His lips press to my forehead.
"Your daughters."
His mouth drops to my heart.
"Your strength."
That same wicked mouth trails along my collarbone to my shoulder before speaking into my skin. Speaking to my soul. This level of intimacy doesn't exist for whores.
"Some people require long periods of time to change. I didn't. I will be your mate and their father. Please, accept it. Accept me."
My heart flutters furiously. Don't fall. Do not fall for him.
"But what if we get caught?" I don't mention that Eneko will be back from the mines soon with information I need to get. I don't think about my one resource in excavating it from the foreman’s thoughts. "They'll kill you. They'll kill me."
"I'll kill them faster."
I think of the giant that he murdered in the pit. He did it mercilessly, as he had with the other giants trying to slay us upon escape. There's a brutality to him that is untempered by right and wrong. His mind is clear, determined. He feels no remorse for the deaths because he sees a need to eliminate anything that threatens someone in need.
Don't fall?—
My words are snatched away when he leans forward and kisses me, bringing me to the edge of the bed.
“If we continue,” he starts, “I’m afraid you'll have to tell me how this goes. I fear hurting you.”
I press a hand to my forehead, looking at him. Unexperienced. Eager. There are things I want to teach him. To take him into my mouth, to show him just how pleasurable this next part can be. That ache inside of me is insistent.
"Remove your clothes," I say firmly.
“Now?” he asks.
“Yes. Hurry.”
He does, starting with his coat and then his shirt. My mouth goes dry as his muscles are revealed, and then, I watch hungrily as his pants fall away, letting his cock free. It’s different than my dream—somehow wider.
I lean forward and grasp his length with both hands. A bead of glistening seed has already appeared on the head of his member. My hands move up and down, and I luxuriate in the responding gasps from this man seemingly unmoved by anything.
"Shh," I coax as he melts in my hands. "You must be quiet."
He seals his lips together as I work him. Then he grabs my hands.
"Enough,” he demands.
His voice thrums through me. Powerful, demanding.
“I wish to touch you as well," he says.
Gods yes.
He looks around the room, grabbing onto one of the towels I use for bathing. He places it on the bed, after tenderly lifting my legs. Then he grabs my bucket of water and another strip of cloth.
"Tonight, I am your student,” he murmurs as he peels off the rest of my clothing. He sees the scars always covered by a nightgown. He strokes across them and pauses.
"I asked you what these were once,” he says.
The scratch of his calloused hands against my soft skin is delicious, but I find it in me to nod.
“I understand now. These were from carrying your daughters."
