jealousy and anger when he had thought she had slept with some other man. Did he feel threatened by this, too? Seeking to reassure him, she slung her arms around his smooth, broad shoulders and hugged him close.