Page 85 of The Blacksmith

Lance began to move both thumbs, rubbing small circles at first. And then he pinched her, hard enough that Idalia arched her back.

“In fact, you will want nothing more”—his fingers traced a path around the top of each breast and down to her waist—“than to feel me inside you.”

His talented fingers lingered on her hips, though she willed them to pleasure her as they’d done before.

“Nay, my sweet sun.” He reached under her knees. “My hands will stay right here, content to let my mouth play its part.”

She understood his words just as Lance lowered his head between her legs.

So he’d not spoken false. This was truly happening.

The feeling was so unusual that she tried to close her legs.

“Nay,” he said, opening them again, his warm breath tickling her.

Once again, Lance lowered his head. His tongue and mouth were even more talented than his fingers, it turned out, and this time, she nearly screamed in encouragement.

“If you ever stop,” she said as he continued, “I will tell the king himself of your plans.”

He swirled and teased, and Idalia could not seem to stop talking.

“Of course, I’d never do such a—oh my!”

Idalia let go of the poor, abused coverlet and attempted to hold on to Lance instead. Her fingers gripped both of his shoulders, and when he moaned, she arced up off the bed.

“That feeling,” she said, gripping more tightly. “’Tis there, so close.”

Despite her threat, he stopped.

Before she even had an opportunity to chastise him, Lance had shifted his position. He now lay on top of her, his body propped on his elbows.

“That feeling . . .” He stared at her so intently, she almost forgot to look down.

Almost.

“That feeling is a release of pleasure. As your husband . . .” He smiled. A beautiful, rare, smile. “I vow it will happen often.”

When he guided himself toward her, Idalia gripped his wrists. She knew what would come next, courtesy of Roysa, but hearing of it was very different than the actual act.