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“Do not worry.” His rumble echoed in the room. “We will pull this through.”
His callused hand reached hers, and their fingers entwined on their own volition. There was no way of avoiding meeting his eyes. “I hope so.” Her breathy voice answered as her hand squeezed his almost disappearing in his much bigger one.
They remained thus for long minutes until his thumb caressed her skin, provoking a shower of goose-bumps throughout her. They did not touch since the attack on the road, and it felt like a lifetime ago.
A lifetime ago, years, centuries of an arid life. A life she must choose in dire circumstances. A life which threw her in loneliness, despair, longing. The only good that came from it was her precious son. Whom she struggled to bring up and protect.
But here, in this faraway cottage, in this frugal bedchamber, in a dim, intimate candlelight, she wondered if she owned the ability to continue in the desert she had lived so far. She wondered if she had enough strength to deny herself all the things she craved, desired. Missed. Everything she locked inside her for this eternity of aridness. Everything that swelled in this moment, with his hand engulfing hers. Everything she remembered, the happiness, the hope, the love, threatened to burst out of her chest with this simple touch. A touch designed to offer comfort, even though it provided so much more. Passion. Temptation. Hunger.
In one swift movement, he came over her still holding her hand, propped on his elbows. Her breath caught, her temperature soared, her resistance faltered. His old-whisky perusal took in every contour of her face as her full lips came apart with the heat she saw there.
In that simple gesture, her questionings came to an end. Found answers. No, she would not be able to remain in that desert. No, she would not have the strength to deny herself. No, she would not be able to hold these feelings inside as they reached bursting point, punctured by that heat in his eyes.
And yes. She said yes when her hazel gaze merged with his. She said yes as her thumb caressed the warm skin of his hand. Said yes to mitigating much of the past longing. At least for the moment, for now. Here. What did she have to lose that she had not already lost? The past, the future? Forever?
So yes. Yes to anything he wanted. Anything she would get for now. Anything that could be tonight.
With a sigh of yes, her lashes weighed down as his mouth came down on a lazy jaunt over her forehead, her temple, her cheeks, her chin. Her nerve-endings registered every single bristle, every single exhale, every single caress with amplified eagerness. Auburn head bent back to make room for his exploration, capitulating with that much ease. To deny him or herself made no sense at that exact moment. No sense at all.
His bristle sensuous lips continued their tour down her throat, to the junction between her neck and her shoulder, where the nightgown interrupted him. He returned up and fastened that delicious mouth on an even more delicious kiss; and she moaned in contentment.
Her hand moulded to his strong neck, over warm skin. Its twin joined in, and they travelled up to wavy smooth hair which caressed each cell of her fingers while they dived with so much longing in the strands. How she missed the feel of his wavy strands! She arched into his bare steel torso and let him kiss her. Let herself kiss him back, eyes closed; and every nerve opened to his ministrations.
Experienced fingers untied the lace of her nightgown on the neck and lowered it with a feather caress. Like the wings of a nightingale, his lips alighted on her shoulder, and the surrounding bristles migrated from there downwards in a sheer recognition mission. His hand departed from the side of her thigh upwards, admiring the curve of her hips, the indentation of her narrow waist. To lodge at her ribs under the fabric as if every inch was precious silk coming from faraway lands.
One of her hands set out on a journey of its own over his strong neck, down a bunched shoulder, appreciating each spot of warm velvety skin; to find the indentation of his spine, and slid along it to its base where it became thwarted by the tartan around his waist.
While she rediscovered his heavenly geography, his mouth set sail down her chest. And latched on the treasure island of her breast, suckling on it to make her go adrift with pleasure. Her frame arched more for him as his other hand wandered to give attention to her other breast, causing a tempest in her sea of sensations.
Her knees bent to cradle him and his famished manhood, revelling with every crisp hair along his legs. She melted into his muscled body, so discontent with the plaid barrier that persisted between their bodies.
But his expedition continued down her length with relentless carnality. Those bristles rounded her navel and proceeded down to the silky auburn patch on the top of her thighs. Only to anchor in the lost paradise of her folds and circumnavigate its hidden pearl as a weathered captain who had studied her map for long years. His mouth rekindled a dormant volcano,
and it came back to life with a sudden explosion punctuated with her gasps.
When he finally pilgrimed back up, her nightgown and his tartan had perished, and their frames glued skin to hot skin. His glorious manhood rested on her belly. One of her hands returned to his luxuriant hair, and the other remoulded on his firm buttock to coax further trips.
He understood his route and positioned himself to fulfil it. And when he entered her, the whole world disappeared and reappeared centred in how delectably he filled her. She received him back in her body with unbridled exhilaration. A sigh escaped her lips, her arms and legs chained him to her length, and she gave him everything in her and more. His strong arm banded her waist as they moved in locked tandem. His head buried in her neck, fast breathing warming the surface there. She wriggled hungry for him. He lunged hungry for her. They would never get enough of each other. Still, they tried. And sought. And moaned. Groaned. Moved faster.
Her wrenching eruption repeated with earthquake intensity. She cried his name and held him tighter if that was possible. His merciless thrusts sped, lost their compass as he flooded her with waves of release, his grunts muffled by her neck; her name uttered as if she was his haven.
Drostan rolled to the mattress and brought her with him as he covered both. The candle cast its waning light over them, but their eyes closed, drinking in each other’s warmth while their irregular breaths went back to normal.
They held fast together wordless since their bodies had done all the communication they needed. Sleep found them sated.
The first greyish rays of morning seeped through the small glass window when Drostan opened his eyes. His large hands palmed the bed looking for his woman and did not find her. His gaze darted to the window to see her standing there wrapped in his tartan, attention on the frost outside. In the night, he had undone her braid as he took her again. Her glossy auburn strands fell down her back dishevelled, the silhouette of her bare slim shoulders and calves visible out of the plaid.
He stood up and came behind her, banding one arm around her waist, the other hand on her shapely hips. Her head fell on his chest, covering it with her hair. The woman who gave life to his son became so much more delicious with her new curves. He had not been able to keep his hands off her during the night. Neither her him, it seemed.
“What are you doing here?” He asked hoarse and his lips found her delicate neck.
When their hands joined together the previous night, he had been unable to stop himself from shifting to his wife and caressing her. It had been stronger than him. And how terribly happy he became when she did not stop him. When she gave stroke for stroke, revelled in his advances, welcomed him in her. Together with her again, reacquainting his body with hers had tasted like coming back to life. As if he lived in this half-existence for the past several years. He had, to tell the truth. Her absence had transformed his days in a barren land, his future in a lonely hollowness. Finding her and discovering his son brought him a newfound drive. The blood-boiling night they had just spent crowned it with special energy.
“Admiring the dawn.” She answered silkily.
“Hm.” From her hips, his hand came to her full breast over the tartan. She sighed her pleasure. “Come back to bed.” He suggested none too subtle.
His Freya turned to him and let the plaid fall to the floorboards, revealing all her glorious femininity. He needed no further encouragement as powerful arms picked her up and put her back on the bed.
