“Ready, poppet?” Rathgarr’s low voice asked, as he kicked off his boots, and tossed the trousers away. Leaving him standing here fully undressed before her, for perhaps the very first time in their acquaintance — but Geva’s eyes were blinking too hard to notice. “Now come, and prepare to be frozen, ach?”
He’d clasped Geva’s hand in his, his touch almost tentative, now. And then, keeping his big body between her and the door, he led her into the pool, and straight beneath the pouring, rushing stream of water.
Geva couldn’t help a little yelp, her body cringing away, shivering at the impact — but Rathgarr was already moving closer, the warmth emanating through his skin, through his big hands now rubbing against her shoulders. “Ach, even colder than I remember,” he murmured, as he reached around her to grasp for something — a bar of actual soap — from the stone wall behind them. “But should you stay close, and allow me to wash you, mayhap this shall help.”
Geva fervently nodded, without at all meaning to, and Rathgarr’s big hands rubbed the soap to a lather before setting the bar aside again. And then he drew her a little outside the streaming water, and brought his warm soapy hands to her shoulders, before sliding them slowly down her arms.
Geva kept her eyes firmly lowered as he did it, fighting to ignore the way the water was still running down his chest, sticking his hair to his skin. And the way his big warm hands were sliding up again, now coming up to skim over her collarbones, her neck — and then slipping back down her front, slow, until they found her heavy breasts, and curved gently around them.
Geva’s breath caught, the sound somehow audible amidst the rush of water, and Rathgarr’s touch stilled, just slightly. Enough that she couldn’t help a quick, ashamed glance up at his watching face. At where he still looked rueful, almost regretful.
But then, holding his gaze on hers, he caressed her breasts again. His hands still sliding so careful, so gentle, lifting their heavy weights, his thumbs brushing against her hard, peaked nipples.
“So plump and pretty, poppet,” he murmured, as something warm and rigid began nudging, swelling, against her thigh. “Mayhap the prettiest I have ever seen, ach? So full, they cannot even fit in my hands.”
And he was demonstrating, damn him, his hands spreading wide over both brown breasts, bulging them between his fingers, as his palms pressed against her hard nipples. “So bewitching,” he said, his voice catching, as that telltale warmth against her thigh nudged again, swelling fuller. “Just like you, my sweet. With your sun goddess hair, and your burnished skin, and your deep speaking eyes. And” — his throat convulsed, his gaze still steady on hers — “with how kind and generous you are. How hardworking. How fair-minded.”
Geva swallowed, her head slightly shaking, because he was surely only saying all these lies for Killik and Ulfarr’s benefit, only as part of the job, the game — but Rathgarr was shaking his head too, his hands giving her breasts a gentle, proprietary squeeze.
“You are, poppet,” he continued, sounding almost grave, now. “Ach, even today, you walked through this mountain without fear, and made friends of all you met. I could not move three steps, but for being told what a good, brave, stunning woman I had found, and what hale, hearty sons she should make for me.”
He’d grimaced at the last bit, suggesting that this part was true, at least — and Geva couldn’t quite breathe as his big hands slid downwards, now curving over the softness of her belly. Caressing it, almost as if treasuring it, while that hardness against her thigh gave a strong, sustained shudder. Almost as if he was saying… surely he wasn’t saying…
And no, no, surely not, because he’d startled a little, his eyes gone wide and alarmed — and then his hands clenched, and snapped away entirely. Back to the soap, Geva realized, rubbing it to a lather, before returning this time to her hips, her thighs. And then around to her arse, cupping that in his big hands too, squeezing it, drawing her closer against him. Against that ever-swelling ridge at his groin, now prodding hard and demanding into her belly, streaking warm wetness against her skin.
And Geva was not considering this,no— or was she, because one of her hands had skittered down toward that swelling hardness, just brushing against it. And in return, it instantly leapt at the touch, pressing powerfully against her. Wanting her, perhaps, after all, even for just a moment…
Another brief glance up at Rathgarr’s face found his eyes gone half-lidded, his nostrils flaring, his hands clenching tighter on her arse — and oh, oh, Geva was doing it again. Gently stroking up the full heavy length of him now, feeling the softness of his skin, the hunger swelling beneath. The way that deep slit was already oozing more wetness into her palm, and she felt her other hand sliding around too, coming up to feel that, to feel his slick liquid pulse out against her fingers…
Rathgarr’s breath hitched, his grip clamping tighter on her arse, and she felt her irrational bravado rising as she stroked harder against his full length, her other hand still brazenly lingering at his slit. Feeling that slick glossy skin, how it nudged and gripped against her touch, as more slippery wetness spurted up, painted against her fingers. And when she stroked a little deeper, it gushed out even more, its silken heat such a compelling contrast to the cold water still splashing down beside them.
