He groaned again. “We could… pleasure each other, maybe. But notthat. Just touching.”
She started at the laces to his breeches, and he didn’t stop her.
His hand migrated north on her body. He reached down into her bodice and scooped one of her breasts right out.
She let out a surprised giggle, her fingers stilling for a moment and then going right back to work on his breeches.
He gazed at her creamy breast, its rounded perfection, the tiny rose-colored nipple in the center. “You’re so beautiful, Aerhril,” he breathed, and he bent his head down to kiss her there, to kiss that puckered pink nub of her.
She had her hand inside his breeches. She mewled when his lips made contact with her there, so he did it again. Her hand was on him, around him, squeezing him, exploring him. He groaned again.
His kisses against her nipple grew wetter until he had sucked the tip of her into his mouth, and she was panting prettily into his neck as she continued to toy with his cock.
He could have shown her to stroke him, up and down, but that would have only meant he finished quickly—too quickly—and he wanted more time to explore her, so he just let her continue what she was doing, which felt nice, anyway.
He scooped out her other breast. He went back and forth between her taut nipples, using his mouth, using his fingers. He liked cupping the whole round breast and giving it gentle squeezes. He liked rubbing the nipples back and forth. He liked gently tweaking them. He liked his mouth on them. She seemed to like all of these things too, if the noises that came out of her were any indication.
“I knew it had to be you,” she breathed. “Can you… I want to lift my skirts and show you everything?”
“Yes,” he said. He kissed her. “Please.”
So she did, and he extricated his cock from her grasp and knelt down to be eye level with her as she pulled her skirts out of the way to reveal her long elfin legs and the place her thighs met, which was covered in dark blond curls. When he put his fingers to her, she was leaking from the slit of her. It parted easily to let his fingers slide against her.
She gasped and he explored, not knowing what he was doing at all. There were all sorts of little folds and crannies to it, all of them very slick, and then—
His finger slipped into her.
She let out a little noise.
He pushed in further, looking up at her.
She held his gaze, looking down at him.
Was this…? It had to be. He wasinsideher. He imagined pressing his cock into this space. It was small and slippery and it gripped his finger and he could hardly imagine howgood this would feel.
He removed his finger. “Not there,” he whispered.
“Here,” she agreed. “Here.” She moved his fingers to the front of her, showing him a little slippery nub that she wanted him to toy with. It seemed incredibly sensitive. She kept stopping him, breathing, “Not so hard. Just glide over it. Let me show you.”
It took him a long time to do it the way she liked, but eventually, she was sighing against him, gently canting her hips against his fingers, and then she made a little tiny noise and he felt her burst against him. It was so similar to the way his own finish felt that he knew it was the same.
He felt a surge of goodness at having done this, thinking of the conversations of the scullery maids outside the kitchens, the jeer of their laughter about the men they spoke of, and that he had definitely pleasured her, and he felt very good and the goodness went right to the root of his cock.
He was on his feet again, pulling her against him, hand on her breast, moving one of her small hands to find him where he was still sticking straight out of his breeches. He made her wrap her hand around the base of him, and he made her tighten her grip the way he liked and he made her rub him and he kissed her breast and then her mouth and then back to the little nipple of hers and he was spurting all over her fingers in moments.
She had not been expecting that. She let out a noise of dismay, and he couldn’t help but laugh at her, and she lifted her hand in front of her face and gaped at the thick liquid clinging to her palm. “Does it always do that?” she said in a tiny voice.
“Mmm,” he said.
“It’s the seed,” she said in resignation. “That’s the part that makes the babe in me.”
He wasn’t amused anymore. He looked around in the barn for something to clean her with. There. He spied a rag hanging on a hook on the wall. He seized it and began to mop it off her hand, vigorous in his movements.
“You don’t have to…” she trailed off.
He didn’t know what to do with this rag now. He’d have to get rid of it, maybe? He balled it up in his fist and then tucked himself back into his breeches and laced them up.
She was putting her breasts away when he looked up. He was disappointed. He liked looking at them. “Good, that was good,” she said to him. “Now, the plan.”
