by Ruby Dixon
He glances down at me and his expression is full of understanding. “No matter how I felt about your father, it didn’t seem right to take his rooms. I figure when the baby arrives, we can establish them as a nursery.”
“Baby?” I echo.
“Not yet, but hopefully soon.” Mathior gives me a confident look.
Unease shivers through me. “I might be too old—”
“Nonsense. You are thirty-three, not eighty-three.” He notices people watching us and leans closer so our words can be private. “I am told my mother was one year older than you when my father met and married her.”
Oh.
He squeezes my hand. “And if there is no baby, well…it will be a good chamber for my horse.”
I stare up at him, aghast, and then realize he’s joking. A horrified laugh erupts from me, and then I’m snort-giggling as we enter our rooms. There are servants waiting here, and they bow and make their way out as we enter. Mathior is silent, but a smile curves his mouth. The servants grin as they hurry away, and I just feel…happy. Weirdly happy and content.
Mathior turns and watches as the last of the servants trail out of the room. He shuts the door behind them and then slides the bar across to ensure we will be alone. Once that is done, he turns to look at me. “My queen.”
He makes it sound like a secret whispered between lovers, and I tremble. “My king.”
“Yours alone.” He unclasps his fur cloak and tosses it aside, revealing a chest covered with bright red symbols. This time, the paint is dry and the markings unmarred. I can’t help but stare, because the painted lines and curves emphasize the warm color of his skin and the hard bulge of his muscles. I’m getting flustered and aroused just looking at him.
And I can’t stop staring.
My new husband stalks to my side, searching my face. He cups my chin. “Still all right, or do you need to rest?”
“I’m fine.” I truly am. Overwhelmed, yes, but ready for this. In a way, the last two shocking ceremonies have prepared me for this night. Instead of being nervous and afraid of what it will bring, I’m full of anticipation for my husband’s touch. I lean in against him and press my hand over the symbol of the axe across his broad chest. “This is for Aron of the Cleaver?” I guess, because we were married in the Hour of Storms, the time that is sacred to the god of battle.
“Aye. We cyclops pray to him more than any other.”
I gaze up at him and at the scar over his eye. “I see that.”
“Do you regret that you have married a man with only one eye?” He traces his finger down the scarred line on his face. “I know you remember me with two.”
“It was…startling to see, but I don’t regret it, no.” I follow the path his finger took and trace the scar myself. “You are proud of your people. I understand this. I wouldn’t ask you to change.”
“That is a good thing, as I can’t put my eye back,” he teases.
“You know what I mean,” I tell him, pinching his chin between my fingers and giving his head a little shake. “If you are proud of it, I am too. You look different, but everything about you is different now. It doesn’t make it unpleasant.”
“Shall I wear my eyepatch for you?”
“If you like.” He didn’t wear it during the wedding, and while I was shocked at first, I enjoy seeing his face without anything to hide it. “But I think you are handsome either way.”
He grins and snags my hand, then presses a kiss to my palm. “I should wash this paint off. Would you like to help?”
My pulse flutters at the thought. I can feel myself growing shy…but at the same time, I do want to touch him. “I think I would.”
Mathior slides a hand down my back and then cups my ass briefly before releasing me. “Then come and let us get started.”
I let him lead me over to the wash-basin and towels that have been left behind by the servants. Before I can ask if he wants me to undress him, Mathior shucks his boots and strips off his leggings. Utterly silent—and more than a little shocked—I watch as he gets completely naked within a matter of moments, and then I am staring at his bare backside. I’m not surprised to see that he’s less tanned in the places that do not see sunlight, but I am a little startled at how much I’m affected by the sight of his tight backside.
I saw this the other day, of course, when we were in the great hall. But we were not alone, then, and I did not have the leisure to touch. And I want to touch him very much. I move forward and slide a hand down his bare back.
