She hesitates, then slowly turns, presenting her back to me. It's a small surrender, but it feels monumental. I slide my hands over her shoulders, down her back, feeling her shiver beneath my touch.
"I'm going to remove your shift now," I tell her, my voice rough with barely restrained desire. "And then I'm going to lay you on that bed and make you mine in every way."
Her breath hitches, but she doesn't protest. Another small victory.
I gather the hem of the shift and slowly lift it up her body, revealing inch by inch of creamy skin. When I pull it over herhead, she automatically crosses her arms over her chest, a futile attempt at modesty.
"No." I capture her wrists, gently but firmly pulling her arms away. "Don't hide from me."
She stands before me, completely naked, vulnerability and defiance warring in her posture. I take my time looking at her, committing every curve, every freckle, every shadow to memory. Her breasts are perfect—small, high, tipped with rosy nipples that have tightened under my gaze. Her waist is narrow, her hips flaring gracefully to meet long, slender legs. Between those legs, a thatch of golden curls hides her most secret place—the place I'll soon claim.
"My turn," I say, releasing her wrists to remove my own clothing. I watch her face as I strip, noting the widening of her eyes as more of my body is revealed. When I stand fully naked before her, her gaze drops involuntarily to my cock, already hard and ready for her. She pales slightly at the sight.
"It will fit," I assure her, unable to keep a note of amusement from my voice. "But it might hurt at first."
"Everything about you hurts," she whispers, but there's a new quality to her voice—a breathless quality that tells me she's not as repulsed as she wants to be.
I close the distance between us, feeling her naked skin against mine for the first time. It's intoxicating—her softness against my hardness, her coolness against my heat. I lift her easily, carrying her to the bed and laying her down among the furs.
She watches me with wide eyes as I come down beside her, my weight making the bed dip. I don't cover her body with mine immediately. Instead, I prop myself on one elbow and let my free hand wander, exploring the landscape of her body with deliberate slowness.
"Tell me something true," I say, my fingers trailing from her collarbone to the valley between her breasts.
She frowns. "What?"
"Something true. About you. Something no one else knows."
It's an impulse I don't fully understand—this sudden desire to know her beyond the physical. But I wait, watching emotions chase across her face as she considers my request.
"I..." She hesitates, then says quietly, "I always wanted to learn swordsmanship, but my father forbade it. Said it wasn't ladylike."
The admission surprises me—both in its content and the fact that she offered it at all. "I could teach you," I find myself saying. "You should know how to defend yourself."
Now it's her turn to look surprised. "You would do that?"
"You're my queen now. Your skills reflect on me." It's not the whole truth, but it's easier than examining why the thought of teaching her to fight appeals to me so much.
Before she can respond, I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth, effectively ending the conversation. Her gasp turns into a moan as I suck gently, my hand sliding down to caress her stomach, her hip, her thigh.
"Lachlan—" My name on her lips sends a surge of possessive pleasure through me, even though she likely meant it as a protest.
I move to her other breast, giving it the same attention while my hand continues its journey, nudging her thighs apart. She resists briefly, then yields, allowing me to settle between her legs. I can feel the heat of her against my cock, the slight dampness that tells me she's not as unwilling as she pretends.
My fingers find her center, exploring gently. She's wet—not enough yet, but getting there. I circle the small bud at the apex of her thighs, and her hips jerk in response.
"What—" she gasps, eyes flying open.
"Pleasure," I tell her, continuing the motion. "The first of many I'll give you tonight."
Her head thrashes on the pillow as I increase the pressure, watching her face closely for every reaction. When I slip one finger inside her, she cries out—pain or pleasure, I can't tell.
"Relax," I murmur, keeping my movements gentle despite the urgency burning in my blood. "Your body was made for this. For me."
Gradually, she softens around my finger, allowing me to work it deeper. I add a second, stretching her carefully, preparing her for what's to come. All the while, my thumb continues to circle that sensitive bud, drawing gasps and moans that she tries to suppress.
When I feel her begin to tighten around my fingers, I withdraw them, ignoring her small sound of protest. I position myself fully between her thighs, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance.
"Look at me," I command.
