by Megan Crane
Because the point was to drive her crazy.
And she knew what she was missing now. She knew that there was more. She worked herself against him as if she was trying to suck him into her pussy somehow, but he didn’t let her do it.
He kissed her, and he worked her, and he waited.
In retrospect, the nine months seemed like nothing. This was the real test.
And with every moment it dragged on, Jurin was less and less sure he’d make it.
But then, finally, she wrenched her mouth from his.
“More,” she gasped, like music at last. She was panting, almost sobbing, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Worth every moment of this last, long winter. “Please, Jurin. Please. I need more.”
“Then take more,” he gritted out.
When she didn’t move, as if she wasn’t sure what to do, he reached down between them. He took one of her hands with him, and together they worked his cock up and down that sweet cunt one more time.
And then, on the next slick glide, he let his cockhead rub over her clit as they went. She hissed in a breath, and then she helped him guide himself where he wanted to go, straight toward the place she was hottest and wettest.
Jurin let go when he was at her entrance, but she kept her hand wrapped around him. He shifted so he could hold her higher, so it would seem like nothing at all for her to press the head of his cock into her own sweet cunt like this had all been her idea from the start.
And it nearly took the top of his head off when she did.
Because he was inside her.
At last.
She’d come so many times that his size was nothing, just a little hitch here and there as she worked to stretch enough to take him. But she took him. He slid in slow, deep and sure, and because she was the perfect woman, she took him all.
And when he was buried inside her, root to tip, he held her there.
“Tell me, baby. Is this the kind of touching you don’t like?” he asked.
Her teeth were on her lip again and her hands were in fists on his shoulders. Her eyes were so full and so dark with need he almost came right then.
Almost.
But then Melyssa smiled, and that was better.
“I hate it,” she whispered, teasing him. Actually teasing him.
And then she rocked herself against him, and blew his mind.
7.
Jurin was huge.
His cock was as vast and red as the rest of him, and he was lodged so deep inside her that Melyssa was amazed she could still breathe.
And his strength amazed her. He held her as if it was nothing, high up against him so it was the easiest thing in the world to roll her hips the way he’d taught her. And every time she did, it was like setting herself alight all over again.
Everything was lightning. Everything was flame.
She didn’t know where he ended and she began.
She didn’t care.
He let her play against him, wriggling this way and that, moving her hips against him as she went.
But then he growled something she couldn’t quite understand in that deep voice of his that felt like a kind of humming deep between her legs where they were joined, and he took control.
And that was even better.
He moved her as if she was weightless. All she had to do was hold on, her legs and arms wrapped around him, as he moved her up and down on his hard red dick and sent that wildfire spiraling through her with every long, deep thrust.
It was too intense to bear, and yet she bore it. It was too wild, too insane, yet she survived it.
More than survived it. She thrilled to each movement, each slick, hard possession.
It was as if there was nothing in the world but this. The beautiful noises he made that she echoed, and the fierce concentration on his face as if she was as important to him as the swing of his axe, the purity of his form out on the green. The strength in his mighty arms and the way he held her and moved her so easily. His tattoos that seemed as stamped into her as they were into him, right there before her eyes. All around her. A part of her, somehow, just as he was. She could taste him in her mouth, salt and man, and everything in her hungered for more.
More and more and more. Until she thought she would die if it lasted too much longer. And she thought she would die if he ever stopped.
And still he moved her, a sweet, hot friction and that firm grip on her bottom. And each commanding thrust made her feel like someone new. As if she was reborn every time he moved her down to meet his cock, making them both groan.
Melyssa could feel it building again. That mad little crisis that he’d caused so many times already, as if her body was entirely his to do with as he liked. And still, this one was different. She could feel the threat of it everywhere, as if it was coming from a different place. Or every place. She felt hot, then shivery, then so much hotter that she was surprised, somehow, that she didn’t ignite.
He tipped her forward, moving so she could drop her face into his neck, as if he knew her own head felt too heavy.
“Come, baby,” he demanded, gruff and sure.
It was as if the new angle changed everything. Sending her from that slow building, beckoning crisis into a sharp, wild ruckus in an instant. One thrust. Then another, and she felt herself convulse, then clench down hard—
Until everything disappeared into that sweet, endless detonation.
And the last thing she heard as Jurin pumped himself into her one last time, then followed her over the edge, was her name.
* * *
Melyssa didn’t know how long they laid there, if she’d truly been thrown outside herself the way she felt she had, or if she’d actually fallen asleep.
She wasn’t entirely sure what was left of her. How many pieces she might find herself in when she opened her eyes, for example. If she could open her eyes at all.
It all seemed like too much work, so she drifted off with her eyes still shut tight and tried to remember how to breathe.
But after a while, Melyssa came back into herself. She became gradually aware that she wasn’t in pieces after all, she was lying on her bed pressed snugly into Jurin’s side. One of his arms was heavy over her and it astonished her how safe she felt there, held between one massive arm and the great wall that was his chest.
