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Amazingly Wolfric did not laugh at her. Instead, he frowned down at his boots, shaking his head.
‘Well, lass, you never cease to surprise me. Were you jealous over Elva and that feeble-minded Fenella?’
‘What reason would I have to be jealous?’
He took a step toward her and reached out a hand to slide her wet hair from her face. ‘What reason could there be other than that you are warming to me?’
Orla’s heart thumped into her throat, and for some reason, her treacherous chest struggled to free itself. If only her bodice was not so tight. It strangled her good sense, and she could not think straight when those brown eyes of Wolfric’s held her own, swirling with wickedness.
Wolfric ran his hand down her cheek, bringing his lips so close she could almost taste them. ‘You don’t have to be jealous, for ‘tis only you that I want, Orla. I have a fire inside me that only you can extinguish.’
She suddenly wanted those lips on hers, even if she couldn’t believe a word that came out of them.
‘It’s cold, lass. I should warm you up.’ Wolfric’s voice was all seduction and rush.
‘Erm, that is what a good husband should do, aye,’ she squeaked, taking leave of her senses.
His hand went to her bodice, tearing it down, freeing her breasts to the cold air. They tightened under his surprisingly warm hands, his rough thumbs brushing against her nipples.
‘I should not.’
‘Why not?’ he growled, nipping her neck with his teeth.
Orlas pushed him back by his throat. ‘Because I am angry with you. You are a brawler, an adulterer, and if I let you into my heart, it will be my damnation and ruin.’
Even as Orla said the words, she let his hands roam over her, so Wolfric did not hold back. Indeed he could not. Orla had finally let her guard down, let him in, and he was spurred on by the knowledge that she might want him inside her instead of merely enduring it.
‘And you are a wanton trollop in a whore’s dress, leading me by the nose. I am going to punish you for it.’
Wolfric took hold of her by a fistful of hair and held her head back to kiss her throat. His mouth travelled to hers, and Orla’s tongue flicked into his mouth. His cockstand hardened to iron. ‘Damnation and ruin it is, for both of us, then,’ he gasped, lifting his kilt and spreading her legs with his foot. He eased his fingers between her legs and smiled when he found her slick and warm and ready for him. Wolfric lifted Orla by her cold, rounded bottom and stabbed his cock inside her.
‘Please,’ cried Orla, putting her hands inside his shirt. Her nails were long, and she scratched him, but it only added fuel to the passion bubbling up inside him.
‘Glad to see you have recovered your manners,’ he laughed into her mouth.
It was not enough to have her. He had to own Orla completely before he could be satisfied. Wolfric slid inside her again and again, to his hilt, until her little yelps and gasps filled the glade around them, getting higher and more desperate. She wrapped her thighs around his waist, squeezing him inside her. When he felt her on the point of release, he growled, ‘Who is your master. Say it, Orla.’
‘I cannot. Oh, please do not stop, I beg you.’
‘Then say it and quickly, before we both are lost. I need you to say it.’
‘Yes, oh yes, you are my master. Oh, Wolfric.’
Orla came to a shuddering release just as he could hold back no longer. Wolfric spent his passion deep inside her, his body rigid with feeling, his heart full.
For a moment, they hung together, up against the tree in the cold air. Wolfric could not move, nor did he want to. When she squirmed a little, he relaxed his grip and slid free of her cushioning warmth. He wrapped his plaid around Orla, their bellies pressed together, and Wolfric felt at peace for the first time in months.
His heart held such warmth as if it had been dipped in hot water. A tightness took hold of his chest, there was a catch in his breath, and he was hot behind the eyes. He must have been too vigorous, for now, he felt light-headed and strangely moved, as if a dam was about to burst.
Orla wriggled to free herself from his iron grip. He stared into her gooseberry green eyes, and they were bright and wet. ‘Do you not want me to hold you now?’ he said gently.
‘No. There is no need,’ she said, pulling down her skirts, brushing off bark and leaves. ‘I fear we must share the mount, for I have not the energy to walk home. Are you coming?’
‘I demand you let me hold you, and did you not just agree I am your master? Wolfric laughed.
‘Do not laugh at me. Not now.’ Her mouth swelled to a pout.
‘I do not, lass.’ He kissed her again. ‘I am happy, is all. You make me happy, Orla. I must say, you have taken to this like a duck to water, wife.’
