I ducked my gaze, shocked at my own bashfulness. But instead of feeling meek or embarrassed, a thrill cantered through me.
I needed a moment to let it sink in. And if Aire witnessed this part, I didn’t mind. Because I didn’t need to hide a thing from this beautiful man. Not anymore.
Pecking my nose with his lips, Aire coaxed his own features down to mine. And I looked up, my pulse sprinting.
The shirt stretched across his pectorals. The lazy neckline offered a glimpse of his clavicle.
Carefully, I traced the bird’s dark wing. Aire’s intakes hitched, his hands tightened on me, and the lump in his pants grew more pronounced.
We stared, breathing in steady anticipation as he carried me to the bedroom. Floorboards creaked under his boots, and the flames poured ambient light into the adjoining chamber, where more candles flickered.
Warmth flowed across my skin. How he managed this while I’d been turned away, I had no idea.
Under the roof beams, my bed dominated the space, the large mattress stacked with pillows. At this point, I would have teased or made sexual demands. Instead, words deserted me.
The same for Aire, who held my eyes in the grip of his own. Our pants thickened, growing heavier in the quiet cabin.
Lowering me to the surface, the knight unfurled my body atop the quilt, the nightgown sliding to my upper thighs. Standing at the bed’s rim, he loomed. Dark clothes, light hair and irises, the contrast striking.
The tops of my breasts inflated from the neckline. His molten gaze tracked over my curves, the impact corporeal, touching without laying a hand on me. Feverish heat soaked every pore, my nipples toughened through the bodice, and my clit swelled.
Aire’s pupils expanded as if he knew. His torso rose and fell in shallow beats, measured restraint keeping him still. Yet under the low slung pants, the bridge of his cock stood high and rigid.
The erotic sight lured me forward. Sitting upright, I picked open the closures of his shirt, unveiling plates of smooth muscle, his broad chest expanding into view. Aire held still, his upper frame contracting harshly while I worked apart the fastenings, each faint contact heightening his sensitivity.
It should have been intimidating to move at this pace, to explore the art of lovemaking. Instead, I accepted the challenge with relish.
And so much fucking love in my soul.
The shirt floated to the wooden planks. Sculpted ridges narrowed into a flexing abdomen that could hone a weapon. Fine hairs rose across his forearms. The tattoos flapped up one bulky bicep.
The vision parched my mouth. I craved to taste each one, to drape my tongue over the inked shapes, to feast on his moans.
On a husky groan, Aire shook his head. “Not yet.” Cupping my knees, he vowed, “You first.”
Leaning over me, he glided the hem up my waist, past my quavering stomach, and over my heavy breasts. Linen fluttered against my skin like moth wings. I arched, stretching to help as he swept the filmy nightgown from my head and tossed it aside.
My naked body sprawled under him. The points of my tits ruched. The line of my shaven cunt glistening with arousal.
Aire uttered a tormented noise. His gaze raked over my exposed pussy, the lips coated in fluid, the peg of my clit distended.
For a moment, his mouth went slack, and he struggled to find the words. “Lie back.”
Reclining, I sank into the mattress. Satisfied, Aire cupped beneath my knees and tugged, fanning my limbs apart. This skirted me nearer to the edge, the gap enabling him to step between my calves.
He rubbed circles into the cartilage of my limbs, loosening a sigh from my lungs. Aire continued this path, following an invisible route, knowing where I needed him and how much pressure to use. Rolling the pads of his thumbs, he massaged from my ankles, to my outer thighs, to my hipbones,to my ribcage. Every patient stroke eased my muscles, his fingers kneading my joints.
Advancing into the vent of my legs gave him room to reach farther, to rub deeper. The edges of my breasts, my wrists, my neck. Down to the marrow, everything relaxed.
And then I realized.
The lingering pain from the tournament. The residual stings across my foliage markings.
They had dissipated. Knowing what fighting did to the motifs, Aire erased the hurt.
My eyelids watered. A tear popped from one corner and leaked to my temple.
I could take care of myself, but when had I ever let someone take care of me?
