His expression softened, and he shook his head. “Not always,” he assured her, his hand coming so his fingers could skim over her cheek. “And not at all, if that is not something you desire.”
She felt foolish for needing such reassurances but welcomed them all the same. This was what made it different. Olivar, in all his consideration, all his thoughtfulness. And when he settled them so they were on their sides, not looming, not caging, but instead a comforting presence beside her, she found herself relaxing.
And that it made it all the nicer when he was kissing her again. When her hands could tangle in his hair even as his hands skimmed down her sides, tickling in the strangest way as his fingertips brushed over naked flesh.
Despite her confidence in him, she still found herself waiting for him to push her onto her back, for him to take out that hardened part of him and push it inside, tired of the kissing, the touches, the timid exploration.
But he didn’t.
And the more he kissed, the more he smoothed his hands against her body, the looser her taut muscles became, and the more she could simply enjoy the kisses for their own sake.
How his skin felt against hers.
How her softness could yield to his much harder structure.
She hadn't imagined it could feel like this. That her heart could beat with anything but fear, that she could feel a pulse within her, deep and thrumming. She didn't know what it was, not exactly, but it made her nestle closer to him, his arm reaching about her as he went to his back, hitching her a little higher on his chest as he smiled up at her.
There was a softness in his eyes that gave her pause, that cooled some of her ardour as she regarded him, and she tilted her head to the side as she studied him. "What are you thinking?" she asked, not nervous for the answer, but curious all the same.
His hand drifted down, his thumb brushing against her collar bones. "That I am going to be with my wife," he answered, his fingers going further still until one cupped her breast. She bit her lip, the sensation a strange one. He seemed to be testing the weight of it, squeezing ever so gently, his eyes flitting to meet hers as if to judge her reaction.
She could not say if she liked it at first. It felt odd, to be touched so, but she found his fascination to be pleasing on its own. And the more he touched, the more he explored, the thrum grew more incessant.
"Olivar," she whispered, leaning down so she could ask without having to look at him. "What... what is that I feel?"
His hand cradled her head and she felt his brief tension, doubtless concerned enquires already on his tongue. But he paused, rubbing softly at her scalp, and that alone was enough to make her shiver.
His other came and drifted lower still, brushing against where her inners would have covered had she not shed those along with her tunic. He was still wearing his, though it did nothing to hide that his anatomy had grown to fit within hers.
"Is it here?" he asked, his voice a low rasp.
She nodded feebly, not able to bring herself to respond properly.
And then she felt his lips at her neck, her collar, her breasts. "That is want, Ness. You... you want me. Just as I desire you."
She had told him she'd felt that before, but it was a dull, quiet thing compared to what his touches were inciting. There was fear, the unknown troubling her, but Olivar seemed pleased that she should feel thusly, and if she pushed that aside, focused simply on the feeling...
It was pleasant, in its way. If perhaps also a bit maddening. The tug, the pulse, the desire for something she could not quite name.
His hands were at her waist, coaxing her to lay more fully on top the long line of his body. She scrambled a bit, distracted by his mouth even as she tried to maintain even a small shred of dignity while likely needlessly worrying that she might hurt him if she allowed her full weight to settle on him.
He glanced up at her, humour clearly in his eyes, and he tugged her a little more firmly. She sat up, somewhat indignant, but the change in position gave her pause, and she had to bite her lip briefly as she tried to compose herself.
She didn’t know what was expected of her in matters such as these—doubted Olivar held any expectations at all—but it felt wrong to simply indulge a momentary pleasure.
But Olivar was far too observant, and she caught the burn in his eyes as he looked, his fingers gripping her hips. She was afraid to move, afraid almost of breathing, suddenly uncertain of what she was doing.
She felt exposed, sitting here like this, him watching her so closely for any sign of... of anything.
“I...” she began, having to swallow and force some measure of moisture back into her mouth. “I think I changed my mind.”
He looked up at her quickly, worry overtaking his expression. “Did I...”
She shook her head, realising she had chosen her words poorly.
“I do not know what to do,” she admitted. “Like this,” she clarified when he was still looking at her with such concern. “I think I would like to be the one to...” she looked at the bed, beseeching him to understand.
He smiled softly, relief evident in his eyes though he tried admirably to keep it hidden. “Whatever pleases you,” he assured her.
Olivar helped her move off of him, pulling back the blankets and tucking her beneath them.
He hesitated, and she hated the uncertainty in him. Her fears eased with his care and attention, and though perhaps it was ridiculous given the dissimilarities, she found the position comforting.
And it made it easy to open her arms to him, welcoming him toward her.
And he settled over her with a smile that she found equally easy to answer with one of her own.
20. Love
“Olivar,” she began, her cheeks pinking thoroughly. “How are we supposed to... when you...”
She reached down, tugging slightly at the remainder of his clothing. She was certain he could undo the laces, pulling free the... the necessary part, but she didn’t want just that. Didn’t want fabric chafing at her, didn’t want to feel like he was halfway dressed and prepared to leave.