He groans and stiffens as I caress him. I half-expect Mathior to tell me to stop or to push my hand away because I’m distracting him. Instead, he dunks the towel into the basin and then holds the dripping thing out to me.
Oh.
I take it and tentatively slide the towel over one brawny arm. Water droplets, now pink from the running paint, sluice down his skin and I’m fascinated at the sight of them. I let the towel trail over his bicep, slowly moving it up one shoulder and then across his back. His long hair is getting in the way, so I wrap it around my hand and lift it, then glide the towel further.
Mathior groans. “I’m not sure if this is a bath or a tease.”
“Can it be both?”
“Obviously.” He casts a grin over his shoulder at me and he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
I swipe the towel over his shoulders one more time and then release his hair, watching it spill down his damp skin with a dreamy sigh. Mathior turns and holds out his other arm, and I run the cloth over it, too. My cheeks pink when I realize he’s not looking at what I’m doing, but at me instead. I feel beautiful and sexy and truly seen. I move the towel over his muscles, fascinated by him. I’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times before—in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with a shirt on—but to be able to touch him like this changes everything.
He turns slightly and then he’s facing me, and as I slide the wet towel forward over his chest and on the axe symbol, I glance down. I was too shy to look at him in the great hall at the revealing ceremony, not with everyone calling out at us. But now I can look my fill.
His cock is…enormous. It’s hard and erect with need, a gleaming droplet poised on the tip. His skin is flushed a darker color here, and a faint, dark trail on his belly leads down to black curls that frame his erection and the sac underneath. A large vein traces down his length, and I itch to touch it and explore it with my mouth. Just the thought makes me feel flushed and breathless, and I glance up at my new husband to see if he feels the same.
“Touch me,” he demands, voice low and husky. A shiver of excitement moves through me and I don’t protest when he snags the towel out of my hand and tosses it aside. All I care about is touching him, learning his body.
I let my fingertips graze over the head of his cock, and I’m surprised at how scorchingly hot his skin is…and how soft. It feels like silk over iron as I drift my way down his length with small touches, caressing and exploring. Mathior holds himself very still as I caress his length. It’s like he doesn’t want to interrupt or distract me. I encircle his girth with my fingers and they don’t touch. I’m surprised at how thick he is. I knew he was long, but the cock I’m touching seems very different from the one I saw in the great hall two days ago at the revealing. “You’re much larger today.”
The breath huffs out of him in a laugh. “The entire world is not staring at my cock to judge it. I only need to impress you.” The backs of his fingers graze my cheek. “What do you think?”
“I like it,” I tell him softly. “But I am not entirely certain that the two of us will fit together. Are cyclops warriors built differently than Yshremi men?”
“They kept you far too sheltered at that temple,” Mathior says, amused. He steps forward, thrusting his length further into my grip, and then he grabs me by the ornate braid hanging down my back and tilts my head until I’m gazing up at him. “In a way, I’m glad. It means you’re completely mine.”
“Yours and only yours,�
� I whisper back, and he kisses me.
Our hungry mouths meet and his tongue teases mine, the kisses growing deeper and more frantic the longer we touch. I can’t help but stroke the thick length of him with my hand, and when he groans into my mouth, it makes me bolder and I want to do it again. I rub his cock once more, eager to pleasure him.
He pulls away from my lips at the same time he removes my hand, and I let out a whimper of protest. “I want you undressed,” Mathior tells me, and tugs at the laces of my gown. The dress I wore for my wedding was a mixture of my world and his. My gown was made of the same pale lavender that symbolizes Yshrem, with laces up each side to hug my figure. The long bell sleeves and skirt are trimmed with white fur that matches Mathior’s cloak, as does the wide fur collar that skims my shoulders and leaves them bare. It’s a beautiful gown, I note absently, and now we’ve ruined it with red paint splashes and water. I don’t care. I’m allowed to touch my husband—my king.
There will be other dresses.