And was Rathgarr easing her closer toward the cold rushing stream, yes he was, maybe so it didn’t feel so strange, so shameful. So it felt more hidden, perhaps, more natural, to be blatantly toying with an orc’s body in public like this. To remember his heated instructions, from what felt like an age ago.Awaken me. Seek to wield all your wiles to soften me. To tempt out my good seed toward you…
Rathgarr’s hands were stroking harder, too, now, moving against her with firm, deft familiarity. One of them slipping with blatant ease between her arse-cheeks, oh gods, against where he’d taken her — twice — while his other hand slid around to the front. Sliding straight down the curve of her, delving deep between her swollen, heavy-feeling folds, drawing them apart for his touch. For that purposeful brush of his finger, finding its place, oh hell…
And then — Geva gasped and shivered — that finger sank slow and easy up inside. As his other hand kept gently prodding behind, he was not doing this, not while they were watching this, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t —
She choked and trembled as he sank deep, driving up into both places at once, as his swollen, leaking hunger kept straining and sputtering against her. Against where her own hands were brazenly touching him now, caressing and exploring, as if she had every right to, as if he washers. As if he truly wanted this, his hips bucking helplessly into her touch, his palm pressing tighter against her front, grinding where she most craved it, as his long finger swirled and stroked deep inside.
And hisface, his gasping mouth, easing down, closer, closer. His breath inhaling, his nose nudging the wet hair away from herneck. So that — Geva shuddered against him, upon him — his lips could touch there, against the curve of her throat. As if he were tasting her,kissingher, but it was too open to be a kiss, too aggressive, too audacious — and Geva moaned and writhed as she felt teeth, settling sharp and close and intent, scraping against prickling, untouched skin. Just like in the wardrobe, just like what she’d seen on Jule and Alma and Baldr, he wanted to bite her, to leave his marks on her,forever—
“Oh,” Geva gasped, her body arching up, tightening, clamping furious against him, baring itself for him. “Oh, gods, Rathgarr, please, Rathgarr,please—”
She’d barely noticed her hands still pumping him, milking at him like they were starving — but suddenly he bucked and moaned, the sound vibrating deep, straight from his mouth into her throat. Enough to wrench her tighter, higher, her body desperately clamping on his fingers —
And then she was convulsing all over, the pleasure storming and blazing, as he finally blew out into her hands. His hot white liquid wildly surging and pumping, spraying up between her fingers, all over their close writhing bodies. Painting thick pearly stripes up across Geva’s arms, her belly, her breasts, her face. Even… herhair.
But the awareness of that felt stunted, dense, distant. Lost in the way Rathgarr’s groan was slipping into something husky and low, his rhythmic spurts steadily weakening, until they’d faded to a slow, oozing drizzle. And then his body sagged against hers, his fingers gently easing out of her, the hot, sharp press of his mouth drawing away from her throat.
But in its wake, Geva couldn’t seem to feel any blood, or any pain. Suggesting that perhaps he hadn’t actually bitten her, after all — and surely she should have been relieved, or even grateful. But instead, there was a strange, shifting discontent, one that only seemed to deepen as he drew fully backwards, and began to rub at the sticky white he’d painted on her skin, scrubbing it away into the frigid, still-pouring water.
“I did not mean to catch your hair, poppet,” he murmured with a wince, as he reached a hand toward it, and quickly dropped it again. “I swear this.”
But Geva couldn’t seem to respond, let alone move, though she distantly realized she was shivering, her teeth chattering from the cold. And she’d perhaps begun to feel rather lightheaded, too, the room slightly tilting around her — and after a narrow, searching look at her face, Rathgarr quickly drew her back toward the pool’s edge. Where he plucked up a thick cloth and began drying her off, his strokes firm and swift on her trembling body, and very, very tentative on her hair.
“I ken we have chilled you, sweetling,” he said, as he swiped for their clothes — or rather, for his heavy cloak — and swung it around her shoulders, enfolding her in its weight, in its lingering sweet scent. “Can you feel all your limbs? Can you move your fingers? Do you ken you might need a healer?”
His voice was rapidly rising, his hands yanking the cloak closed, his eyes searching her face. Looking almost genuinely concerned, or even alarmed, and Geva felt herself quiver all over, a wan smile pulling at her mouth. “I-I’m fine,” she managed, through her chattering teeth. “J-just chilled, as you said, I think.”
