No Man Can Tame

by Miranda Honfleur

  She soaped up his hands, too, careful of his claws, as he smiled.

  “It smells like you,” he said, raising a palm to his nose. “What is it? This flower?”

  “It’s an herb. Rosemary.”

  Closing his eyes, he made a low, rolling sound in his throat, and warmth rippled into her, made her tingle all over. It was a sound she’d never tire of hearing, that would grace the best of her dreams—the ones she hoped not to wake from.

  He set down the soap, rinsed his hands, then set about unstrapping his leather armor. She reached for the straps, too, stroked her palms over smooth leather, helped him until he was down to his clothes, just a shirt and braies. There was a cut on his arm, and she took hold of his hand, examined the wound.

  “Veron, you’re hurt.”

  With a shake of his head and a smile, he pulled off his shirt and presented his bicep. The slash was already partially healed.

  “We recover quickly,” he said, although she dabbed at it with a clean washcloth. He took her hand. “I’m fine, Aless. Really.”

  He gazed down at her, his mouth curving, and there was a playfulness there. A teasing.

  So he thought she was overreacting. Maybe she was. But the notion of him being hurt—at all—made her worry so much that she didn’t know what to do with herself.

  Apparently fussing wasn’t the answer. She smiled to herself and glanced away, to his bare chest, strong and smooth, and the black sun tattooed there.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, stroking it with her fingertips.

  “You’ll have one, too, Aless,” he said, his voice deep and flowing as he covered her hand with his, “if you choose to go through with the second ceremony in Nozva Rozkveta.”

  “I do choose to. Veron, I made that desperate plan before I ever knew you. Now that I’ve gotten to know you, I want to pursue my dream with you. And I want to marry you. As many times and in as many ways as you want.”

  Slowly, he leaned in, unbearably slow, then tipped her chin up to his and kissed her, taking her in his arms. His hair brushed her cheek as she opened her mouth to him, pressed herself against his hard body. Holy Mother’s mercy, he had to know, had to understand that she’d never leave him, ever. That she’d chosen him, with everything she was and everything she had to give, no matter what she’d thought before knowing him.

  With every breath, she inhaled the forest-stream scent of him, and that something deeper, something primal, that she couldn’t get enough of. Veron.

  His tongue claimed her mouth in slow, sensual strokes—strokes that made her whimper, made her heart pound. She wanted him. More than anything or anyone she’d ever wanted before, she wanted him.

  I want you to know that I’m open to your wishes, and that you shouldn’t fear rejection should you express them to me, he’d said to her once, on their wedding night.

  She swallowed. As she leaned into him, against the hard, solid length of him—she gasped. His thoughts couldn’t be too far from her own.

  “Veron,” she breathed between kisses, “I want to… I wish to…”

  She’d been bold her entire life, had said things to lovers that would make a courtesan blush, but here, now, with him, she couldn’t even bring herself to form a coherent sentence, and Holy Mother help her, if he laughed at her right now, she would just die, instantaneously, of embarrassment.

  He pulled away, just enough for his soft golden gaze to lock with hers, and then intertwined his fingers with hers. Candlelight flickered, its warm glow cast against his skin. Her heart skipped a beat as he searched her eyes.

  “I want to make love with you, Aless,” he whispered, making her shiver. “I want to know you, as closely as one heart can know another, and I want you to know me.”

  Every inch of her tensed and trembled in equal parts, and there was a good chance she was about to tackle him no matter what he said next.

  “Do you want me to, Aless?” A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he peered down at her with gleaming eyes.

  She nodded—more than once—and threw her arms around him, rose on her tiptoes to kiss him, and he took her mouth, grabbed her bottom, and scooped her up. The spot was tender, but she didn’t care, not right now, not until the need coursing in her veins got its due.

  Her mouth never leaving his, she locked her legs around his hips, let him take her to bed, where she threw off her chemise as he pulled off his braies.