He grips the laces and I hold my breath, waiting for him to rip them away. He doesn’t, though; he gently tugs them free of their knots and then lets the cord slide to the ground. One side, then the other, and then my dress hangs off of my body like a sack. He takes the material and pulls it over my head, and then I’m in nothing but a corset and pantaloons, just like I was in the great hall.
This is different, though, just like he said. Everything is different.
My new husband stares at my body so intently that I prickle all over. The red paint has left streaks down his chest and arms, but I don’t care. I’m trembling with the need for him to touch me and smear that paint all over my body, skin to skin. Slowly, he tugs at the bow binding the lacings of my corset together and pulls it free. The material falls open, gaping, and he works the ties down, tugging them free until the entire thing falls off of my body and pools at my feet. I’m holding my breath as he stares at me, and I want desperately for him to touch me. I need him, my pulse thrumming between my thighs like my heart is there. When he doesn’t move to touch me, I get impatient and slide my pantaloons down my legs with a shimmy until I’m naked before him, like he is to me.
“Beautiful,” he tells me. With one hand, he reaches out and runs his knuckles over the tip of one aching breast.
I gasp at that small touch, wanting so much more and yet shocked at how exposed it makes me feel.
He puts a hand to my waist and pulls me against him, and then his cock is pressing up against my belly like a branding iron, hot and insistent. He captures my mouth in another scorching kiss, and as he does, his hand moves to my breast. His thumb rubs over the nipple, back and forth, teasing it into an aching point as his tongue flicks against mine. Desire, hot and giddy, rushes through me and I cling to him.
“I’m taking you to the bed,” he murmurs between kisses, and I don’t argue. I want that. I want him in every possible way. So I loop my arms around his neck as he hauls me against him and carries me across the chamber. I feel the fur of his blankets against my backside a moment before he gently sets me down, and then I’m tumbling backward into the bed with his weight on top of me.
There’s no time to be nervous, not with his skin pressed against mine, chest to chest, our arms twined around each other. I love the feel of him against my body, and when he slides a thigh between mine, I eagerly lift one leg and twine it around his hip. He settles in against me, and I can feel his cock resting against my pussy. It feels like he was meant to be there, and I’m in love with how right it feels. How right he feels.
He nips at my mouth, taking soft, playful kisses as he gazes down at me. “My beautiful wife. My Halla. I’ve waited for this day forever.”
His loving words make me shy and I give him a smile, moving my hands over him. His hair is sliding over one shoulder onto my body and I want to cover myself in its silky feel. “I’m glad it’s finally here.” The last three days have seemed endless.
Mathior kisses me again, his hand going back to my breast and teasing my nipple. “Are you nervous?”
It’s hard to concentrate when he’s touching me like this. Nervous? Never. I trust him. I shake my head, utterly confident in my husband.
“This is my first time,” he confesses, fascinated by my breasts. He slides a bit lower, kissing down my neck and shoulder, and then making his way down to my breasts. His hand goes to my belly and he nips at the slope of one rounded globe.
My eyes widen in surprise at his words. I’m distracted by his teasing mouth, so perhaps I haven’t heard correctly. “You’ve never…?”
He shakes his head. “Of course not. I waited for you.”
I am speechless. Overwhelmed by his sweet confession, I pull him back up to me and kiss him. “I love you,” I tell him for what feels like the hundredth time today. How could I not trust this man? I feel like such a fool. A giddy, lucky fool, but a fool nevertheless.
Mathior chuckles against my mouth and kisses me back. “I told you it has always been you, lovely Halla, and I meant it.” He bites my lower lip gently, and I moan against him. “Always you.”
“Love you,” I whisper again. Was ever any princess as lucky as me?
His hips fit against mine once more, and when he guides my legs around his waist, I eagerly encircle him, ready for what comes next. Mathior kisses me again, and as he does, I feel him slide a hand between our bodies. In the next moment, something hard presses against my core—his cock. Before I have time to be nervous, his hips surge forward and then he’s pushing into me.