He was such a big man. Until today, she’d had no real idea how all that mightiness could feel. She’d seen enough demonstrations of a raider’s idea of a good night up at the Lodge. The big, burly, huge-in-all-ways brothers and the camp girls who seemed to flow with them like some kind of smoke. She’d seen things she hadn’t wanted to see, had them all etched into her brain, and had told herself none of it could possibly feel any good.
Until today, she’d thought all of them were just pretending. That no matter what the camp girls—or her sister—said or did, they were all simply deciding to subject themselves to the things they did because it was their job. Melyssa knew all about that.
But she’d had no idea that sex could feel like this. Some part of her still didn’t believe it could—because surely only Jurin could have made all that happen to her and inside of her. Surely he was something magical.
She hadn’t meant to have sex in the first place. She’d seen things in the Lodge that should have prepared her for the possibility that sex could happen in that position, but she’d never really imagined herself in any of the erotic situations she’d seen enacted in front of her when the raiders’ raucous banquets got dirty.
And then he’d been inside her.
And while it bore no resemblance to any of the winter marriage copulation she tried not to recall in any detail, she knew that’s what it was—and somehow, entirely different in every way.
Now she didn’t know what to do with herself, because she felt different.
She didn’t want to curl herself into a ball and try sleep the act away the way she usually did. Quite the opposite. She wanted to turn closer into him. She wanted to explore h
is body the way he had hers. She wanted to climb on top of him, maybe, and see what happened. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and breathe there a while.
But she didn’t dare.
And when she finally snuck a look at his face, she jolted, because he wasn’t asleep the way she’d thought. He was alert, those amber eyes on her.
“How long have you been watching me?” she asked, not surprised to find she sounded like a stranger. Soft and rough at once.
His eyes gleamed and for some reason, it made goose bumps shiver to life all over her skin.
“A lifetime at least,” he said in that low rumble. “Or so it seems.”
Melyssa didn’t know what to say then. There had never been any question of saying something in all her winter marriages. What was the point? Winter marriages weren’t about conversation. The responsibilities were clear. She had done her duty, her husband had done his, and there was no discussion necessary.
But this felt different. The way everything with Jurin felt different.
Bigger. Brighter. More . . . everything.
She shouldn’t have worried. Jurin rolled up then and took her with him. And he kept going, pulling her into his arms again as he stood.
It was amazing how quickly a person could get used to something. No man had ever lifted Melyssa up before in her life. This was the second time Jurin had done it and it felt good. Right, even.
She slid one arm around his neck and let the other rest against his chest, and felt almost completely at her ease as he held her high against his big chest. He didn’t look down at her. He pulled a length of wool from the bed and hooked it around his neck, so the ends came down and covered most of her. It was almost like a blanket.
Melyssa started to ask him what he was doing, but then realized it didn’t matter. Everything he’d done so far today had been extraordinary. She was quiet as he made his way across the cottage, through the bathroom, and then out the back door that Melyssa knew was there, of course, but never used. Who needed an outside door in a bathroom?
Outside, the sun was going down, sneaking in all the light and color the sullen grey clouds hid by day. Oranges and pinks set the sky afire, and made the slap of cold air that hit them feel like a surprise.
There was something invigorating in the breath Melyssa sucked in as the door fell shut behind them. The crisp, salty air. The coming night. Or maybe it was simply the man who held her. Either way, she didn’t question him. She breathed deep. She could smell the fires from the city in the distance, the wood fires and cookstoves. She could smell the rich, wet pine scent of the forest and the sea in the distance. And she could smell Jurin, too, decidedly male and somehow warm.
She breathed it all in and held on.
He set off into the woods as if he knew where he was going, and she marveled once again at how strong he was, how absurdly hearty. Naked and barefoot, he strode forward as if he was in his full battle gear, complete with the boots he wasn’t wearing, navigating his way along what felt like a straight, well-marked path when Melyssa could have sworn there was no path at all.
He couldn’t have gone more than a few strides before they were swallowed up completely in the woods. Her back door was no longer visible over his shoulder. There were only trees. Upright trees with dark, wet wood gleaming brown in the twilight, and Jurin not the least bit small beside them. As if he was one of them, he was so tall himself.
And in the next breath, he stepped into a clearing and set Melyssa down on her feet, carefully wrapping the wool around her shoulders as she stood. It was grassy here. Chilly beneath her feet, but soft. Melyssa pulled the wool tighter, and then blinked as she looked around, because it wasn’t simply a clearing.
It was a rocky outcropping from the side of the hill. One of the many waterfalls that abounded all over the island fell from a height, splashing down over moss and stone. And there on the far side of the clearing, encircled by the rocks and clearly helped along by raider hands st some point, was a pool.
She could see the steam rising off the top of it and knew it was hot. Fed from the same hot springs that the brotherhood enjoyed in the caves behind the Lodge, if she had to guess, as well as that waterfall overhead.
“I had no idea this was here,” she said softly. Wonderingly. It was almost as if he’d conjured it, simply by walking into the woods.