She wanted him wholly naked, as shocking as that desire was to her.
She hadn’t meant to embarrass him but the green in his ears suggested she’d managed to do so quite well. But before she could rescind her question, he was pulling back from her. She almost sat up, anxious that he was retreating because of her, but he leaned forward and kissed her again. “A moment,” he told her, his fingers already undoing the laces.
She shouldn’t watch. She should give him that privacy at least, as she knew well what it was to be stared at as hidden parts were suddenly revealed.
But it was harder to look away than she’d expected, her eyes flitting toward him every few heartbeats, her lip tucked firmly between her teeth.
She swallowed when his outers dropped to the floor, his underclothes quickly following suit.
She forced her eyes away then, forced herself to focus on the blankets about her, giving him a timid, apologetic smile when he rejoined her. “I do not mind you looking, Ness,” he assured her.
She was grateful he wasn’t upset with her, but she was glad she hadn’t looked overmuch. The last thing she wanted was to become too nervous, to see if... if that part of him was proportionate to the rest of him and suddenly grow anxious if all of this would be as painful as she’d once dreaded simply from a lack of compatibility.
She felt a finger on her cheek, and she glanced back up at him, seeing his own nervousness. “Have you changed your mind again?” he asked, not in the frustrated tone she once would have feared from him, but with the same care he always used with her.
“No,” she insisted, relaxing her muscles. The heated thrum had dulled somewhat when overtaken by her worries, but as Olivar shifted, settling and brushing against more sensitive places, it flared anew. She took a shuddering breath, trying not to simply focus on that but to offer him the comfort he doubtlessly needed. “I do not want it to hurt,” she reminded him, speaking t
ruthfully.
His eyes grew sad and his fingers drifted through the hair at her temples. “If it does, we shall stop, remember? There is nothing to endure here, sweet Ness.”
She gave him a watery smile, blinking back unnecessary tears. She didn’t want those. Not here. Not when he was all that was sweet and they would only spoil things.
“I do not deserve you,” she said instead, meaning it most assuredly.
Olivar scoffed, leaning down and kissing her cheek, her nose, her lips. “Not so,” he murmured, shifting so he could tease the skin at her neck, the delicate flesh behind her ear. She shivered, not knowing that place could feel so very much.
He wasn’t crushing her, his free arm keeping a great deal of his weight from her. But he did allow enough so she could feel him, the brushing of skin against skin, of a hint of his own want whenever he moved just so.
She waited for mortification to come. For the lovely feel of him to turn into entrapment, but it didn’t. It made her squirm as he teased her, as his hand drifted lower still, skimming over her side, her breast, the dip of the small belly button in her middle.
She grew curious, not having noticed such things before, and she timidly raised her own fingers and pressed them against the solid lines of his chest, trying to see if he had a similar mark.
There was a sharp intake of breath when her hand first touched his skin, and she looked up worriedly even as he quickly withdrew.
Was she not supposed to touch as well?
But there was no anger in his eyes, only a sheepish smile. “That...” he struggled for the word, so instead he mimicked the action, the faintest touch that sent a tickled squirm through her.
She smiled involuntarily, nodding her head to indicate she understood. A firmer pressure, then, she decided. Unless she wanted to make him squirm so.
She tried again, and this time she felt him smile against the attentions he was paying to her breasts with his mouth, and she supposed that meant her own explorations were welcome.
It soothed her more than she imagined it would, that she was allowed to touch as she pleased, to appease her own curiosities about a body so unlike her own.
She found it, the subtle depression that indicated that a cord had once tied him to his mother. She had never thought of it quite like that before—as a permanent reminder that she had grown inside a single womb, perhaps, even for the smallest amount of time, been cared for by a mother that was hers...
She had to bite her lip hard when Olivar’s attentions drifted to her nethers, his hand halting once it reached there, perhaps to give her time to adjust to being touched. She was glad, though his proximity to the source of the thrumming made her want to fidget, to urge him to... to do something. She wasn’t entirely sure what, as she was still suspicious that some sort of pain would come through the encounter, but this... this was pleasant, even in an urgent sort of way.
He nuzzled at her neck, his lips finding hers, and he brushed against them briefly. “There is no need to be so tense, Ness,” he reminded her. “You are safe here.”
She swallowed, trying to find words that seemed terribly far away. “I know,” she assured him. She tried to relax, to ease her legs open further so he might finish his explorations, but her nervousness made the action a bit jerky.
She felt his fingers at her chin, coaxing her to look at him. “Talk with me,” he urged. “What has you frightened?”
Her cheeks burned and she wondered if she could actually say what she was thinking. But he asked, and she found that she needed to, and that made it possible. “You are going to be too big,” she blurted out. “How... how is that not going to hurt?”
He smiled, not a mocking thing that she’d feared, not an angry twist of his mouth that she doubted him. Only a tender look that showed so much of his love for her. “You truly did not look,” he murmured in some amazement. “I cannot imagine having such self-control. Not when all your beauty is displayed.” His ears greened, and he ducked his head slightly, but a smile played at his lips. “And not when I am so curious about your cachra.”
