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The water running down the wall of the cave and the small pool are perfect for washing ourselves, apart from a small detail: the water is so cold my hand is instantly numb the moment I plunge it inside.
The Wildman is watching me, crouched down beside the pool, a calculating look in his blue eyes. He’s like one of the Temple cats, waiting for a chance to jump on a hanging rope or piece of cloth to bat it around. Waiting to play.
It sends a shiver down my spine.
“You wouldn’t happen to have scissors?” I nod at the cave entrance. “If not, a sharp blade will do.”
“Blade,” he repeats.
“A knife. To cut your hair and beard.”
He shifts a little, takes out a sharp-looking knife from under the furs, and I have to wonder where he sheathes it.
He holds it out and after a moment’s hesitation, I take it. “You wash,” he says.
“I will help you wash. Come on.” I beckon with the knife. “Get in here.”
Maybe that’s a mistake—flashing that bright blade around—because he shakes his head. “You first.”
“Oh, come on. I need to cut your hair, work on your beard. I’ll get sweaty and full of hairs. I’ll wash afterward.”
“You.” He doesn’t even get up from his crouch. A smirk tugs at his mouth. “Go first.”
“You don’t trust me?”
The smirk becomes more pronounced, more savage, showing a bit of fang.
Crap.
“Fine, I’ll go first. Big baby. Afraid of cold water, are you?” I place the knife down on the ground by the pool and turn my back to him to undress. I mean, he’s seen my breasts, touched them, but I feel strangely uneasy. It’s due to my Temple upbringing, probably, and to having chaste Artume as my goddess.
Worst goddess choice ever for an omega whose mind is currently stuck on sex, but there you have it.
I undo the knot I made behind my back to keep the torn shirt from falling, take it off and place it by the knife on the ground, then undo the laces keeping my woolen pants up. I bend to free my dirty bare feet from the fabric, pile everything up, and turn to step into the pool.
I yelp.
Oh, goddess. So cold. My teeth start to chatter and numbness travels up my legs after the first shock. My nipples tighten, my belly muscles clench. It’s like liquid ice.
And another yelp escapes me when I find myself face to face—okay, face to chest—with the Wildman who is no longer crouching but standing by the pool, staring at me.
At my breasts, to be more precise, and the rest of me. His cheekbones are pink, eyes dark, lips parted.
He looks as if he desires me, and I remember how hard he was when he’d lain over me inside the cave, but there’s no way to really tell with the amount of furs hanging off his frame. It’s like he’s inside a furry ball, bundled up like the old priests in winter.
Just wash yourself, Ari, get it over with, before your feet freeze and fall off. Let the berserker look to his heart’s content. If he’s not interested in more than some voyeurism, then who cares?
I turn away, not to see that look in his eyes, not to wonder, because the ache in my belly is only temporarily numbed by the cold. Cupping my hands under the trickling water, I wash myself as quickly as humanly possible, scrubbing with my hands to get the dirt off my skin. I throw water over my head, wetting my hair, scrubbing at my scalp.
So frigging cold…
Then he’s again in front of me, having gone around the pool, muttering something under his breath, one hand under his furs, moving back and forth.
Before I can react to that, he starts to undress—which means that he starts to pull his furs off, one by one. There seems to be a piece going around his neck, then another over his shoulders, then one around his torso, and another around his waist. So many pieces, falling off him one by one. I’m too entranced by this slow reveal of him that I stand in the icy water, just staring at his lithe but sculpted body as it finally becomes visible, not as bulky as it had seemed with all the furs heaped on him, but rather sinuous and yet muscular. More muscular than Finnen and Taj, I think, but not by much, and under the filth he seems to be very fair.
He kicks off his short boots before he’s done undressing, though by now he’s only clad in a sort of leather loincloth that only covers his crotch and winds around his hips to keep it in place. Can’t help but notice the huge bulge in it, though, a tent that means his cock is hard.
Very hard and very large, and I swallow, unable to look away.
