Page 88 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

Meanwhile, on the third floor of the Antiquarian Quill

Iris gave up on her half-hearted attempt to close her knees when she finally understood what was happening. Angus was seeing to her pleasure first. Preparing her for when he would impale her with his thick member. For when he would claim her virtue.

Although the thought should have frightened her, she felt a sense of calm settle over her. He cared about her, and claimed to love her. He had practically proposed marriage. He had promised to provide protection.

Darts of intense pleasure had her reacting with quiet cries as he used his tongue against the aroused bud she sometimes touched in the middle of the night. Her fingers had never incited such delightful sensations, though, such sharp twinges that were almost ticklish. When something entered her most private place, she stiffened at the feel of the unexpected intrusion.

She quickly realized Angus was using a finger, pushing it into her before slowly retracting it, the tip crooked up so it rubbed against something inside her that set off an entirely different sensation from his tongue. A pleasurable contraction that seemed to roll through her abdomen and repeat in a cascading series of blissful spasms.

She mewled her disappointment when he pulled it out completely, but she stiffened and inhaled sharply when he added a second finger. Once she adapted to the larger intrusion, she relaxed.

“You’re so wet,” she heard him murmur. “I cannot wait any longer.”

The two fingers darted in and out of her, renewing the wonderful waves of pleasures that had her struggling to breathe. “Then do not,” she replied.

He was suddenly atop her, the tip of his manhood nudging at her entrance as his hands gripped the wooden frame of the cot. He lifted his torso from her body and pushed his hips forward.

Although her first reaction was to clench on his manhood—he seemed entirely too large to fit inside her—she soon realized she had to open for him. He was barely inside when he pulled out and pushed back in, this time managing to bury his cock halfway into her.

She inhaled sharply and held her breath. She felt full, near to bursting, but when she saw how Angus’s face screwed into a look she didn’t recognize, she took another breath. “Are you…?”

“In heaven? Yes,” he blurted. “You’re… so tight, so wet.”

“Is that… good?” she asked, letting out her breath when he pulled out a few inches.

“Very good,” he replied, slowly pushing into her again. “The very best.” This time he made it all the way inside, and Iris was forced to take several breaths as she adjusted to the fullness.

“I promise you, it will be better for you next time,” he managed to say, before he ducked his head so he could capture one of her nipples with his tongue and lips.

Iris inhaled sharply, his tongue’s rough texture on the sensitive nipple inciting yet another sort of sensation before he moved his attentions to her other breast.

“So beautiful,” he whispered.

His repeated thrusts into her increased in speed, his moves nearly frantic until he suddenly pulled out of her completely, his seed spilling onto her thigh as he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Apologies,” he whispered.

Confused, Iris glanced down her body in an attempt to discover what had happened. She lifted herself onto an elbow and placed her other hand against the side of his face. “Are you well?”

“Never better,” he claimed. He took her hand from his face and kissed the palm. “I’ll be back.” She watched as he awkwardly crawled off the end of the cot and made his way to the fireplace.

“What happened?” she asked, watching as he dipped her bath linen into the now-hot water. He returned to the cot and began gently wiping her thigh.

“I wanted to come inside you so badly,” he murmured. He leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. “But I dare not risk putting a child on you. Before we’re wed,” he whispered. He set aside the linen and lifted her into his arms.

Iris let out a squeak of surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Moving you to the other cot,” he said, using a foot to push the end of hers out of the way. “I cannot abide you sleeping so far from me.”

She scoffed softly. “We would be but six inches from one another,” she teased, but she secretly thrilled at the thought of sleeping in his arms as she had done the night before.

“Too far,” he replied, his heavy-lidded eyes making it appear as if he was almost asleep. He placed her on the cot on which he had been lying earlier and then turned to grab the pillow and blanket from hers. His movements grew slower as he joined her on the cot, as if all his energy had been spent. Managing to pull the bed linens atop them, he allowed a long sigh of contentment. “I love you, my beautiful bloom,” he whispered.

The thin width of the cot required Iris to turn onto her side, wrapping a leg over one of his as she settled her head into the small of his shoulder and her bruised arm atop his stomach. “Sleep well, my brawny blacksmith,” she murmured.

Feeling him kiss the top of her head, Iris was sure Angus was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Slumber took its time for her, though, her body behaving as if it was waking up for the first time in her life. A bloom, indeed, she thought, unable to stop her grin of satisfaction as she finally fell asleep.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

A Florist Sows Distrust