  In his nakedness, he was the most beautiful sight she’d ever laid eyes on—as if his god or hers had sculpted him from marble, chiseled his fit physique to the perfection standing before her now. Her husband. He was big, strong, hers, and he would know it to the core of his existence by the time she was through with him tonight.

  He gave her a slow once-over, devouring her with his eyes, his chest rising and falling with every powerful breath, and she would have given anything—anything—to know what he was thinking right now, looking upon a human woman, his human woman.

  He took her in his arms, claimed her with his lips, his kisses roving down her neck as she buried her hands in his long, soft hair.

  “Teach my hands how to touch you, Aless,” he whispered, and his touch was gentle curiosity, unbinding her hair, raking through her curls; he brushed lightly over her breasts, and when she gasped, he firmed his touch, rubbed them, kissed them. He stroked along her ribcage and over her waist, down her thigh and all the way to her ankle, which he grasped and pressed to his lips.

  “Teach my lips how to kiss you,” he whispered, his kisses fluttering along her skin, so light she squirmed as they graced her quivering inner thigh.

  “Endlessly,” she answered softly, and he smiled before pulling her to the edge of the bed and descending to her. He kissed her belly, her hip, and lower, lower, until his lips met her core, making her gasp. Slowly, he pleasured her, his passionate, deliberate strokes coaxing her breaths out in erratic puffs while her hands clutched the bedding in tight fistfuls. Pressure rose in her, and built and built until she writhed beneath him, close, so close, tension rising, rising until it crested, peaked, bursting from her in cries as she reached for him.

  “Please,” she said, wiggling farther up the bed as he braced over it, teasing with feather-light strokes over her thighs, across her belly, over her breasts. The tips of his long hair tickled her stomach before he kissed her chest, lavished her sensitive spots with a playfulness that made her back arch off the bed.

  She buried her fingers in his hair, urged him up to her face, and his mouth met hers anew, reclaimed her needy lips. As she angled to him, whimpering for union, heavenly, wonderful, glorious union, he was ready against her. So ready, but when she rocked against him, a sharpness skimmed her bottom where his hand gripped her.

  Just a graze—no matter—she didn’t react, kept kissing him, her own hands roving the corded musculature of his back.

  “Aless,” he whispered between kisses, “teach me to love you the way you wish to be loved.”

  She moved against his hardness, gasping, pushing, and Holy Mother’s mercy, if he didn’t take her now, right now, she would die of want.

  “Show me,” he said to her, his usually deep voice an octave lower.

  He didn’t want to hurt her, maybe didn’t want to presume, to lose control—he wanted to please her, to be who she needed, to provide what she needed. As she wanted to do for him.

  “On your back,” she whispered.

  His mischievous gaze locked with hers, he did as bidden, and she sat astride him, held him at her core, watched his mouth fall open and his entire body go taut as he hissed an oath to his god.

  With a gasp, she took him slowly, so carefully, until at last they were completely, utterly one, and despite his tense muscles rippling, he stroked her softly, her thighs, her hips, with perfect self-control. His eyes followed everywhere he touched, heavy lidded and intense, taking her in with a boundless hunger. There were a thousand things she wanted to tell him, a thousand memories she wanted to share, and mill
ions more she wanted to live with him, to learn with him, to create together.

  He wasn’t afraid to hold her gaze, to watch the truth on her face, just as she watched his, the fondness there, the desire, and not just for this moment, but for countless more, and for her.

  She knew in that moment, in those eyes, that he would never betray her. That he would always be there for her. And that he would always hear her voice, and listen.

  As she moved, she held his gaze, too, looked into his eyes, adoring and awed, his eyebrows drawn tight. A frisson rippled through her lower belly; the hard fullness of him inside her was pleasure, unbearable pleasure, and with every movement, she trembled, breathed shakily, the heat of his every touch pooling at her core, where it only wanted, and wanted.

