He nodded, relief dancing in his eyes for a second as more drops peppered his cheeks, the light from the storm which may or may not have still been progressing—Hell if she knew—turning his skin almost translucent, like that of some ancient creature who might dwell in woods such as this.
One of the drops from his hair landed on his bottom lip, and she was so very tempted to claim it with her own lips, but she hesitated, her body vaguely leaning in closer to his, then falling back against the trunk, before she realised there was nothing really to stop her. He was her husband, after all, they’d discussedsuch possibilities, and when she glanced back up at his eyes, she found them affixed on her own lips, so she allowed herself to drift into him, millimetre by millimetre, as he curved inwards to her, the hand that had been toying with her coat drifting across her bodice, along to her waist, clutching her there instead, not tightly, but steadily.
The moment seemed to last forever, distance unchanging yet diminishing as even the drops falling from his hair slowed their pace, and finally she could feel his breath mingling with her own, the air between them warming, making her lazy, drowsy, yet vibrantly alive. And then his lips were there within reach, and she touched them with her own, brushing them against his soft ones, collecting that drop of water she’d longed to claim. She savoured it, and him, that lovely taste she remembered from the first, so tantalising yet already familiar, licking her lips before brushing her lips against his again, their noses bumping gently against each other as they did.
Brushes, and feather-light touches and exploration became tiny kisses, planted on each corner, each dimple, each line and millimetre of his lips—and hers—as their breathing shallowed and stilted evermore. Her tongue darted out between her teeth, and met his—quickly, on the top at first—then with a sharp inhale, and tighter clutch of her waist, as she grabbed a handful of his shirt in one hand, his soaked coat in the other, they deepened the kiss, delving into each other, dancing, teasing, learning, with tortuous slowness and exquisite intention. Mewls and pants and moans punctuated the slow tempo, coming from her, and him, and perhaps the groaning forest too, as he leaned into her, sweat, and sticky heat increasing her light-headedness, his weight reassuring yet unoppressive.
He shifted, stabilising himself better against the tree as he reached deeper into her mouth, and the hand at her waist drifted down, to her hip, then her thigh, clutching and caressing besthe could through the layers of clothes—and she was inordinately grateful for the lack of layers, only the most basic for her.
She undulated into him, as he slid closer to her, and—
‘Thorn?’ she asked as he suddenly broke their kiss, sucking in deep breaths as she did too, though she felt somehow she had less air now than before, with him connected to her.
‘You intimated only your portion was untouched,’ he panted, licking his lips, and she blinked, her mind needing a moment to return fromlust-filled hazetoprocessing.
‘Is that an issue?’
‘No,’ he grinned dangerously, shaking his head, his eyes, shining like silver in sunlight, affixed on her. ‘I want to touch you. Feel your slickness on my fingers. May I?’
‘Would you not had I said I hadn’t been touched before?’
‘I still would’ve asked, but perhaps more politely.’
‘Is there a more polite way to ask that?’
Thorn’s grin widened, and his hand shifted, masterfully gathering up her skirts to find that slickness he was apparently so curious about.
‘I don’t think there is,’ he murmured, teasing her by resting his hand on her mound, and leaning in to pepper her jaw, her neck, and the notches by her ears with tiny kisses. ‘Just as there’s no polite way to ask if you pleasure yourself, Hypatia?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then show me how to please you,’ he ordered, in the softest whisper anyone had ever spoken perhaps. ‘Guide my hand.’
Well now.
That was…new. She’d never—
Just do it, Hypatia.
So she did. Releasing his coat, to slide her hand onto his, and guide it to her admittedlyveryslick folds, as he watched her, every tick of her pulse, every change in her eyes.
Parting her legs a little more, she opened herself to him, in every way, as his rough, but long gentle fingers delved into their prize. His own breathing laboured again, pupils dilating as they found the promised honey, running slowly, and mindfully, along her folds, inside, then out, past her bud, along her bud, then around the origin of it all. It was…
Astonishing, decadent, slightly awkward, admittedly, until they found a coordinated rhythm and ease of movement together, but as they carried on, him exploring her, his lips within reach, but refusing to kiss her whilst he learned her pleasure, and drove her on her instruction higher, and higher, to the drippingly sweet pleasures of ecstasy. Fingers tangling together, eliciting more sensation than she’d ever felt—alone or in company—he left no inch untouched, until finally, she guided his fingers inside, pressing them inside her tender flesh, and showed him how his thumb and others in conjunction could finish her.
So he did, with relentless determination, and exhilarating fascination, until her stilted cries echoed in the silent woods around them; her eyes never leaving his. He held her steady, his fingers still inside her, his body keeping her safe and close, until the last waves of delight became memory, and then he slowly removed his hand, letting her skirts fall as he licked his fingers clean.
And though there’d been many prior indications that her new husband was deliciously dangerous, and that there could be much of interest between them, it was only then that Hypatia truly understood just how dangerous, and delicious, this marriage could be.
‘It stopped raining,’ she said dumbly after a very,verylong moment watching him.
‘So it has,’ he agreed, without looking. ‘And we’ve much work to do. However, if you’re agreeable, my dear wife, perhaps weshould talk tonight of just what sorts of arrangements you might be happy to make.’
‘I am agreeable.’
Thorn’s smile then seemed to say:yes you are, and though she was hardly a girl, or a blushing maid in love, Hypatia felt like all of those things.
I am merely happy to have made a good choice of husband.