She couldn’t be sure he hadn’t.
“This was a healer’s cottage,” Jurin said, in that way of his that made her insides feel warm. “The pool was the reason it was built this far out from the rest of the city.”
No one had told her. But then, the only person who might have mentioned it was Helena and it was almost a certainty she didn’t know, having been here in the eastern islands only a few weeks longer than Melyssa.
Jurin walked to the edge of the pool. Someone had taken the trouble to hack steps into the rocks, and he didn’t wait. He walked straight down them and into the water, then dunked himself beneath the surface. Melyssa followed after him. She dipped her toes into the water, pleased to find it hot to the touch and silky besides, and eased herself down onto the first step. The water lapped at her calves.
Jurin surfaced in the middle of the pool, and then it was hard to tell if the steam was from the pool or from the man who stood in it as if he was a living, breathing statue, the water up to his chest and his amber gaze fixed to hers.
Intent. Sure.
As if he always knows where you are, something inside her whispered. As if he can always find you.
“Don’t make me come get you,” he said quietly.
Melyssa hardly knew the creature who taken over her body. But whoever she was, she knew exactly what to do. She tilted her head to one side. More strangely, her hip went with it.
“Or what?”
And he grinned wider, as if he’d been hoping she would ask just that.
Sensation shivered all over her, but this time, Melyssa knew exactly what it was. And she knew what she wanted.
She didn’t wait to see what Jurin would do. She threw off the wool and then she waded down the steps and into the water, letting the silky wetness envelop her, hot and faintly sweet. And then she threw her innate caution aside and swam for him.
Because she knew that if she faltered, he would catch her.
And he did. She didn’t even have to get her face wet. He reached over and hooked her arm with his hard fingers and then drew her to him, the tug of the water against her naked body like an endless caress.
Then they stood there in the murmur of the water and the forest all around, the steam rising between them, as she hooked her legs around his waist again and this time, let the water hold her up.
And the way he looked at her made her tremble.
“I like this,” she said shyly, because it felt like a gift and she wanted to give it to him.
She wanted to give him things she couldn’t name.
Or maybe you’re just afraid to name them, something inside of her whispered.
“Baby,” Jurin said, as if it hurt him. As if he’d heard that voice Melyssa knew was only inside of her. “You know that everything’s changed now, right? There’s no going back.”
She felt something ripple through her at that, some terrible foreboding, maybe, but she shoved it aside. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m not going away, Melyssa. I’m not leaving you alone. There was never any chance of that happening, and now?” He shook his head. “Forget it.”
She tried to push away from him, but it was futile. Of course it was futile. His shoulders were as mighty as ever and his grip as sure, no matter that he was slippery from the water now.
“This isn’t about—” she began.
“This is about us, Melyssa,” he rumbled at her, and though he didn’t get louder, she felt it as if he’d shouted it. Roared it, directly into her, so that it filled her up. She shoved at him again, but he might as well have been stone. “I claimed you in every way today but the words. What
the fuck did you think we were doing?”
“Sex!” she threw at him wildly. “Raiders have sex all the time!”
“Not with you.”
That stopped her cold. She’d never seen the look he wore on his face then. Intent. Certain. And it occurred to her to wonder—as she hadn’t in all these months—why it was no other raider men ever came near her. None of the warrior brothers. None of the men in the city. And none of them were the least bit shy or retiring, as she’d observed again and again. Raiders as a people were frank about everything—particularly sex. But no one had even mentioned it in her vicinity. They’d behaved around her the way they did around her sister, but Helena was the war chief’s claimed mate.
Helena was treated as if Tyr was standing directly behind her with his hand on his blade. Which he often was.
Why hadn’t Melyssa stopped to wonder why they treated her the same way?
“Jurin . . .” she started, but her voice trailed away, wonder and fear and something else she couldn’t identify washing over her.
“You’re mine, baby,” he told her, fierce and sure, his amber gaze like fire and his jaw set. “Deal with it.”
8.
Melyssa was sure her sister could see what she’d been up to. It had to be all over her face, she was sure. Her unusual and completely out-of-character afternoon activities hanging there in the middle of the cottage like some kind of damning perfume, and no matter that she’d tossed a handful of fragrant herbs into the fire on the off-chance that was more than her paranoia.
But if Helena had the slightest idea what had gone on right there in the bed Melyssa had seriously considered burning, she kept it to herself. She was cooing as Rhiannon made her usual squeaks and squeals as if they were speaking their own special aunt/niece language, holding the baby there in front of the fire with the grate Jurin had fit to the front when Rhiannon started crawling.
But Melyssa didn’t really want to think about that—or any of the other things he’d done for her this winter. He’d fixed things when they broke. He’d provided her with that fur that had kept her and Rhiannon warm all through the coldest months, because Melyssa certainly hadn’t had any furs of her own. He’d cleaned out the gutters in the fall and had given her more lectures than she cared to remember on how to bank her fire appropriately.