Ness’s own cheeks pinked in answer. She did not know what to say to that. She did not mind his curiosity, nor his desire to touch her, explore her and all her secret places. And she liked that he was able to tell her that, and admired his honesty.
She did not expect him to take her hand and bring it to his nethers, to touch and feel. She frowned, the shape not at all what she expected, and she fought the urge to shift so she could glance lower. It was the proper length and was clearly... able, but it was... narrow. Not nearly as intimidating as she’d thought. He brought his lips to her ear, his voice low. “It grows inside,” he explained. “Is it not that way with your people?”
She shook her head, still shocked she was touching him, still shocked that she wanted to do it more—to explore this hidden part of him until she understood all of his workings.
She glanced at him, and she tried to smother her own sheepish smile. “No... If they are... are ready then... that is the size they are.”
At least, that is what she had gleaned from her experiences with her assignments.
Olivar frowned at that. “Then it is little wonder it hurt,” he pronounced, taking her hand again and holding it within his own. She liked the feel of that, always had, even if she was just a little sorry she didn’t fully understand all of his nethers yet. “Does that help?”
She nodded, finding that a great deal more than his explanation was helpful. Holding her hand, noticing when she was nervous...
Those things were a far greater comfort.
He did not lose himself at the prospect of implanting. Perhaps that was not the proper word for what they intended to do, as they had not even spoken of the prospect of children. Not really. She still was not wholly convinced that she was able, not given her failings in the past, but here, with him...
She was sorry for that.
“I love you, so very much,” she told him, not certain why it felt important to say, but the words coming freely. “And I trust you, and I...” she swallowed again, emotions bubbling up that she did not wish to deal with, not when they were trying to be wedded properly. “I do not know if I am able, but... if it possible... I should like a child that is yours.”
Olivar leaned back, abandoning the errant kisses he was placing on her neck and breasts, his eyes thoughtful. “They would be yours too,” he reminded her, his words carefully chosen. He nudged her gently with the tip of his finger. “You remember that, yes?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “Even if that still seems so very strange. To... want you and to want... that.”
“Strange,” Olivar mused, his free hand coming to push away the hair that had fallen from its braid. “Or just as it always should have been.”
She looked at him softly. “Yes,” she said again, a lump settling in her throat. For all the wrongs that had been done to her, that she had survived...
This would never be one of them.
This mouth found hers even as his free hand travelled to her nethers. The first timid touch made her gasp, smothered though it was by his kisses, and Olivar pulled back slightly to judge her expression. He was still, allowing her time to adjust to just a simple touch, and she smiled at him encouragingly.
It was... most pleasant.
The sensations made her a little nervous with how unfamiliar they were, but they were a comfort also. Nothing felt as it once did, so she feared it less—especially since Olivar was so very attentive.
His fingers moved gently, and she bit her lip, uncertain of what was happening to her. She wanted to move, wanted to fidget, wanted to urge him even closer to her—to be in her.
She never thought such a thing might be possible, had scoffed at the Narada’s insistence that these kinds of bonds could form from a coupling, but now she understood.
She knew he wanted to take his time, wanted to learn all of her, and she wanted to do so as well. But there was an urgency there, to join, to feel him move ev
en as she...
She didn’t know exactly what would happen to her.
But she wanted the closeness, to feel him covering her as she was tucked away beneath him, safe and hidden from the world and its dangers.
Because there was nothing to fear here.
“Please,” she murmured softly, using her heels to pull him toward her, if just a little.
Olivar stared at her a moment longer, likely trying to ascertain the source of her plea, and she felt a bit sorry she had not managed more. But the pulse had grown at his touches, and she wanted him.
And he must have seen that she was not asking him to slow, not asking him to withdraw, for a look of satisfaction came into his eyes. “My wife,” he whispered, burying his head in her neck and kissing whatever skin he could find.
His hand was still clutched around her good one, but she had to touch him, her bandaged one coming to rest against the back of his head, her fingers doing their best to smooth through his hair, clumsy though it might have been. The movement was sluggish, and she was reminded she’d been bitten only that day. The whole event seemed strangely far away and, most especially, entirely inconsequential.
This. This mattered.
Not her foolishness.
She felt him at her—what was the word?—cachra, a pressure, but no pain to accompany it. It was as if some sort of slick had come to prepare her, to ease the way, and she held him to her as best she could, overwhelmed.
He did not move for a time, his entire body tense. She wished she could see his face, the arch in his back looking almost painful as he tried to maintain as much contact with her as possible, his larger frame making it difficult in this position.
Belatedly, she realised he was waiting for her, waiting for a reaction, for a sign that she was well, and she kissed his chest, revelling in the warmth, both internal and external, that meant that he was near. “It doesn’t hurt,” she promised him, still a little amazed at that.
Thrall (Deridia Book 3) Page 34