  His slow, rough breaths, rhythmic and primal, began to quicken, and her own surrender was just there, within reach, and she took him harder, faster, chasing it, chasing it, until at last she caught it, cried out, again and again, waves of hot sensation cascading through her, throbbing through her veins, pulsing at her core. As he groaned, low and deep, she didn’t stop, kept going until his eyes pressed shut and his mouth fell open, need claiming his face with creased determination that—with a hiss—pleasure freed and freed and freed with every panted breath. Warmth filled her up, heat spreading through every part of her, kindled by his touch, his care, and the love they made together.

  Veron, her Veron, lay beneath her, gazing up at her with stars in his eyes, and she reached for his face, gently stroking along his jaw, over his lips, and down over the chiseled beauty of his black-sun chest and his abdomen.

  With a grin, he urged her down to him, tucked her curls behind her ear, and kissed her. She took his lip between hers, explored his mouth with her tongue, teased it with playful strokes as he rubbed her bare back with firm, sensual pressure.

  “Was it worth the wait?” she breathed.

  He smiled. “You were worth the wait, Aless.”

  Completely serene, he watched her, and she leaned in to kiss him again.

  “So is that how the dark-elves do things?” she asked with a grin. “Because I approve.”

  He laughed in his throat and shook his head. “In essence, yes,” he drawled, “but with us, everything is a test of strength. Even lovemaking.”

  She tried to picture pinning him, gasping as he rolled her over, dueling between the sheets. If that was how things usually went, then with her, he’d been exceedingly cautious, had submitted himself completely to her whim, to her ways, and let her do as she’d pleased while he’d resisted his instincts, restrained his body. He’d been so taut, muscles rippling, quaking, and it had been restraint.

  The day she’d first met him, he’d clasped his hands behind his back, but when she’d taken a step away, he’d revealed them, held them at his sides, shown her he’d meant her no harm.

  “Veron,” she said, and his embrace around her tightened. She lay down at his side, nestled into the crook of his shoulder, into the warmth of him, as he caressed her arm. “What’s your home like?”

  “Nozva Rozkveta?” he asked softly. “It’s beautiful, brimming with life. It’s a fortress, but you could spend hours watching the sparkling water, the gleaming surfaces…”

  “Stone, right?” she asked, receiving a nod in reply. “Will we live in a stone dwelling?”

  “In palace quarters. Not too different from this, actually,” he added with a laugh. “Don’t worry—we’ll make sure to have some of your fluffy human things around.”

  She poked him, and he laughed again, then nuzzled her head with his nose before kissing her lightly there.

  “Believe me, I have nothing but the utmost respect for human things,” he said softly, slowly, and urged her onto her back.

  There was no laughter in his eyes now, only rapt attention, and he reached out to brush her lips with his thumb before taking them with his own again.

  His hands explored her gently, slowly, roving over her bottom, and then he went rigid. Froze. Pulled away.

  He stared down at his palm, glanced at her, and left the bed.

  Wriggling to the edge, she eyed him. “Veron?”

  He rubbed his face with his hand, pacing the room, then held up the other.

  Blood.

  Chapter 19

  By Deep and Darkness, he’d hurt her. Again.

  As desire had claimed him, he’d remembered to be gentle, to keep his touch light, to avoid injuring her—and it had happened anyway.

  “Veron?” she asked again, rising from the bed. She tried to embrace him, but he pulled away.

  He shook his head. No, he couldn’t touch her like this, not again. Not with his claws.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered, rubbing his back. “It was only a little scratch.” She kissed his shoulder. “Come back to bed.”

  Every dark-elf of worth had claws—sharp, strong, battle-ready claws. Claws he had defended her with just earlier tonight. If they were broken, taken in battle, or maimed, it was dishonor. Weakness.

  Aless locked her arms around him from behind, her delicate, slender arms, with her supple, fragile skin. His lover, his partner, his wife. His human wife.

  He wouldn’t risk hurting her again, not for all the honor and strength in the Deep. Never again.

