Trying to hide her trembling, she moved, nestling down onto the bed and slowly sliding back against him. His bare chest had that icy coolness to it, and she found herself melting into it. Her arms and back were bare, with only the thin straps of her nightdress keeping it up. Only her back and his chest were touching, and she exhaled a shuddering breath. She could do this if it was all he asked of her.
He gave her a long moment before he moved, her body instantly tensing. Moving an arm over her, he held it there, his hand hovering above her torso. “Relax, wife,” he coaxed, his voice rough. “You’re in control. Move my hand where you want it.”
“What?” she asked in confusion, but her body was already responding at the thought. Her skin was tingling, and she was suddenly warm, despite the coolness of Cethin at her back.
“You heard me. You control where my hand goes. You know what you like, tiny fiend. You already showed me that.”
Seconds passed, the offer hanging in the air between them, until she finally raised a hand, placing her palm to the back of his hand. Turning his hand over, she studied it for another moment. The calluses that told the story he was more than a pampered prince. He’d trained and trained hard. The white skin was so stark against her own, and when she interlaced their fingers, she watched his flex slightly.
Cethin was unmoving other than the rise and fall of his chest behind her. She could swear his heartbeat was as irregular as her own when she began moving his hand, placing it at her hip. She paused, relishing in the touch.
No, relishing in not feeling the need to lash out at being touched.
Guiding his hand, she moved it down her outer thigh, only the silk of the nightdress separating their flesh. Even then, she could feel the roughness of his calluses through the material.
Again and again she brought his hand to her hip and moved it down her thigh as far as she could comfortably reach before doing it again. There wasn’t any panic. There wasn’t any madness. There was only a faint fire in her belly that was growing, wanting more.
On the next pass, she didn’t lift his hand back to her hip. Instead, she dragged it back up, the nightdress going with it and sliding up her leg. Only then did she lift her hand and place his palm on her flesh, dragging it up and up and,oh gods.Who’d have thought touch could be intoxicating?
“You’re doing so well, wife,” he murmured in her ear, a raggedness to his tone now. “We can stop if you?—”
“No,” she interjected, squeezing her small hand around his large one. “This— Just let me…”
Instead of finishing her thought, she moved his hand up and down her leg, waiting for the irrational part of her to lift its head and shove him away.
But it didn’t.
Her breathing matched his, and she felt the sharp inhale behind her when she guided his hand inward a little, feeling his fingers on her inner thigh.By the gods.
Cethin shifted behind her, and she felt his length press against her. He didn’t apologize, and she didn’t want him to. There was a different kind of power and control in knowing she was doing this to him, but she was also fighting the urge to writhe back against him.
Trying to take her mind off that, she changed how she was guiding his hand. Instead of stopping at her hip, she took ithigher, gliding his palm over her stomach, skating his fingers below her breasts. He didn’t push. Didn't try to guide her anywhere else. He was frozen and still behind her, and before she could think about it too much, she guided his hand higher, stilling as his large palm covered her left breast.
Then she squeezed his hand, his fingers flexing in return.
She couldn’t stop the small moan that came from her throat, but it mingled perfectly with the low groan that sounded behind her. Doing it again, she arched back into him because this time, he swiped the pad of his finger over her nipple. One small action of his own that had her wanting more.
She’d touched herself multiple times. She’d been touched by another. She’d been tortured and burned and so much more, but neverthis.Never something that made her crave more of it as though she would die without it.
This kind of touch was new, and now, all she could think about was getting more of it.
Her hand still on his, she guided it up. Over the swell of her breasts, across her collarbone, up to her neck. Using his fingers, she traced her throat, feeling her own pulse. Cethin shifted, somehow pressing closer to her, and then she felt the soft press of lips below her ear.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded, but then found words she’d never intended to say spilling from her mouth. “I want more. I don’t know what that is, but I want— I justwant.”
“Say the word and we stop,” he said, his entire body once more still behind her. Still, but vibrating with an intensity she could feel pouring off him.
She nodded again, the movement sharp and jerky. “Yes,” she gasped.
That confirmation was all he needed. His other arm snaked beneath her, banding around her middle and tugging her backinto him even more while the hand she’d been guiding went back to her breast. Squeezing. Massaging. Plucking at her nipple through the silk.
“It’s been a special kind of torture to sleep beside you these nights and not be able to touch you,” he rasped, the words bordering on a groan.
She felt that touch and those words to her core, the sensation making her grow warm and wet. Without thought, she pressed her hips back, feeling his hard cock grind against her.
His mouth skated down her jaw, then beneath it to her neck, all the while exploring with his other hand. She was mindlessly pushing back against him now, too lost to the sensation of being touched without having to fear the cost. This was so much better than being drunk on ale in a godsdamn tavern.