The breath chokes out of me in a gasp. I thought I was ready, but this feels tight and uncomfortable, like I’d always been told sex would be. I thought it would be different with Mathior, and I let out a little whimper of distress at this realization.
“It’ll only hurt the first time,” he says, soothing me with kisses. “I’m sorry, love.”
I hold on to him as he remains completely still over me, nuzzling my face and kissing my unhappiness away. One moment bleeds into the next, and when he shifts his weight, his hips rocking against mine, I’m surprised to feel that it’s not as uncomfortable as it was just a moment ago, and that I love the feel of him pinning me down. I brush my lips against his and when he flexes again, this time I flex with him.
Mathior groans, and his kisses become more urgent. He rocks into me again, and there’s a sharp bite of discomfort that’s quickly gone, and then there’s nothing but the intense feeling of him deep inside me, filling me completely. I’ve never felt anything quite like it and I can’t catch my breath. It’s like he’s piercing me all the way to my heart.
And then he moves, and everything changes again. With one slow stroke, pleasure ripples up, and I moan, closing my eyes.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand stroking down the side of my neck, my shoulder, even as he covers my face with urgent kisses. He pushes deep into me again, and then begins a slow, delicious rhythm that teases every doubt out of my mind. “Hold on to me, love.”
I twine my arms around his neck, clinging to him even as he pumps into my body. Yesterday’s “tasting” was nothing but wonderful sensations, and a coil of need that built slowly in my belly until I went over the edge. I feel that same coil starting again, and a moan escapes me. My husband whispers my name and begins to move faster, and as he does, the pleasure grows.
I raise my hips to meet his, and it only adds to the friction between us. Each stroke becomes more forceful, deeper, stronger, and far more pleasurable. The blankets are bunching up underneath my back with the force of his thrusts, but I don’t want to stop. I want him to keep going and going. The spiral low in my belly grows, but then he stops, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Oh, no,” I whimper frantically, my hands plucking at him. “Keep going. I’m so close.”
“You are?” He lifts his head and then groans at the expression on my face, taking my mouth in a fierce kiss. His hand cups my breast, kneading it even as he thrusts, and I moan again. It’s good, but I’m not there yet.
“Faster,” I urge him. “More.”
With a low, feral growl, he does just that. He’s thrusting so hard into me that our bodies have skimmed over the surface of the bed and my shoulder is anchored next to the wooden headboard. I press against it, trying to brace myself even as I surge my hips up against his. I need more. More. More. It’s so good, but I’m still not quite there.
“Please,” I whisper, the urgent feeling washing over me. I bite down on my lip and arch up against him. “Mathior!”
He rocks into me hard, and when I make a noise of frustration, his hand slips between us. “Come for me,” he demands, and a second later, I feel his thumb slide over my clit. “Need you to come first, Halla.”
The next time he thrusts, it moves his thumb against my clit, rubbing, and that’s all I need. With a wild cry, I lock one arm around his neck and bury my face against it, biting and kissing and licking as I quake in a fierce climax. He pumps into me again, and I’m barely aware of the breath hissing from his throat as his body stiffens over mine. He keeps rubbing my clit, though, his hand jerking and twitching against my sensitive spots as he shudders over me.
Eventually, the climax slides away and I moan when he rubs his thumb against my clit again. I realize absently that he’s collapsed on top of me, his weight pressing me down into the bed. I like the feel of it, of his sweaty skin against mine, our bodies joined. I do feel slippery, though, especially between my thighs where our juices have mingled.
Mathior lifts his head, his long hair spilling over both of us. He gives me a dazed kiss. “Halla. That was…better than I anticipated. And I have anticipated a lot in the last sixteen years.”
I chuckle, because I know how he feels. I am without words…just happy. Blissfully, wonderfully happy.
And when he leans in to kiss me again, I wonder how long it’ll be before we can do that again.