  He could never give her lavish human celebrations, with new dances every season and theatre and opera and fashion and excess. He could never give her a legion of servants in her household to pamper her as she’d been in the palace. Nor could he give her a place in the sun, in the sky realm, among her kind and sunshine and light. He could never impress her or court her the way a human man would.

  But the very least he could do was never hurt her. Keep her safe. The very least.

  As he approached the table of toiletries, she let him go, and he searched through them until he found her nail file.

  “Veron, what are you doing?” Her voice quavered.

  “What I should have done before our wedding,” he murmured, then began filing down his claws.

  She grasped his hand, her eyebrows knitted together. “But won’t your reputation—”

  He raised her hand to his lips, kissed it. All his life, he’d guarded his reputation fiercely, never wanting to be anything but a credit to Mati and Nozva Rozkveta. But Deep, Darkness, and Holy Ulsinael, what did his reputation matter in comparison to her wellbeing?

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Aless, ever,” he whispered, lowering her hand. “And if anyone questions my battle prowess, I won’t need claws to trounce them in the ring.”

  He had been trained by Mati and Zoran—the best—and he didn’t need claws to fight.

  He started filing them again, as short as her human nails, shorter even. They’d grow back in a month, but he’d just file them down again, and the month after, and the one after that, for the rest of their lives.

  Backing up toward the bed, she tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain you need to do this now?”

  He’d already taken several steps in her direction before he realized it. With a shake of his head, he continued filing while she giggled. Their first night together, and she already knew the power she held over him—and she wasn’t afraid to use it. If she ever brought out that sheer red thing from their wedding night, he wasn’t certain there was anything he wouldn’t do.

  “Not sure I’ve ever seen anyone file their nails so fast in my life,” she teased, hopping onto the bed and kicking her legs playfully. She leaned back, propped a foot upon the bed, and eyed him over her round, bare breasts.

  She parted her thighs, only a little, and Holy Ulsinael, the nail file clattered to the floor.

  * * *

  Veron held Aless’s hand, leading her down the passage to the hot springs.

  “Where are we going?” she asked with a tilt of her head, tightening the sash of her robe and looking around. “I can barely move.”

  He huffed a laugh under his breath. So far, they had spent t
he entire night in bed, and he would happily spend the rest of it there, but Aless couldn’t leave Dun Mozg without visiting the hot springs—especially considering they had a couple of days on horseback ahead of them.

  “After that landing in the ring earlier, I think you’ll like where we’re going.” He smiled at her over his shoulder.

  The air turned balmy right before the entrance, the soft splash of water babbling nearby. He led her inside, and she gasped.

  Silvery moonlight peeked in high overhead, refracting off jeweled veins in the stone, flowing down to the steam rising off the vivid teal water. Streams cascaded from the rock into the spring with a pleasant, continuous sound. It was, thankfully, empty.

  “I thought you could use some hot—”

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, then kissed him again… deeper, slowly; untying her sash, he moved toward the water, unwrapped the towel from around his waist before wading into the soothing heat. She let the robe fall to her feet—and Holy Ulsinael, he’d never tire of seeing her naked—and then she followed, entering with a lengthy, quiet moan.

  Broad steps descended into the sultry water, and he sat on one, submerged to his chest, and she sank in next to him.

  “Can we stay here forever?” she murmured, her eyes closed as she settled into his arms.

  He sighed. “We can stay here… a little less than an hour.”

  With a quiet whine, she rubbed her cheek on his chest before resting against him.

  To make their plan work, they’d be leaving Dun Mozg before dawn. As it was, they’d be traveling on little to no sleep, but he’d already planned on letting her sleep in the saddle while they rode.

  “Veron,” she said, lightly stroking his abdomen, “can we talk about Gavri?”

  Clearing his throat, he straightened. No, they absolutely could not talk about Gavri while she touched him like that.

  She giggled and settled her arm around him. “Sorry.”